Journal
Marie and I left the car and wandered over to the lookout. In the distance, three of the Glass House Mountains rose through a light haze, their familiar shapes standing quietly against the sky.
The Glass House Mountains are ancient volcanic plugs, formed some 25 to 27 million years ago. Twelve of them are scattered across the region, and this lookout has become one of the places where visitors naturally stop to admire them. Countless photographers have stood here at sunrise or sunset, waiting for the light to reveal their character.
They can make magnificent photographs.
As Marie began taking a few images, I found myself doing what photographers instinctively do. I checked the lens on my camera, considered the composition, and almost raised the camera to my eye.
Then I stopped.
It is unusual for me to walk away from a beautiful landscape without taking a photograph. But on that day, I realised I didn’t want to make an image.
I simply wanted to stand there.
To breathe.
To look.
To appreciate the view without placing myself behind the camera.
I don’t regret that decision. We visit this lookout every couple of years, and the mountains are not going anywhere. Perhaps next time the light, the weather, or simply the season of my life will say something different to me, and then I’ll make the photograph.
I’ve come to realise that I no longer need to photograph everything I see.
What I do need is to experience the places I visit before deciding whether they deserve a photograph.
When I slow down and simply observe, I give a place the opportunity to speak first. Only then do I know whether there is a photograph worth making, or whether the greater gift was simply being there.