Photography taught me that not every meaningful moment needs a photograph
I stood gazing across the rolling green hills with my camera hanging loosely at my side. Beside me, Marie was photographing different parts of the landscape.
Normally, I would already have been looking through the viewfinder. Today was different. All I wanted to do was enjoy the beauty of the countryside. I could feel the gentle breeze against my skin, and the air was fresh to breathe.
I could feel myself slowing down.
This was not a planned stop. We were looking for scenes to photograph for an upcoming Camera club competition. We expected to spend a few minutes making photographs before moving on.
Back in the car, Marie asked why I hadn’t taken any photographs. I found it difficult to explain that as I stood there, something inside me simply said, “Just be here.”
I don’t remember every photograph I’ve taken.
But I clearly remember many of the photographs I never did.
Sometimes the Camera Gets Between Us and the Moment
Reflecting on the way I have taken photographs, there have been too many times where I have lost myself in the moment of capturing the image and have missed out on experiencing the location.
I stop the car, step out with the camera in hand, take a few photographs, climb back in, and drive to the next location.
And when I get home and review my photos, they are simply photographs without any sense of what the location was really like.
For too long I have assumed every meaningful experience should become a photograph. Sometimes that’s true. Sometimes lifting the camera changes my relationship with the moment.
Instead of experiencing the moment, I begin composing.
Instead of listening, I begin adjusting my settings.
Instead of noticing, I begin collecting.
There have been occasions where we have climbed back in the car, and Marie has asked: “Did you see that?” And I respond with “No – where was that?” I was so fixated on the photo I was composing that I missed something important in the scene.
I have found that photography can deepen experience.
But occasionally, it replaces it.
Choosing Not to Photograph Is Still a Choice
I make many choices when I take photographs. From which camera and lens to use to which location, time of day, orientation, and more.
Something I have come to understand recently is that choosing not to make the photograph is just as valid a choice. I don’t have to lift the camera every time something beautiful appears.
However, I find I am making more meaningful photos when I experience the location, taking the time to explore and look in different directions. And sometimes I don’t take the obvious photograph.
Instead, I photograph the rusty fence running along the side of the road.
And sometimes, I don’t take a photograph at all.
In those moments, the memory matters more than the photograph ever could.
Presence Leaves Different Kinds of Memories
Photography continues to teach me lessons that extend well beyond the medium itself. The challenge of learning what to photograph and how best to represent the scene prompts me to observe more carefully.
I am learning that photographs preserve visual memory, and presence preserves emotional memory.
That is why I now take the time to experience the location. I let the rush fall away and give the place time to reveal itself before I ever lift the camera.
When I look back on some of my older photos, I can’t remember every detail.
However, I can often remember how it felt. The silence, the wind, or Marie’s voice. The release of tension through being there.
Those memories often become richer than photographs.
The Photographer Changes Too
Choosing not to take a photograph changes the way I see. When I spend time in a location where I simply am and soak in the atmosphere, the sounds, the colours, and take notice of how I feel, it leaves traces inside me.
I don’t need to press the shutter button. Being there in the moment is enough.
Also, the places I return to have become a part of me. They taught me how to look.
Through this I have become
- slower
- more patient
- less anxious about missing photographs
- more willing to wait.
And ironically, taking fewer photographs sometimes improves the ones I eventually make.
Looking Back
When I revisit my archive and sort through the photos, I find there are gaps. An entire afternoon may be missing.
Whole conversations.
Wonderful meals.
Unexpected friendships.
It’s not that the photographs have been lost; I didn’t take any. I chose to retain the experience as a memory rather than a photo.
And yet those moments have helped shape who I have become.
They simply exist somewhere different.
Not on a hard drive, but inside me.
Closing Reflection
I once believed photographs preserved my life.
Now I think some of the moments that shaped me most left behind no photograph at all.
They survive differently.
Not as pixels.
But as patience.
Gratitude.
Perspective.
The photographs I never took don’t exist in any album.
Yet they remain among the clearest memories I have.
Originally published in Full Frame, The Art of Photography