By Michael Blumfield

I’m heading south on I-95 in the late afternoon. To my right, beyond a row of trees, I catch a glimpse of a stunning sunset. The light is a rich amber, tickling purplish clouds, with streaks of yellow shooting through them into a cobalt-blue sky.

I am anguished at the sight: This dramatic moment is unfolding without my ability to photograph it. I can’t pull off the road. Even if I did, the trees are blocking part of it. And, sin of all sins, I don’t have my camera with me.

I kick myself for a minute, then drift into a reverie about how wonderful it would be to launch a drone above the interstate – elevating it above the tree line and ensuring the moment doesn’t pass without creating a permanent memory of it …

Keying in on the visual world

The truth is, I wouldn’t have experienced such anguish a few years ago before I took up photography in earnest. Driving down that highway, I would have looked at the traffic in front of me, my gas gauge and car clock, perhaps. But the sun’s setting would have gone unnoticed until I realized the road was dark and I needed to flip on my headlights.

It’s not that I don’t have artistic leanings. I’ve been an avid reader all my life, am moved by well-crafted literature, and have made my living as a writer. Music has been an obsession since grade school, and I’ve dabbled in performing off and on. But the visual arts were always secondary.

Picking up a camera changed all of that. The visual world moved from a supporting role to center stage. Light, texture, form, pattern, color – all these words go from concepts to elements of daily observation and curiosity.

For me at least, the credit (or blame) goes to my first class with Boston Photography Workshops. A group of us traipsed around the North End, trying to frame skyscrapers in the distance looming over a park, angling for surprising perspectives on a painted playground wall, shooting through the windows of alluring restaurants and cafes, and honoring the evocative presence of a red Vespa in a narrow alleyway.

“Picking up a camera changed all of that. The visual world moved from a supporting role to center stage. Light, texture, form, pattern, color – all these words go from concepts to elements of daily observation and curiosity.”

As much fun as it was, the class was also slightly unnerving. I was walking around, certain I was photographing everything worth capturing, only to see my classmates aiming their lenses in directions I hadn’t considered. Whoa, yeah! That IS a cool view! Oh, and that shot! I totally didn’t see that!

This inevitably leads to periods of intense head-spinning when going anywhere with a camera. Are those trees to my left worth shooting? What’s that animal moving up ahead? Are the clouds going to hide the sun in a minute? Did I miss something behind me?

How others describe this phenomenon

I’m not the only one to have reacted that way. I asked people on the Photographers in Massachusetts Facebook page if they’d had similar experiences, which of course they had. “I notice patterns, balanced compositions, interplay of light and shadow, beauty in ordinary things we see every day,” wrote Jay MacIntyre. More than that, it helped him understand his own perception better. “After you’ve been at it for a while, you get an idea of how you see the world.”

Frank Aronson said he returned to photography after being away from it for decades. Not only did he have to learn how to master digital photography and processing, “I started seeing light and shadow in a different way. I have started noticing patterns, and the arrangement of sights around me.”

Another member of the Photographers of Massachusetts Facebook group, Constantine Manos, said he’d been a photographer since he got his first camera for Christmas in 1967. For him, awareness of the visual world is a double-edged sword. “It’s both a blessing and a curse because you can see both beauty hidden deep within objects and see past surface beauty to darkness inside. Sometimes I feel like I need to close my eyes to take a break from the constant evaluation of color and light.”

Wow.

Fellow BPW members shared similarly deep perspectives. Annelie Connolly says she started out shooting what everyone else was shooting, but no longer. “Today I like to shoot things that make me feel something. I see things now. I don’t just look at them, but I see them.”
Barry Berman’s take was a little different: “After a 20-plus-year hiatus, these past two years wandering camera in hand have caused me to be more present in all I do. The images are icing on the cake.”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse because you can see both beauty hidden deep within objects and see past surface beauty to darkness inside. Sometimes I feel like I need to close my eyes to take a break from the constant evaluation of color and light.”

Back to that sunset …

As I continued south on I-95 that day, I think more about what the drone might capture if I could launch it from the hood of the car right then. My mind fills in the missing details as best it can, but I’m still frustrated that I can’t fully capture what’s happening due west of me.

Up ahead, I see there’s a break in the tree line. I check the rearview mirror to see who’s behind me. Good. No one for half a mile. I ease off the gas, watch for the break and – for two quick seconds – feast my eyes on a spectacularly glorious sunset.

Accelerating back to 65 mph, I smile and think to myself: Don’t regret that you couldn’t photograph it. Be happy simply because you saw it.

Want to see what you’ve been missing? Try one of our Better Composition: Photo Walk classes like the one that Michael took on the North End. For a nocturnal perspective, consider a Night Photography session. Intermediate and Advanced classes are available, too, to further refine what to see and capture.

When he’s not chasing down sunsets and flying imaginary drones, Michael Blumfield writes for a marketing agency, looking up occasionally to see what’s going on with the trees and sky outside his home-office windows.