Q. My first question is not really a question but I would be curious to read a description of your state of mind when you go out to take pictures.
A. “Seeing” doesn’t require a dedicated time frame to happen in. I go for a walk and I look. I make coffee at breakfast and I am looking. I run an errand to the grocery store, and I look. “Seeing” is part of my normal daily activities. It’s going on all the time.
The poetry or magic of seeing happens best when I’m relaxed, when I try to look at things with fresh eyes, like I’ve never seen them before, and when I am fully present.
When I am out for a walk, I try to have no goal or agenda on what I will see. I am just looking at what’s there. I step out the door, takes some deep breaths, remind myself to turn off the internal dialog, and go look. When that happens, I find myself slipping into awareness. It becomes an extended moment of being in a flow state.
I can find myself standing in a line somewhere, getting antsy on how slow things are moving, and then I will remember to look around and see what’s there. In that moment of flipping from internal to external, I can be gobsmacked by a visual connection. When those moments happen, it can feel like something Leonard Cohen said, “There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
Q. Do you have a set time you shoot? Or do you shoot all the time depending on what you see?
A. When I first started shooting photography 17 years ago it was all about the image. Today, it’s all about the process of seeing. The image is an expression of that process, and it’s become secondary. The best part, the most joyful moments, are in the seeing. I try to always be looking as I move through my day and I always have my camera with me. If a moment of visual poetry happens, I have the option of trying to express it with the camera.
Here are a couple of examples of how it works for me.
I was putting away groceries and these tomatoes were sitting on the counter waiting to be put away. The late afternoon light was coming through the window. The response to it manifested out of nowhere. There was no forethought. There was just red tomatoes and green stems against that white background! And glorious light and shadow! I felt a shock of wonder. And I tried to express that moment with my camera.
Tomatoes Photograph by Warren Simons
The next image was the result of an extended period of slow quiet looking. I was slowly walking along the top of large stone breakwater above Lane’s Cove (in the Lanesville neighborhood of Gloucester, Massachusetts). I had circled ½ of the way around the cove, taking my time, just taking it all in. When I’m working like this it’s pure bliss, no matter what I see. The internal dialog disappears, there is no sense of time, just one long extended period of quiet looking. And then that boat came into my field of vision. It was amazing, that boat floating in the water like that. It’s similar to the experience I described in the first example, a moment of beautiful imagery materializing out of nowhere.
Lane’s Cove Photograph by Warren Simons
There is one more step in the process of expressing these moments—it is discerning the framing. Each part of an image is a discrete element, they all relate to each other, and to the frame. I try to avoid intellectualizing the decision-making process here, and instead, rely on how it all “feels,” or comes together. It’s an intuitive process, one where the pictorial elements and my sensibilities work it out without a lot of conscious thought.
Q. I know that you meditate. I wonder if you could talk about how that affects your process as a photographer.
A. When I began walking about with my camera 17 years ago, it was unplanned relaxed looking. I didn’t angst over it. I just went looking and I discovered that the visual world could be fabulous. I had lots of fun looking.
About 10 years in I discovered meditation. There is no right or wrong way about sitting meditation practice. You just sit, try to relax, and see what happens. I’ve come to recognize that my practice of seeing and expressing the world with my camera is a form of meditation. It’s a contemplative method for seeing: slow down, look, let things be revealed. Both experiences complement each other. I read a quote somewhere that I like: “Moments of grace are accidental. And meditation makes us accident prone.”
Q: When you're walking along and it's quiet and you're in the flow, what happens when you see a friendly neighbor who wants to have a chat? Is that the end of the meditative flow? Do you take a picture of the neighbor? Sometimes I'm in the studio and I'm getting into the flow and then someone calls me on the phone, or my daughter wakes up from her nap or any number of things happen that aren't really meditative-- and there's a funny sort of jolt that happens. Like I'm stepping in and out of the river of time.
A. Being in the zone or flow state is a quiet space. When something outside of that place calls my attention, it's bit like floating to the surface after being under water. Under water it's cool and noise from the outside world is a murmuring background sound. Then you break the surface and there you are, back in the busy world. Your description of it being a jolt is a good one.
I've been practicing in this way for a long time. I can slip in and out of this state of mind naturally and without working at it. I take a couple of deep breaths, let go, and start looking. The sliding into awareness seems to happen all by itself.
This sort of practice is a solitary one. It happens best when I am alone.
You can see more of Warren Simon’s photographs on his website here.