Slow Photography in a Fast World

To the purist, slow photography is about using film cameras, preferably large format film, rather than digital. Working with film inherently slows down the entire process of making a photograph, forcing the photographer to take their time studying the subject and making creative decisions before releasing the shutter and exposing a precious piece of film. But, there’s also a deeper context to the movement that is not limited to the type of camera you use.

Slow photography is about regaining something in ourselves that is often lost in a fast world — the experience. When we bring a camera along on our journey, we lose something of the experiential part of being in nature. It is inevitable. We can easily end up experiencing nature through the back of our camera, and missing in front of us the very thing we are there to admire.

It’s not that fast photography doesn’t produce good results. There are countless gorgeous photographs depicting storms or fast-moving natural events, where the photographer certainly had to move quickly and decisively to capture a miraculous image.

But, fast photography can also lead to disappointment if results are always the primary goal. For example, a long-planned trip to photograph the annual light display at Yosemite’s Horsetail Fall may end up in frustration if the conditions aren’t perfect, which is often the case.

In slow photography, the process itself is central to the joy of the activity. And the result – a beautiful photograph – can become secondary to the thrill of discovery and creative choice.

Slow photography is first about the experience, rather than a means to an end. If you did not have a memory card or film in your camera, would you still enjoy the practice of exploration, discovery, and creative engagement? When I think about my other creative endeavors, such as playing guitar or writing, I don’t care one whit if anyone listens to me play nor reads a word of what I write. I invent songs for the pure pleasure of doing so. It is the same with photography. After I’ve thoroughly wandered, explored, considered, and composed, when I finally click the shutter, that little thrill of excitement is just the icing on the experience.

When I am “in the zone,” time seems to stand still. Whether for five minutes or five hours, when I’m out in nature, time seems to fly by. Similar to a meditative state, such openness inevitably results in a creative streak. Chances are, I will make an interesting and unique photograph that’s the foundation for the next steps of the creative process: post-production in the darkroom or digital darkroom, and finally, the making of the print.

So, although creating a great photograph is satisfying, the process of creating is at least as satisfying. That’s the great appeal of slow photography. It has less to do with the quality of the camera in your bag, and more to do with the quality of your experience and connection with nature.