a photography adventure of any kind, including family or group gatherings. Our questions focus on equipment and supplies such as these: Are the batteries charged? Do I have space on my memory card? Do I have film? Do I need to clean my camera? Do I have/need a flash or tripod? Do I have maps or GPS, water, lunch, hat, etc.? The questions and preparation become second nature. We gather all the equipment and walk out the door prepared for a day of photography. However, are we really ready?
The questions above crowd our brains as we prepare. How often do we take the time to ask, “Am I ready spiritually? My mind is ready; my body is ready; my equipment is ready, but how is it with my soul?” Do we walk out the door without checking the place within us—the place where the soul of our creativity lives?
Richard Rohr comments that humans tend to be a circumference people, living on the boundaries rather than in the center.3 Our lives focus on the daily stuff that bombards us. We look for meaning in the small things. We seek identity from other people and our belongings. We move toward what is in front of us. We photograph the surface of our subjects. The results are flat just like mine were before the seagull joined me.
Life on the outer edges arises from busy, active, and noisy days. Our lives are filled with people and events that clamor for our attention. Moving toward the center breaks the hold the noise has on our being. Centering allows us to hear the still small voice of God (1 Kings 19:12) and to see with clarity.
The technical aspects of photography acknowledge the importance of noise reduction to avoid photos with a grainy appearance (for more information on image noise visit www.cambridgeincolour.com/tutorials/image-noise.htm). In addition, some photographs look overly busy when we include too much subject matter in the frame. The busyness and noise distract the eye from seeing the true subject matter with clarity. We experience the same problem in our lives. The noise of living on the circumference distracts us from seeing what is real.
Spiritual practice moves us from the outer edges of our lives. The practices teach us how to move into the center where we come into relationship with God—the ground and source of our being. Living in the center leads us to a quieter, more focused life. The center provides awareness and mystery that allows us to see more deeply. The spiritual practice of centering enhances our ability to see the world in new ways. Our photographs become more meaningful when we write them from our centers rather than the circumference.
However, centering is as difficult as finding an elusive presence. We cannot grab hold of it, nor can we “achieve” it. Change happened that day in Monterey Bay when I finally opened my heart and caught a glimpse of the power centering can bring into photography. A spiritual block shifted, and my eyes were opened. The process of centering moves us into a space where seagulls join us and we dare to open our souls to see into the interior of our being and the Divine mystery and presence. The core of our being, the place where we meet God, anchors our photography.
Centering before and during a trip can take many forms. I find the following exercise useful:
Find a comfortable position in a chair or on the floor. Begin by breathing deeply (breathe in to the count of five and breathe out to the count of seven). Each time you inhale, breathe in the creativity of the Holy Spirit and/or the wonder of God’s love and creation. Each time you exhale, let go of all the work you have to do when you get home, worries about what pictures you will record, concerns over weather and lighting; any preconceived notions of what you will return with and any thoughts that say you are not an artist or a creative being.
Continue breathing deeply. Turn the day over to God. Ask for openness and a heightened sense of God’s presence through the photography journey. Imagine the creativity of the Spirit walking the path ahead of you. Sit in silence for a while (gradually increase the time of silence, aiming for twenty minutes). When thoughts of the day creep back into your mind, gently let them go and then return to a place of open communion with God. After a time of silence, write any thoughts in a journal, take another deep breath, and then head out on your adventure.
Centering shifts our focus from the technical process to the spiritual process. This shift releases energy that allows us to center on God first. Praying our way into a trip serves as a reminder for our mind and soul. The day we are preparing to enter highlights time spent with God rather than finding pictures we can sell or share. Letting go of the product in order to experience the process truly helps us see and hear the Creator.
Letting Go
Madeleine L’Engle offers a visual image of letting go:
I was running, tripped, and fell through a window. I picked myself up in a shower of glass, and did not have a scratch on me because I did not have time to draw back. If I had, I would have been cut, and badly.4
We can move our photography into a space of “falling through” where we “return to the imaginative courage of the child.”5 Taking time to center before a photography foray reduces the noise. We remove the words and focus inward in order to photograph the world outside.
A workshop on creativity embedded into my soul the concept of “falling through.” I attended the workshop because I came home from each trip frustrated with my photography. Why was I struggling? All the joy and fun of photography had disappeared. The spiritual practice of photography felt dry and lifeless. I centered before each trip; yet, my soul experienced a loss. An element was missing. The emptiness of photography led to my excitement about the workshop.
The workshop leader asked us to think about creativity and what we require to be creative. While the other participants sat busily writing, I sat there with a blank canvas of paper and no clue how to answer her question. The thoughts rolling through my mind went something like this: Obviously, I am not creative, and I never was. I am not a photographer, and I never was. Who am I kidding? What am I doing here anyway? You get the picture and have probably experienced the same emotions yourself. Needless to say I felt frustrated.
Finally, through the grace of God, I reached a point of letting go of all those questions. I flipped the questions over and asked, When was the last time I truly felt the creativity of the Spirit and God’s presence in my photography? Why was it different? What was going on in my life at that time?
In my mind I rummaged through the files of past photo trips. A photo day in Albuquerque Old Town floated to the top. That excursion was fun! I distinctly remember being very aware of God’s presence and guidance. Time flew by as I let the day be my prayer. Why was this trip different? A light began to shine on my struggle as I examined the trip. The adventure came the day after a long business trip in which I led several workshops. My plate was empty, and my mind was clear when I left for Old Town. My immediate “to-do” list was blank.
Realization of what had happened hit me: I am a list maker. All of my recent photo outings were clouded over with lists. Now as I sat in the circle with the leader and the other participants, the words to the following prayer spilled out onto the paper:
The more I live with tasks and lists
and
lists of tasks
the harder it is to feel the flow.
The lists weigh me down so I don’t fly in the wind.
Without the wind
—the breath of God—
the creativity stays on the ground, anchored in the lists.
Let go of the lists;
live
