Way back when, sometime around 2017, a photographer that I really admire -- Chris Burkard (@ChrisBurkard) -- was coming to town to host a screening of his film, Under an Arctic Sky. While the film was great, I was mostly looking forward to the brief meet and greet following the show. I queued up with the rest of the nerds and waited patiently for folks to grab selfies and autographs. When it was finally my turn, I opted to skip the selfie. I introduced myself, gave some kudos for the film, and asked a single question -- what advice would he give to an amateur that wants to improve their photography? His response, in hindsight, could not have been more impactful or helpful for me.
"Shoot. A lot. But don't just shoot everything. Try to go out and create images along a singular theme or idea. It'll give you direction and help you avoid burnout... and boredom."
I've heard Chris on a number of interviews and I've never, to this day, heard him repeat that answer. Seven years later, I still remind myself of that advice. I find it particularly helpful when I'm in a familiar place. Somewhere I've been before -- where the surrounding landscapes or culture aren't novel. It's amazing how quickly I can become familiar with a place. Once my eyes adapt to the locale, it can be hard to see beyond what I've learned to be 'normal'. That feeling is exacerbated when I pull out a camera.
Last summer, I found myself in coastal North Carolina for a week. Its a fairly familiar stretch of sand with no remarkable landmarks or geographic features. Compound this with my total lack of experience with surf or underwater photography, and I had a great opportunity for a mini-project.
In practice, following Chris' advice is an opportunity to really experiment. As with any experiment, there are zero expectations. Only a hypothesis. I find it liberating. I'll usually come up with an ideal image in my head, then do my best to execute on that. Brainstorming ideas one afternoon, I narrowed-in on my theme. I've always loved days on the ocean where the water is calm. Where you can see every wave making its way to shore. No wind. No strong currents. Like liquid glass.
There was a short window of time when the tides would be in my favor. So for three days, I woke up before dawn, grabbed my camera, and walked down to the beach. Conditions were perfect just before sunrise -- when the water was calm and glassy and waves broke onto a sandbar roughly 30 yards offshore. An orange glow on the horizon was the only light to guide me as I waded chest deep into the dark water, which was chilly, but welcoming. The sea was easygoing and forgiving, and the small waves had a predictable structure and attractive curl. Exactly what I had envisioned. I'd spend the next hour walking, swimming, and running through the surf, in an attempt to capture the perfect image of the perfect wave. From the perspective of a passerby, I'm sure I looked like a very large 5-year-old playing with a new toy (partially true).
By the third day, tidal conditions deteriorated. My small window had closed. I hoped that I had at least one decent image.
The three below are my favorites... not bad for a fun little project with zero expectations. But you tell me. I hope you enjoy.
Chris, if you're seeing this, thanks again for the kind words.
Additional images
