Getting it Wrong, and (rarely) right.

I took this photo years and years ago. Before I’d ever sold an image, or even really considered taking on photography as profession. I often come back to this one because it was one of the first times, I really got it right.

Photography is a game of errors. Errors that you learn by, errors that you don’t. Early in your photography you’ll suffer through a lot of really crap images. You’ll take pictures of your feet, and over-saturate colors, and try grainy black and white. You’ll take horrible wildlife photos with the bird too small and right in the middle of the frame. There will be landscapes in perfect light with sublime clouds, and you’ll blow it, horribly by not knowing jack about composition. At least, these are all things that I have done, and more often than I care to admit, still do.

The trick is learning from that abundance of errors, looking at the screw-ups and considering what I could have done better. Slowly (God, so slowly) I got better, and so has every photographer who has ever raised a camera to their eye. Eventually, you get better.

But occasionally, even for raw beginners, things come together. Those first great images are often the result of luck or serendipity. But I don’t really count those- broken clock being right twice a day kind of thing. It’s the times images come together on purpose, with thought and preparation. This image was one of my first when, effort, thoughtfulness and technical execution all combined. This is an image I MADE rather than simply one I took.

It was late evening, winter, cold. There was a full moon. I had been outside, letting the dog out maybe, or just getting a breath of air, when I saw the way that moon shone across the trees around my home. In a moment of inspiration, I donned my ski clothes, grabbed my camera and tripod and skied out a couple miles from my cabin where I knew the forest opened up into these low black spruces. I stopped, took off my skis and wandered up and down the empty trail looking for the right composition. I set up, and after a few tries, landed this image.

I love this photo. I love the way the distant lights of Fairbanks glowed pink behind the trees. I love the dark shadows and the trees heavy with fresh snow. Sure, there are things I could have done better, but in the end, the image works. Years later, I’ve sold this photo a half-dozen times. But that is less important than what it means to me about the photographic process. This image, and a few other from early in my years as a photographer, kept me going. Success has a way of breeding inspiration, and inspiration often leads to more success.

I’ve learned a lot from my errors, but this success taught me even more.

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