Embedded on the end of many camera lenses is a small but powerful magnet. You can witness its strength whenever a photographer stands close to a famous landmark. I saw a guy walk along a path in Yosemite Valley, lens pointed down, and as a soon as a clearing showed a peep of Half Dome, swoosh! the lens was pulled up and the shutter was pushed.
I was with a group for a weeklong trip in Patagonia’s Torres del Paine National Park. In the course of our travels through the park we saw the famous mountain towers from all sides, and—in bad light, okay light, mediocre light, and even good light—the magnets kicked in and whipped the lenses in the direction of the peaks. The shame wasn’t just in endless photographs made in poor light, but it was watching how oblivious everyone was to great light in any other direction. It happens all the time in the presence of famous places. The bridge over Zion National Park’s Virgin River, Antelope Canyon, Maine lighthouses.
I am sitting in a Norwegian landscape, snow-capped mountains in all directions. I have no idea if any of them are famous. I can’t even pronounce their names, or know when someone is talking about them. Clueless in my own head again. But I have learned to try. I feel disrespectful when I slur over a foreign word, not even giving it a go, so I try. And when I say my carefully practiced word to locals, I get head-turned puzzled looks, like when you humansplain something to a dog. When the person finally gets what I am trying to pronounce, and then pronounces it back to me, I have no clue it is the same word. I may try to repeat it back, to which they earnestly say it back correctly, and we do this a few times, knowing I have not even come close. I smile and thank them. At least I tried.
Here are a few mountains in the area, let them roll off your tongue: Finstadfjellet, Justadheia, Bláfjellkammen. By the way, coming to Norway is a good warm up for Iceland, where they can string together so many consonants my tongue immediately protests, “No way.” And they have 32 letters in their alphabet, six more than we do. Check out ð or þ, and for fun, pronounce samþykki (approval) or alþjóðlegur (international).
I digress. Back to the joy of my situation, right here, surrounded by so much, is that not one mountain or lake or river gets special attention from me. I start fresh. I get pulled by what I see, not what I have heard.
Landmarks have an immensely powerful pull, even on those photographers who have dedicated themselves to new creative interpretations. We get weak. Witnessing this, I have learned to put myself in places of unnamed beauty. Without the iconic force fields, I am free to see and interpret as I wish.
It’s very true. We also often think we need to travel to iconic and exotic places to find good photographs, where in fact they can be found all around us. We just need to learn to see them.
I hear you! Living in Oslo, when we travel around the rest of the country we try hard to mostly avoid the “super famous” places as there are so many beautiful sights on this country that one doesn’t have to share with a zillion others. We do, of course, swing by the landmarks but even though my shots include that metal which draws those magnetic lenses you joked about, I shoot it all, if compelled. I hope you got joy from the beautiful sights here even while mis-speaking those crazy words (I had to laugh that you spelled one of those mountains with an Icelandic letter instead of the Norwegian one…😉 I’m sure it followed you on your travels). Great points about following the light and not just being one of the herd. 😃