Light as the language of photography.

     When a person starts practicing photography, it's not uncommon to make the same mistakes I did:

• Taking a picture when you're the only one who knows what the subject is ( and maybe you're not sure either, when you look at the picture later ).
• Making critical mistakes with focus and exposure-not as much of an issue with new cameras, but still important.
• Sloppy composition. Composition is as much an art as science, although there are some handy rules. Check out a book on painting, one of the best ways to learn how to frame your shots.
• Failing to realize that light is the single most important element in your photograph.

I made all these mistakes over and over before my "success" rate started to improve. But the most valuable skill I've learned is recognizing the way light changes your perception of a scene. How do you learn about light? One way I've learned that really drove the concept home was taking a shot of one subject as the day progresses. It doesn't have to be a prize-winning composition ( I used a big oak tree in my yard ). Notice how the different interplay of light and shadow changes the impact of the photograph. Also, studying the work of other photographers is very helpful; when you look at a photograph, imagine you're there. What direction is the light coming from? How would it have changed the photo if was taken earlier, or later?  Now, I'm not saying it's easy. There are plenty of times when I will go to a spot, expecting amazing lighting, and am sorely disappointed. That's nature for you; always doing it's own thing. But there are some safe bets. Early morning and late evening are magic hours for a photographer. The biggest change I've made to my technique is simply getting up early or staying out late, and seeing what happens with a particular scene. The photograph below is a good example of what I'm talking about. It was taken recently at Mountain Fork river, in Beavers Bend State park. I've taken pictures of this scene ( with minor variations ) for years, but this morning was special. The night before, I checked the forecast, noting that it was going to be very close to freezing the next morning. which meant a good possibility of fog on the river. Also, it would be clear, meaning sunlight might burn through that fog after sunrise. It was a good recipe, but there's no way to know if it will work in your favor, other than being there. My philosophy is simple; I won't know if I'm not there. When I did arrive, the fog was amazingly thick. For a while, it seemed that the river would be shrouded in fog all morning, while the rest of the area basked in sunlight, but slowly, the fog thinned out, and the river emerged. The cypress trees have finally shed their leaves, leaving bare, ghostly shapes. The river was flowing, slowly but surely. I selected f16 for the aperture, to maximize depth of field, and exposed for .8 seconds at ISO 100. The illumination in the middle of the river didn't extend to the foreground, giving a sense of depth to the photo. I'm not one for poetic descriptions, although I wish I was! Instead, I'll have to settle for using photography as my poetry, letting the moment in time tell the story. Learning to sense the different types of light you'll encounter is like adding words to your vocabulary, in the language of pictures.