A Day with Heron
Having understood, I drank my coffee and didn’t try to think more about it. This was an understanding without knowing, I had to help it remain that way. With some things, if you try to express them via the thoughts or words of man you’re in danger of destroying their essence. This is another thing I understand without knowing.
Intellectually it seemed absurd. To take long exposure pinhole photographs of a wild animal is near impossible. And although herons are known to stand still for long periods, I’d never expect one to do so near enough to me that my hundred year old Box Brownie with a fixed lens could photograph it.
Nevertheless, I understood that it was going to happen.
I walk to the ponds and there, beyond a couple of wood ducks splashing in the shallows, there is heron. Even though I am surprised that this thing is really happening to me, I simultaneously find it to be as it should be.
For the next hour I sit 5 metres away, observing as heron wades knee deep in the algae, fishing. I understand I have to wait.
I have purposely not used the word ‘know’ in my description of the days events. I don’t want to give the impression that I knew what I was doing. I hadn’t thought this out. I don’t know that much about herons. This was not about knowing, this was about somehow understanding that this was how it was. I understood that I was going to make pinhole photographs of the heron.
And I understood that it wasn’t going to happen at this exact time, but that it would do at some point on this day.
Heron catches a golden fish. It has it’s back to me so I can only see the fish tail wiggling, glinting, as it struggles.
I have purposely not used the word ‘know’ in my description of the days events. I don’t want to give the impression that I knew what I was doing. I hadn’t thought this out. I don’t know that much about herons. This was not about knowing, this was about somehow understanding that this was how it was. I understood that I was going to make pinhole photographs of the heron.
And I understood that it wasn’t going to happen at this exact time, but that it would do at some point on this day.
Heron catches a golden fish. It has it’s back to me so I can only see the fish tail wiggling, glinting, as it struggles.
The fish is swallowed whole, heron dips its beak in the pond, and continues wading the murky pond. A couple more smaller fish are caught. Then we begin to move south. Into the shadows of willows and up onto the bank to avoid a fallen tree, then onwards along a narrow stream to the middle pond. I snap a few digital photos, superficially engaging but understanding that I’m in no position to take these pinhole photographs as I am. My centre of emotion is in my upper chest and neck. If I were a heron, I reasoned, there’d be no way I’d come close to me right now. My vibrations feel way above the ground. Too high, too independent, too modern-day human. Too front-of-stage whilst everything else, heron included, is in the wings. Nowhere near the place where we can meet.
I take deep breaths, concentrate on my upper chest, drop my emotion to my navel. My centre of gravity feels very close to the ground, my shoulders open and fall backwards. This is better.
I take deep breaths, concentrate on my upper chest, drop my emotion to my navel. My centre of gravity feels very close to the ground, my shoulders open and fall backwards. This is better.
Heron moves directly below my path, less than a metre away. In and out of the shadows, I play with contra jour photos, heron framed by beautiful reflections of autumnal colours and crisp blue sky.
Another golden fish caught, this time right before me. Then a short wade to a protruding branch 5 or 6 metres away and post lunch cleaning begins. I hear heron’s beak swiping the length of it’s long feathers. I study it’s movements, my process the same as when I’ve taken photos of other wildlife, or sports stars. Each individual has its tell tale signs. They announce when the subject will look this way or that, when it will stay still, or move.
Heron lifts its leg when it's about to clean it’s opposite side. So, the left leg goes up into the body, and then the beak reaches to the right. There’s only a second or so gap between lifting and movement. This is not the time to make long exposure pinholes. I wait.
A photographer approaches from behind me. He stands far too close, his legs brushing my back, and he’s not wearing a mask. In these Covid times, it bothers me. He starts to make clucking and hissing noises to try to make heron look at him. Birders call this behaviour ‘pishing’ and it’s generally frowned upon. It can confuse or upset the bird, and lead or force it into possibly dangerous situations. I glare, he leaves, and I regret my action. His behaviour was poor on so many levels but not unusual. Maybe he didn’t know much about birds other than they make a nice photo, and had nobody to educate him about how to act responsibly around them.
I recompose, drop my emotion and hopefully my vibration. Wind clatters the top of the trees. Heron stops cleaning, tilts its head sidewards and upwards, and leans into the sound, as if trying to discern.
Does the clattering mean that the leaves have left the branches and it’s time to head south for the winter? Does it resemble the clatter of heron's parent’s beaks, and conjure up memories of the nest? I recall canoeing past the Aylesford colony on the banks of the River Medway in England, it’s the largest colony of Blue Herons in Europe. The clattering of beaks was among the prominent sounds, along with bird calls and wind in the trees. Heron is perfectly still. This is my ‘tell’ for now. When the wind blows, heron will look sideways or to the treetops, and that’s when I will make my pinhole photos.
The wind is up and I am able to make 8 pinhole photos. I rest the camera on a wall. I have no tripod as I want to rid myself as much as possible of the ability to impose myself on this work. You might also say I wish to use this process to help me relinquish whatever power I have over life, and create as true to collaborative work as I can manage.
There are so many layers loaded by successive societies onto us all. ‘This is how our world is’, the layers say, ‘This is beauty, and this is the right angle from which to capture it, put the tripod here,’ or ‘this style is trendy at the moment, do this’. I want to avoid all this so I never carry a tripod, in order to put the temptation out of reach. Whatever available flat surface there is, that’s where I’ll put my camera, so that chance will decide my general angle of looking at the scene before me.
I reason that my method of observing heron before making pinholes is also a layer of knowledge and because I understand this, and have this process in mind, then it too should be discarded. But at the moment I can’t see a way around it. If I’m to use this older technology to capture this scene, then I have to understand when my subject is likely to stay still.
I decide to expose each photo for only as long as heron is looking at me, side on. We must maintain eye contact for as long as the shutter is open. It’s another way for me to relinquish control over the work and allow space for the elemental to shine through, another way to relinquish power.
It feels like an authentic process. So many digital photos of animals, including many of my own, inadvertently give the impression of being close to them but the reality is that they are mostly snapshots, memories of a mere second or so spent with this bird or that rodent or insect. The pinhole process means this can never be the case, and if the images come out they will tell a more honest tale of the depth of interaction. Despite the satisfaction of being involved in making such images, the moment doesn't feel quite right. So I put the camera away and wait.
Half an hour later heron wades south again, into the narrowest area of the pond. It’s darker here, heron stops about 2 or 3 metres away from me. And there it stays, standing in profile. Is this it, the time to make pinhole photos? I concentrate on my breathing, drop my vibration as far as I can imagine it can go. To my feet, for sure, and I try all I can to send it beyond. Is this it? I believe it is.
Once again I measure shutter exposures by the length of our eye contact. The first one is 45 seconds. 45 seconds of heron looking at me with one eye, me at it with both of mine. I let all emotion go and try to sink further into the earth so as to meet heron.
My words are clumsy and no doubt many will think them hippy nonsense, or something wishful that can’t be trusted. As you like. Many believe that money is real, war inevitable, and that their only choice is to vote blue or red. I choose to believe that this happened. I sink further, forget all thoughts, searching this moment, looking for this exchange. I understand that because I must look for the meeting it’s unlikely to appear, but this is a start. Or perhaps a continuation of a path that I’ve been on for years but not realised until now.
Half an hour later heron wades south again, into the narrowest area of the pond. It’s darker here, heron stops about 2 or 3 metres away from me. And there it stays, standing in profile. Is this it, the time to make pinhole photos? I concentrate on my breathing, drop my vibration as far as I can imagine it can go. To my feet, for sure, and I try all I can to send it beyond. Is this it? I believe it is.
Once again I measure shutter exposures by the length of our eye contact. The first one is 45 seconds. 45 seconds of heron looking at me with one eye, me at it with both of mine. I let all emotion go and try to sink further into the earth so as to meet heron.
My words are clumsy and no doubt many will think them hippy nonsense, or something wishful that can’t be trusted. As you like. Many believe that money is real, war inevitable, and that their only choice is to vote blue or red. I choose to believe that this happened. I sink further, forget all thoughts, searching this moment, looking for this exchange. I understand that because I must look for the meeting it’s unlikely to appear, but this is a start. Or perhaps a continuation of a path that I’ve been on for years but not realised until now.
I change the paper and take another photo. Heron twitches after 20 seconds so I stop there. Change paper again and take another. 30 seconds. Change and take one more. 15 seconds. I have more paper but the moment seems right to stop. What had to happen has now happened.
Pinhole Photo prints of heron are available.
Please reach out to discuss details. drwise100@gmail.com
Please reach out to discuss details. drwise100@gmail.com
