How Do You Look at Photographs?

John Muir once wrote, "When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find that it is bound fast by a thousand invisible cords that cannot be broken to everything else in the universe." My aim as a nature photographer is to illustrate that concept.

Elephant in its natural habitat

There are various ways to do that. One is to photograph wild animals in their natural habitat, to show how they interact with and are interdependent with the other animals and plants around them.  A single still photograph doesn't necessarily show the interaction and interdependence that connect things. Some verbal explanation is still needed, or a series of photos. I like to do this with narrated slide presentations.

Do you feel a connection?

More often, I try to close in on my wildlife subjects, creating intimate portraits, or, to use Muir's phrase, "pick out (something) by itself..." In this case, of course, the invisible cords are indeed invisible, the animal is out of context and not bound to anything.

Or is it?

Ansel Adams once answered critics who complained about the absence of people in his photographs by saying "There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer."

This is the more important bond that I think most nature photographers are trying to establish. The photographer already has the connection; that's why he makes the photo. This is the emphasis of miksang orcontemplative photography, in which photography becomes a meditative practice by making the photographer aware that there is an indistinct line between observer and observed. I attended a miksang workshop recently that helped me understand "true perception" as a necessary skill for any photography. Some of the images from this practice are stunningly beautiful, to be sure, but contemplative photography is like journaling, good practice, but not necessarily meant to be shared. 

How does this make you feel?

When we do share a photograph we aim to help the viewer discover an emotion. In the case of wildlife photography, this emotion might be how the viewer feels about the animal, based on his perception of what the animal is doing, thinking or capable of. Or the viewer may feel an emotion that she at least imagines she has in common with the animal being photographed. 

This can lead us to commit the crime of anthropomorphism. We might show a particular image because we are confident that the viewer will imagine that the animal is feeling dignified or silly or sad, when there is really no way to know what, if anything, the animal was feeling at the moment the shutter opened.

I personally do not subscribe to the purely scientific view that animals are incapable of emotions or thoughts. Anyone who has experienced the unconditional love of a dog, or  the studied indifference of a pet cat knows that these animals think and feel. Many wild animals display social structure, teamwork, compassion, playfulness, and the ability to communicate and to learn that seem to go well beyond instinct. 

What is he thinking?

I also do not think that you can necessarily tell what an animal is thinking or feeling by looking at its face or its eyes. This is especially true of fish, which seem to be very expressive, but which actually have no facial muscles, and therefore no way to project any emotions even if they have them.

But we want them to have emotions, so when we see an image of an animal that seems to be cute or adorable or pathetic, we tend to feel something, too, at the emotional or heart level. We feel connected to the animal, and that's okay, because we are.

And that's the point. As a photographer, I want the viewer to feel the connection that already exists, as Muir said, even if you don't actually understand what is going on behind the animal's eyes. When you connect at the heart level that way, you don't have to understand anything. You just have to feel it.

When you view someone's photographs, you are looking through their window on the world. But if you see an image that really moves you, that makes you feel that connection at the heart level, you are actually looking into a mirror. What you see is you. 

I hope as you look at the photographs on my Web page, or any photos that you like, that you will find a little of yourself. And I hope you like what you see.

The Best Frogfish Finder

A few months ago, I wrote a blog piece called "The Best Leopard Spotter,"  about Stu Porter, who was my guide on my photographic exploration of South Africa last fall. Now I've been lucky enough to find Stu's underwater equivalent, a young man named Nestor Vidotto.

Nestor is currently the captain of the Caribbean Explorer II, a fine liveaboard dive boat that I've now spent a total of four weeks on over the past few years. On those trips and on others in the Explorer Ventures fleet, I had gotten to know every crew member on last week's voyage except Nestor, who took the helm of the boat a couple of months ago.

I joined old friends from my old dive club in Maryland for this trip, most of whom had also done multiple trips on the CExII. Most of us arrived about the same time from the states. So it was a happy reunion on the dock at Bobby's Marina on St. Martin the day before Bastille Day. Everyone was there but Nestor, who was busy with last minute details on the boat.

I soon met him and learned that in addition to skippering the boat, he was also the engineer for the week, ensuring that engines, generator and air compressor were all working. He somehow did all of that well enough that he was able to don his own dive gear and jump in the water with us numerous times during the week.

It was a good week for little critters

Most liveaboard captains dive, of course, but the ones I've previously met have generally gone off on their own, enjoying a few peaceful moments away from demanding guests and crew. Nestor prefers going right along with the guests and showing them tiny things that are nearly invisible to normal eyes. I concluded that he has microscopes for eyes.

As a photographer who takes his craft pretty seriously, I tend to avoid crowds underwater, and I usually ignore the signals from guides and divemasters. Not because I am as skilled as they are at finding unusual critters, but because the signals draw other divers like sharks to fresh meat. A mob scene usually ensues. There's no room for a camera rig as big and unwieldy as mine. And all those bodies and fins tend to stir up a major sand storm in the vicinity of whatever critter they're trying to see. Not a good way to get a photograph I would want to show other people.

So when Nestor started banging on his tank near the bottom of the mooring line on a dive site off St. Kitts, I glanced that way, saw there was no emergency and carried on looking for things on a small coral head about 50 feet away. Suddenly, I felt something tapping my arm. It was a long screwdriver, which was attached to Nestor's hand -- his pointer to help people see the tiny critters he had  no trouble with. He signaled me to follow him. A little reluctantly, I did so.

A minute later, he was pointing at something just under the edge of a small crevice and looking at me to make sure I saw it. I didn't. Well, I saw something, a little sponge, bright yellow, a pretty color, but not really worth the diversion. But I figured I'd take a photo anyway, and maybe something would show up when I enlarged the image on the computer.

The frogfish yawns

Nestor then wanted to see my photo, so I showed him my perfectly exposed and tack sharp yellow sponge.  He shook his head no and pointed again. I still saw the yellow sponge. He finally reached for my camera and took a photo himself, then showed it to me. It was not a yellow sponge. It was a very red, very clear frogfish. I looked back to the actual scene, and finally I saw it, nestled up against the bottom of the sponge, totally motionless, very much like a little red sponge.  How Nestor spotted it will be an eternal mystery.

I started taking my own photos of the frogfish. The crevice was fairly tight, so I wasn't able to get a variety of angles. Eventually I swam off, keeping an eye on Nestor to see what else he might find, but then saw a lovely golden tail moray and photographed that for a while.

Near the end of the dive, with air and no-deco time running down, I decided to go back and check on the frogfish. It was still there. I took a few more shots, pretty much like all the others. Finally I started backing off, ready to leave him be, when he suddenly opened his mouth wide in a big yawn. And of course he finished before I could get him in my viewfinder again.

But where there's one yawn, there are often more. At least that's how it works with me. I got the camera back in position and glued my eye to the viewfinder. Sure enough, about 30 seconds later, he yawned again, and within another 15 seconds, yet again. That was one sleepy frogfish. I got three good images of the big yawns, and I was ecstatic.

Back on the boat, Nestor told me to stick with him on the next dive and he would show me things nobody has ever seen.

Microscopic echinoderm

Two other divers joined us for this one. We spent the entire dive in the turtle grass right under the boat, while the other divers (all 14 of them) explored the coral reef that was beyond the visibility. I don't know if it's true that nobody has ever seen these critters before, but Nestor did put me on to a nearly microscopic and beautiful echinoderm, a tiny little lancer dragonet, a pygmy filefish that was doing a great imitation of a broken off piece of turtle grass, and a good sized seahorse that was pretending to be a piece of rope sponge, as well as other things so small I never did figure out what they were.

Nestor has spent most of his life chasing little animals around the Caribbean, and divers lucky enough to explore a reef with him have a real treat in store. He is easily the best frogfish (and other little critter) finder I've seen.

One final note: Nestor is not the only eagle-eyed crew member on the CExII. Claire Keeney, a delightful Scottish pixie, found a deluge of tiny white-spotted sea hares drifting over turtle grass, and at the very end of my very last dive, she found a little bumble bee shrimp exploring the exterior of a sea cucumber. And if Lynn Bean hadn't been hobbled with a foot injury, she would have found lots of nudibranchs for me, as she has done before.

Cuba's Art and Monuments Reflect Modern and Historic Values

Martí monument at the Plaza de la Revolucion

The most prominent monument in Havana, Cuba, is not for Fidel Castro, nor Che Guevara. The 109-meter tower honors José Martí, the intellectual hero of Cuba's struggle for independence from Spain. The poet, essayist, journalist, professor and philosopher died in action in 1895 at the age of 42. 

At the base of the tower an 18-meter statue of Martí overlooks the Plaza de la Revolución. When Fidel Castro was healthier, he delivered his hours-long speeches to hundreds of thousands of Cubans gathered in the plaza. Castro was born in 1926, more than 30 years after Martí's death.

One can learn much about a nation's core values by studying its monuments and how it treats its own history. When the Bolsheviks took power in 1917, they deliberately tried to erase as much of Czarist Russia as they could by destroying and denying centuries of cultural history.

Castro's revolution was inspired in part by the same economic issues that fueled the Bolsheviks, but his regime enthusiastically embraced Cuba's pre-revolutionary culture. The Martí monument was started and completed during the regime of  the hated dictator Fulgencio Batista, but it became the geographic centerpiece of the new regime. Across the Plaza de la Revolución, images of Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos, two heroes of Castro's revolution, look back and up toward Martí.

Monument to Maximo Gomez

Most of the statues in Havana honor other heroes of the 19th century War for Independence. A huge and ornate monument to Gen. Maximo Gomez, for example, anchors the east end of the Malecon, Havana's famous sea wall. 

Che Guavara poster

Che Guevara is the most prominently honored of the Castro revolutionaries. His iconic visage based on a famous photograph by the Cuban photographer Korda adorns t-shirts, hallways, murals, virtually any surface on which an image can be imprinted. 

And while Cubans do not enjoy the same freedom of expression as Americans do, parodies of even Guevara exist, such as the poster of his face on a bare torso painted red with the Nike slogan "Just Do It" across the top.

Almost entirely absent from the iconography of modern socialist Cuba is the leader of the revolution himself, Fidel Castro. Our guide explained that this was because Castro has ordered that no statues or monuments to him be built while he lives. His image will no doubt be ubiquitous when he dies. 

Conspicuously absent from Cuban roadsides is any form of commercial advertising. There are scattered billboards and signs, and even those whose Spanish is limited to "Hola" and "Gracias" will have no trouble understanding "Socialismo Siempre" and "Viva la Revolucion." 

Hemingway bust at Cojimar

One other individual is strongly represented in statues and monuments: the American writer Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway's corner room in the Hotel Ambos Munos in Havana is now a one-room museum. His farm outside Havana, Finca de la Vigía, is now a museum that probably looks just as it did when he lived there until 1960 (and one can't help but wonder if it isn't also a reminder of capitalist decadence). And there is a sculpted bust of the writer overlooking the harbor at Cojimar, the fishing village that inspired  "The Old Man and the Sea." The "old man" was based on a fisherman from the village.

The Black Virgin in Santeria Church

Beyond iconography, Cuba has always embraced the arts and creative people in general, and that did not change with the revolution. As in many Latin American countries, much art is based in religion. Churches and cathedrals abound in sacred paintings and sculpture.

Statue on the Gran Teatro

The Gran Teatro de la Habana is home to an internationally renowned ballet company and regularly hosts concerts and opera performances (which I could hear from my hotel room at night after the son band on the patio finished for the evening).

While Cuba strives to remain a classless society, many artists enjoy special privileges and above average housing, often in the villas of Cuba's wealthiest people who were displaced by the revolution. 

Some of these artists are as important domestically as they are to Cuba's reputation abroad. José Fuster, for example, is a ceramic artist whose work can be found world-wide (except in the U.S., of course), transformed his Havana neighborhood into "Fusterlandia." Fuster's colorful, sometimes quirky sculptures and mosaics stretch for blocks on roofs, walls, doorways  and benches in the vicinity of his studio (which also serves as a paladar, or private restaurant). More than 80 of his neighbors have allowed Fuster to adorn their homes.

Chichi at work in his studio

Other artists work on a smaller scale but with similar artistic freedom.  The potter Chichi throws pots daily in his studio that is open to the public in the 500-year old city of Trinidad on the south coast. Chichi and his apprentices and assistants work tirelessly with their wheels, sanding stations and kiln to produce gorgeous pots for sale in Trinidad's markets, all while visitors stroll through, taking photos and occasionally buying a pot.

Other than the image of Che Guevara looking over Chichi's shoulder, there is no sign of revolutionary propaganda in his work. His pots are traditional, meticulously created and typically Caribbean.

What I take away from all of this is that Cuba honors all of its history, and its values are rooted in traditions and events that are centuries old, re-shaped, but not destroyed, by the revolution that transformed the economy of the island nation more than 50 years ago.

Perhaps one day soon, the U.S. government will again allow its citizens to travel freely and see Cuba for themselves. 

(For more images of Cuban monuments and other art, please visit my Web site:
http://www.finsfeathersfoto.com/p160919884)