Here and Now

In last week’s column, I mentioned The Decisive Moment, a photographic term for the moment when the subjects of a photograph in motion come together perfectly. The term is applied primarily to a street photograph, where such a moment is snatched from ongoing human activity. The subject(s) of the photograph are in motion, and in one particular instant, the photograph as framed by the viewfinder comes together in perfect geometry, preferably without the knowledge of the subjects. The photographer must click the shutter at this moment.

It was the French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson who first made The Decisive Moment famous by publishing an astonishingly beautiful photo book of the same name. Photographers such as Andre Kertesz and Martin Munkacsi had practiced the idiom before Cartier-Bresson, but perhaps had not recognized its potential.

These photographers were empowered by smaller camera design. Before them, candid photography in the street was impossible because cameras were bulky and shutters were slow. They needed tripods and so could not be positioned or repositioned quickly; movement could not be frozen. The emergence of small hand-held cameras enabled photographers on the run to take photographs of moving subjects. Cartier-Bresson found his perfect tool in the newly invented Leica 35mm camera.

There is, however, another element necessary for practicing The Decisive Moment. This element is as important for photographers today as it was during Cartier-Bresson’s day. The photographer must be Here and Now.

And so Cartier-Bresson acknowledges the influence of the book Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel. The book is a philosophical treatise on Japanese archery and the competitive archer’s need to concentrate. It dwells on “the contest of the archer with himself.”

It took me some time to understand the connection between Zen, archery and photography. The common theme is attaining levels of concentration so nothing – absolutely nothing – distracts me from what is in front of the viewfinder when I am taking a photograph. I must be totally, completely Here and Now.

I practiced this principle during the years I photographed in the streets. Later when I fell into bird photography, I found it equally if not more applicable.

Let’s face it, photography cries out for fussing. You fuss with the lens, with the camera settings, with the light and shadows and with everything around you. But to catch the right moment, you must simplify, so you are aware only of the subject. No tendrils of thought about “is this the right ISO”, or “should I zoom in a bit more” or “am I using the right aperture.” No hesitation about your position, “Should I move forward a bit?” No wondering if another bird sat on a tree outside the frame. No surprise, then, that Cartier-Bresson used only one lens (50mm) and one camera to take his best photographs. The camera became an extension of his body, his eyes, his mind.

So that’s what happens in my best photographs. My entire being is concentrated looking into the viewfinder. The Decisive Moment arrives without warning. If I see it after it comes, it is already too late because in the milliseconds that my finger takes to press the shutter, it will have passed.

No, I have to feel it coming before it is here. I have to be Here and Now - just like those Japanese archers.

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