May 11, 2024
At 10:20 pm on Saturday May 11, my friend Terry texted me a photo she had just taken of the aurora borealis with her phone from her deck on the banks of the Blackfoot River in Missoula, MT. Greens, fuchsias, and magentas, though faint, filled the sky. The aurora’s appearance in much of the world had caused quite a sensation the night before, and a stronger showing was forecast for this night. My photo buddy and I had gone out to a wildlife refuge in the Bitterroot Valley aiming to view and photograph the aurora. I turned to him beside me in his chair, his camera pointed to the sky, and declared, “It’s out there! The aurora is out there!”
We had been set up since before dark at the edge of a large pond and photographed our surroundings in the fading light while waiting for the sky to light up. We chose that spot because there were supposed to be fewer clouds than other favored locations. Still, there were some clouds. Fingers crossed.
It was now completely dark with stars emerging and a fattening silver of moon appearing over the mountains. I asked my companion, “Do you see anything?” “Nope.” So far, both of us had only seen some faint vertical white lines that looked like strange clouds. “It has to be out there! Terry’s phone saw it.” I raised my phone and took a test shot. Yes, there it was. Shades of magenta, green, orange streaked across the sky and reflected in the water, pleasant, not intense.
Well, at least our cameras will see it. We got busy. My companion had researched what settings to use, including a recommended 3500K white balance. I started there and pressed the shutter. Oh, yes, there was color, alright! Green, nothing but green. And spider-like clouds. Convinced there had to be magenta or red, I set the white balance to 5600K and pressed again. This time there were fuchsia, green, orange.
I looked up. Nothing. My eyes saw nothing but white clouds and dark sky! No color. Nada. My cousin who lives in a small town in northern Montana east of the Rocky Mountains reported seeing vivid colors, dancing in the sky. And heard its sounds. Sounds?
How can this be? How can nature be so cruel as to leave us both out of the party? Blame your rods and cones, they say. And the spectrum of light. Our eyes do not see the full spectrum of light, certainly not as much as the aurora borealis can emit. Some people see more than others. Well, that seems true!
Do my rods and cones then dictate and limit my reality? Are the raw files my camera produces a valid expansion of my reality? Is reality what I see peering at my camera’s monitor? Do the images people share on social media represent reality?
What the heck then is reality in photography? (Or in life, but that’s a topic for another time and place). What reality do I convey? Minor White’s view was, if an image has spirit, do we care how it gets made?
Reality is not an unedited negative or digital file. And it’s certainly not the print. Ansel Adams famously cropped, dodged and burned his negatives. So, the photographer, like any other artist, brings his/her/their own reality to the scene. Which of my aurora images is reality? The one with 3500K? The one with 5600K? Which one is more pleasing and to whom? Which has more “spirit”? It seems to me that the one that matters is the one that matters to the photographer who took the photo.
My companion and I still were not seeing any color. The clouds increase. The moon beneath them is bright. Pivot. Aim camera at the moon. Press. Another reality has been revealed. My reality.
The notion that there are many realities, and that mine matters, is comforting to me as an artist. It gives license to explore, create and release to the universe my own reality, the core of my being, which means if I stay true to my core, my result will be different from anyone else’s. It’s possible it may also mean something to someone else. I like that. I’m filled with wonder and admiration (and sometimes a little envy) at viewing other photographers’ work. My companion preferred the reflected trees. I preferred the open water. And the moon. Our different realities were evident even with a singular mission of going out together to photograph something wondrous in the night sky.
Judy
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