Gecko eating a green bug, Molokai, Hawaii.

Point And Shoot

My wife and I had just walked back to our cabin at the Hui when I saw the gecko on the window. It was perched on the outside of the window glass with a bug over half its size in its mouth. Having tried numerous times to get a good shot of geckos as they walk on windows – I knew they were easily spooked by the slightest detectable movement in their field of vision – so in a hushed scream of photographic desperation I whispered “Sweetie DONT MOVE!”. At which my lovely wife smiled, looked at me, then promptly picked up her iphone and began snapping photos – flash on.

Spooked by the light, the gecko began beating a rapid retreat to the safety of the off glass area to digest its delectable meal as I scrambled to get my macro lens and strobe on my camera. I saw the shot dissolving before my eyes like the poor green insect dissolving in the gecko’s digestive track.

I’m not sure what, but something stopped the lizard in its tracks less than an inch from the edge of photographic oblivion. Perhaps he sensed he was about to be made famous, or perhaps he simply was thinking ‘Man the green ones always cause acid reflux!”. Whatever it was that stopped the little guy it was the micro seconds I needed to quickly and stealthily sneak up on the bugger and snap a couple frames.

Dewitt often says that as photographers we are responsible for only two things. What you put in your camera frame and when you press the shutter. What you put in your camera frame – point. When you press the shutter – shoot. Point and shoot. So simple. Why do we make it so complex?

Kapuaiwa Palm Grove at sunset, Molokai, Hawaii.

What is the story?

Many people ask me how many good photographs I get when I go out shooting.  Back in the film days this question was framed ‘Jonathan, how many good photos do you get per roll of 36 images?’ Now, with the 36 image roll of film irrelevant, they simply reframe the question to ‘What’s your ratio of good photographs to bad?’

It took me a long time before I could articulate an answer to that question that didn’t leave me feeling strangely drained and awkward.  Not because I didn’t have an answer – at that time in my life I knew exactly how many good frames I was averaging per roll of film, and could return that figure as accurately as a cash register printing a receipt.  I just never liked the connotations of my answer – whatever the number was.  I never liked the idea that one of the metrics of how good or bad a photographer I was could somehow be measured by how many good or bad frames I captured on a roll of 36.

A number of years ago I was talking to Dewitt, and, probably feeling competitive that afternoon, asked him what his ratio was of good photographs to bad.  He returned my question with a knowing smile and just let enough silence fill the space after my last words fell quiet to make me feel like I had just asked a police officer pulling me over for doing 90 in a 45 if I had done something wrong.

When Dewitt broke the silence he said “You know if your asking that… you’re asking the wrong question.” Feeling a little like young Luke Skywalker learning the force from master Yoda I said, “Well what is the question I should be asking?” And Dewitt answered, ‘The question you should be asking is not how many good shots I got, the question you should be asking is ‘did I get THE shot’?” He then went on to say, “You either get the shot or you don’t get the shot – it’s as simple as that.”  The light dawned in my mind and I swear I saw Dewitt’s camera levitating ever so slightly on the table behind his chair. “It’s not how many good shots I got, the question is, ‘did I get the shot?’”

I find that every time the answer to that question is NO, every time I fail to get THE SHOT,  it is because  I couldn’t see clearly – even if the shot was right there in front of me.  There are many names for this.  Cartier Bresson described it as the decisive moment.  Rikki Cooke describes it as what turns his head.  Chris Rainier describes it as a feeling in the solar plexes.  All words describing the same thing – excitement.

So what do I do when I have that feeling in the solar plexes?  When my head is turned to pink light gracing palms in the sky?

My process can be summed up in three words.  Ask, See, Do.

Asking – What is the story here?  Or as Rikki says, What is turns my head? What matters in this scene and what doesn’t? And do I have permission?

Seeing – Seeing the story in my mind’s eye. Seeing the shot at my core level.

Doing – Seeing the story in my camera.  Not letting the technology and the technique cloud my vision – but rather, augment my vision as an extension of the excitement I feel for the scene in front of me.

Perhaps it is because I am the youngest sibling in my family, or perhaps it was a habit developed later in life – but I must confess that I like to compete and I like to win. I thrive under pressure. It clarifies my mind better than any cup of coffee could by eliminating the unimportant. Whether it was climbing the Nose on El Capitan when I was 19 or being top of my class at Brooks, I always felt I had something to prove to myself, my family and my friends.

This week at the Hui, Dewitt has forwarded the following thought on competition “don’t prove, improve”. Don’t prove, improve – such a small shift of words, such a large shift of intent.

Yesterday afternoon I and 18 other photographers were shooting a hula halau on Molokai and I began to watch my process as I photographed. I know how to make a great picture of this scene. The competitive proving side of me begins to rise. But proving means I do what I always do – improving means I have permission to take a risk and potentially fail. I pause. Don’t prove Jonathan – improve. A weight is lifted off my shoulders. Permission to play, permission to experiment – granted…

Hula dancer, Molokai, Hawaii. (slow shutter)

Photographing on the west end of Molokai I was astonished to see bodyboarders riding a wave that I have never seen anybody surf before. Yet there the bodyboarders were charging a gnarly right that threatened to spit them onto a rocky lava shelf. Risking life and limb they took off with great smiles of glee whooping down the face and pulling back just before being thrown unceremoniously on the sand.

As I panned my camera, following their bodies skimming down the surface, I smiled to myself at the similarity of the reasons we were both there. Rikki Cooke often says to ‘follow your excitement’ and that is what led me and 18 other photographers to the beach on the promise of a high surf warning. The reward is wave after beautiful wave backlit blue by the setting sun, intermittently interrupted by the whoops of gleeful surfers skimming down the face. May I follow my photographic excitement with the same reckless abandonment and pure glee that as these bodyboarders.

Bodyboarder surfing on the west end of Molokai, Hawaii.

Day 1 of See The Light on Molokai, Hawaii.  Participants arrive from as far away as Canada.  Molokai greets them with a spectacular sunset and show of stars.  Below is the Veitchi palm off the front porch of my cabin at the Hui Hoolana.

Night sky with star trails behind a Veitchi palm on Molokai.

Night sky with star trails behind a Veitchi palm on Molokai.

Favorite quote from the day:

I think we are healing the planet when we appreciate beauty.  - Rikki Cooke

Wave #3, Mo'omomi Nature Preserve, Molokai, Hawaii.

Stunning sunrise at Mo`omomi nature preserve this morning.  Is it possible to be so full of beauty that you don’t know what to do with it?  Yes. Here. Now.

Wave #1, Moomomi Nature Preserve , Molokai, Hawaii

Wave #2, Moomomi Nature Preserve , Molokai, Hawaii

I walked to the main lodge this morning to the sounds of aloha floating across the Hui’s lawn. Bronwyn and hui staff were sitting on the punee, ukelele’s in hand, performing Pule o’o Moloka’i (Prayer for Molokai), a hauntingly beautiful song. Posted here for you to share the aloha.

Near hole 3 of the decommissioned Kalua Koi golf course, Molokai, Hawaii.

Favorite quote from the day:

Trying to photograph is loving.

It’s a spontaneous thing and the moment effort starts going into it then all of a sudden your starting to get shackled.  Your shackled with your mind, your history, your should’s – ‘I can do it better’, and your judgements.

So the trying part is showing up – that’s the discipline – to show up.

- Rikki Cooke

Hear Rikki below:

Church near Kaunakakai, Molokai, Hawaii.

Church near Kaunakakai, Molokai, Hawaii (painted).

I once was filled with sons of men
who raised their arms to God in praise

Until brushfire kissed my walls and then
set my roof ablaze

My congregation now consists of souls less apt to sing
but whisper softly with their leaves and for companions birds they bring

My architect must have known some day my roof would fall
for in my stones he etched the path – an arrow on my wall

Its message simple yet profound
I ask you all to see

My final sermon of them all
Point to heaven constantly

by, Jonathan Kingston

Church destroyed by fire, Halawa Valley, Molokai, Hawaii