Seeing Through the Lens of Motherhood

In The Slow Approach, we share individual perspectives on what it means to slow down, and how doing so can have a positive effect on our experiences as well as the images we capture.

There was no aha moment in my photographic experiences that led me to preferring a slow approach. It was something I increasingly adopted once I realised that slowing down made my experiences inherently more satisfying, and allowed me to be more intentional in my work. Like many others, my interest in landscape photography started with a desire to spend time outdoors, to unwind, to disconnect from the work environment, and to find some solitude. In addition, becoming a mother, and the desire to pass on my love for nature, focused my attention on what I hold dear: Experiencing and enjoying nature, and being able to see it through the eyes of my children. 

Aspen Rainbow / Anna Morgan

At first, I was drawn towards iconic or popular locations, setting expectations, and becoming frustrated when those expectations did not materialise. However, before moving from the U.K. to Canada’s west coast, I had a series of immensely fulfilling photographic experiences right in my own back yard, in locations I never previously considered photographing. I had been forced to slow down, first due to being heavily pregnant, and then by having a small baby in tow. This was when I started making images that were truly my own vision, and to which I feel much more strongly and personally connected. That’s not to say I’m not influenced by other photographers, or indeed other artists. On the contrary, I deliberately spend time looking at art, preferably in person. I am very aware that all artists are influenced by those that have come before them, by their contemporaries, and by their own values and belief systems. I now realise that that influence can continue to occupy its place as a component of what shapes me, while the nature I am photographing itself remains my ultimate inspiration for personal creativity.  

“Mindful of how a child’s relationship to nature is established in the early years, I talk outwardly about what I see to my two-year-old son and he, in turn, now points things out to me.”

I have evolved my thoughts on slowing down through an iterative process of reflection, which I have been able to explore within my current academic interests. For me, a slow approach requires not necessarily a physical slowing (although this is often also true), but an acute awareness of my surroundings, of the interactions between different elements in the landscape, and listening deeply to how nature is speaking to me, allowing myself to be present to it.  

Oak and Granite / Anna Morgan

My studies in ecological health have taught me that ecology is about the big picture, the system; a holism within which there are myriad connections; tangible, intangible, unknown, or even unimaginable possibilities. It is a strange curiosity that while my exploration of this big picture grows, my images have become ever more concentrated on intimate scenes. I am coming to realise this is reflective of the fact that the intricacies of the natural world are so complex, so unfathomable, that I find it impossible to communicate them in grand scenic images, because the depth of beauty of the detailed relationships are lost. The experiences I have in making images have become the means by which to understand my inner self, to inquire into my own curiosity and consider my emotional responses to the ecological landscape.  

Perfect Imperfection / Anna Morgan

Although I still visit well known and popular locations, I am able to let go of any expectations, choosing instead to embrace what is thrown my way, listening to the light and other elements, and photographing in the moment. If that doesn’t result in quality images, then I no longer find myself feeling disappointed like I used to because, for me, the meaning is created in the experience and not in the result. I take my time setting up the image, composing it and getting it right in camera and, as a result, I also take far fewer images than I would have done in years gone by. However, the quality of those that I do take is far higher, they allow me to continue learning, and the end result is more satisfying and personally fulfilling. 

Mosaic / Anna Morgan

Some of my most personally meaningful images have been literally years in the making. I walk regularly through local parks and beaches, which we are fortunate to have lots of in Vancouver, observing the slow changes that unfold over the seasons and the shifting relationships that develop throughout the year; between leaves and water, driftwood and the tide, seasonal berries and bird communities, trees backlit by the sun. And so on. Mindful of how a child’s relationship to nature is established in the early years, I talk outwardly about what I see to my two-year-old son and he, in turn, now points things out to me. He loves water and it is a joy to see him connect to nature in such an innocent and innately curious way. Throwing stones into the ocean or creeks is one of his favourite activities, and he delights in hearing the splash and seeing the ripples appear. On a recent family trip to the Eastern Sierra, we took a slow walk along Lee Vining Creek and, when we stopped for him to throw pebbles into the water, he pointed out a little aspen leaf and a pine needle holding firm while the water flowed around them. The play of these details with the light on the water were quite special and I set about recording the experience (image below). For me, this is a prime example of how slowing down goes beyond the photography itself, to a much deeper feeling of fulfilment. These rewarding experiences with my young children have made the move to a slower approach all the more worthwhile and, I believe, have helped to considerably improve my photographic seeing.

Enigma / Anna Morgan