This made me question whether late afternoon really is the best time for photography, at least for me.
Recently I found myself in Hobart for the first time in many years. It was late afternoon and I was instantly drawn to the bustling waterfront, camera in hand. The busy restaurants, the brightly coloured boats, the beautifully preserved historic buildings – how could I take a bad photo here? And yet I did. I couldn’t get inspired, the two or three photos I made were disappointing. I couldn’t capture what I wanted to share about the scene.
The next morning I set out to explore the city before dawn, unable to sleep. For this I am grateful. Camera in hand again, deserted wharves and streets, I was free to take my time in the palpable silence. There is something intoxicating about that early morning light, the stillness, it’s physical, you can breathe it in. And inspiration appeared. The water so still, reflections looked like reality. The colours moody, muted, creating a feeling that was just right.
In hindsight the late afternoon light the day before was too harsh, making it difficult for me to share what I saw. Too bright. Too much shadow. Too busy. Too many subjects. This was surprising to me, I’ve always been a person of the light, chasing the sun, warming my bones, bathing in bright colours. I’m not sure when that changed or why. Perhaps it’s a process of growing, slowing down, seeking quietness and learning what feels like the best time for photography for my own way of seeing.
I now find the morning light and stillness just perfect. A foggy day in the mountains brings me joy. I chase dewdrops on leaves on damp mornings. I love reflections in puddles after the rain. And when I travel, getting up before dawn to explore a new place helps to experience it in a whole new way.
This difference in light and mood can be explained in technical terms, but I prefer to think of it as chasing the magic.
Words & Photographs
This article was written and photographed by Loop Member, Leah Wheatley