Posted on December 5, 2020
The first time I saw the aurora borealis, it might have been in the mid 80’s as an infant in a stroller, napping outside on a midwinter day as is common up here. Maybe it was as a toddler, curiously looking out the window one dark afternoon.
Since we can’t remember these things I’m going to say it was in the early 90’s, I would have been 6 or 7.
My friends and I laying flat on our backs on a mountain of snow in the early afternoon. Exhausted from digging tunnels through the white gold all day. Feeling the cold air against our faces like a thousand tiny needles, hearing the squeaking and crunching of snow under boots passing by.
We’re looking up at a starry sky between apartment buildings around us when something suddenly happens above. It’s almost as if music starts playing.
It’s not the kind of song you would hear on the radio, not a billboard hit to dance or sing along to.
No, this is different.
This song is not heard, for this phenomenon is completely silent. This tune is experienced, felt only inside and this music is just for you.
Faint green veils flowing across the sky, building in brightness then fading again. Little patches of sky lighting up and fading, flickering, like the gentle tapping of keys by a brilliant piano player.
It appears to take a deep breath before flaring up again, the soft green veils converge overhead and we know what’s coming.
In an instant the soft piano score turns into a symphony. The corona, spikes of pink and green electric light shooting out of the darkness overhead and I worriedly wonder if it could possibly reach us down there on top of our snow cave.
It’s exhilarating and deeply soothing all at once.
Those are my first clear memories of seeing the aurora borealis, as a child outside playing during polar night in subarctic Kiruna, Sweden.
I would look up in awe at the starry sky every chance I got during those childhood years, not having a clue what it was I was looking at. Not equipped to comprehend the sheer scale of it all.
As I entered my teenage years the fascination had gradually turned to fear.
Learning about the almost incomprehensible size of stars when we see them as the tiniest points of light in the sky, that scared me half to death. Trying to imagine the scale of the entire universe weighed heavy on my shoulders, who are we and what’s the point of us? Where does it all end, is there even an end? I knew that no one could answer these questions so they went unasked. They were kept deep inside in a little locked chest until that chest grew into a black hole that devoured me. I stopped looking at the night sky, my eyes were fixed on the ground when I had to be outside after dark.
A whole decade and plenty of therapy later, my eyes finally dared look up again and that childlike sense of wonder and fascination came right back. This time in a body better equipped to tackle the existential dread that had destroyed that little girl. This time with tools readily available for learning about all the things we see. Nebulae, galaxies, star clusters, meteors, the aurora – they were no longer frightening to me, with an understanding of the processes at work they became even more beautiful.
I fell in love with the night sky all over again.
Looking up at the aurora now, I know I’m watching our planet’s defense system at work. Our magnetic field, this invisible shield all around us, protecting us from the high energy particles in the solar wind beating down on our planet. As those particles travel along the magnetic field lines to the poles where they collide with oxygen and nitrogen in our atmosphere, we see the light show that is the aurora.
Without this invisible shield, we would be subject to a much, much higher rate of radiation down here on earth so what was once frightening is now comforting.
The fear of the unknown has turned into relief, the starry sky into a weighted blanket. It’s ok not knowing everything, it’s even freeing. I no longer feel a need to know what our greater purpose is, for I don’t believe there is one. I now think it’s ok to be content with the thought that maybe it’s all just random. Perfectly chaotic but ordered by the laws of physics, everything continues to evolve whether there is a greater purpose or not. That’s the beauty of it all, this stunningly beautiful universe doesn’t care.
There is nothing like watching the aurora dance against a backdrop of a million stars to put things in perspective. Our lives down here on earth are but dust in the wind but at the same time they are everything we’ll ever have.
Many years have passed since I got the help I needed to let go of some of that existential dread. It was a long process of accepting that no one needs to know everything, I don’t need to know exactly when our universe will end. Knowing would not put me at ease or make me happier. I don’t need to search for a greater purpose of our existence, just like we don’t typically obsess over what the greater purpose of a slug might be.
The universe is vast, it’s unimaginably humongous, we will never see it all but the bits we zwei can see are mind blowing so why not spend as much time as possible enjoying the view.
I still take the time to lay down on my back to watch the starry sky when I’m out photographing. It’s easy to be somewhat removed from the scene when you spend the whole time working with a camera. That’s why I make it a point to spend at least the same amount of time just enjoying the show as I do using my camera to capture it.
These days I take every chance I get to stargaze, feeling like I need to make up for the years I missed.
I started taking pictures of the night sky to preserve those memories forever, because every single night spent under the stars is special. I missed a decade of northern lights, I don’t want to miss any more, not a single display.
Living up here far north of the arctic circle is a luxury when it comes to that. Up here we don’t really need apps or forecasts to tell us if there will be aurora that night, we simply turn our lights off and look out the window. One might think that this commonality would desensitise a person to the wonder of the aurora but in my experience it’s quite the opposite. What I’ve learnt from so intensely watching the aurora for the last seven or so years is that it is ever changing. It’s never ever boring. Yes, the various shapes and structures of the aurora are well known, we know that we will probably see an arch of green or those flowing veils but that arch and those veils will never be the same as the ones we’ve seen before.
It will never cease to amaze me when the sky above looks like a celestial ocean. Waves of green flowing overhead and you can see the stars through them like tiny organisms under the surface.
I’m afraid of the dark but the allure of the aurora draws me out alone into the night, once there I don’t feel alone. The aurora becomes a companion, it walks with you, talks with you. It fills you up, sometimes puts a tear in your eye from its beauty alone. A religious person would probably call it a spiritual experience, I call it a moment of the purest joy, true excitement, overflowing with childlike wonder, love.
I wish I could give that back to the terrified teenager who was afraid to ask questions.
Posted on October 17, 2020
If you follow me you have probably noticed that I haven’t posted much new photography for quite a while.
I took a break.
It wasn’t planned at all, it just happened. One day I realised that I hadn’t touched a camera for many weeks.
I think all of us have these periods, one day you wake up and your inspiration, drive and desire have just vanished.
If you’re like me and live with anxiety and a constantly present bud of depression, the more time that passes the harder it will be to pick back up. That thought alone creates even more stress and there you are, in a downward spiral without a clue how to climb back up.
This would be where those ‘self-help gurus’ turned this blog post into an article on how you can easily snap yourself out of it in ten easy, breezy steps (with a few well placed ads for ‘natural remedies’).
Well, I’m not one of them so that won’t be happening here, sorry.
When living with depression, it will feel like one of the worst things you can do is stop doing the things that you love, the things that make you feel good and more so, good about yourself. I’m not saying this as any sort of expert, I’m only speaking from my own experience. I know that when I take away the things that bring me joy, the dark disaster thoughts get more room.
Am I seriously ill and I just don’t know it yet? Will I die in a fiery car crash if I get behind the wheel today? Will an asteroid hit earth tonight? Will I be horribly judged if I post this photo? Will they think I’m an idiot if I reply to this tweet?
Many years ago I let those thoughts take over because I wasn’t equipped to handle them. I was left with an overwhelming feeling of not being in control of anything which in turn lead to me alternating between starving myself and binge eating. My own food intake was something I could control so I did, that landed me in a treatment facility for seven long weeks.
I think that I can confidently say that it won’t happen again.
Everyone who lives with anxiety, depression and panic attacks will know that every dark period teaches us more than any professor ever could.
I know that I will be out of this period soon, that’s always the case. I couldn’t trust in that back then because I didn’t know, I hadn’t lived through it enough times to know for sure that it gets better. Now I do. It gets better.
Now I’m in a place where I feel OK about taking a break, even if it’s from something I really love.
I even think it might be healthy to do just that, take a break. If you find yourself suddenly lacking that drive and passion for the thing you do, if possible, try just not doing it for a while.
For me, the result is usually a completely renewed love, a fresh perspective and even more joy once I pick back up again.
I don’t know why I felt the need to post this at all, no one has complained about the lack of new photos. In fact, people have been absolutely lovely!
But that’s the thing with anxiety, it’s that little nasty devil on your shoulder, whispering into your ear that any minute now everyone will figure out what a fraud you are so you feel the need to explain yourself even though nobody asked.
As I said, I have no simple solutions, no miraculous remedy. I’m just venting.
And I just want you to know that if you’re struggling with similar things/thoughts, you are not alone and you’re not crazy (trust me, I have it on paper from actual doctors.)
Posted on January 3, 2019
Can we ditch the term “photoshopped”?
What most people mean when they toss that word around is “manipulated”, an image far from what the photographer saw at the time, an image with elements removed or added in the editing process.
I shoot in RAW, as I’m certain a lot if not most photographers do.
When you shoot in RAW you get an unfinished picture. It will be lacking in contrast, saturation etc. It is up to you to process/edit it to get the final result you desire. This is often done in Lightroom or Photoshop with Camera RAW.
This is when you can make sure your final image reflects what your eyes saw or you can go crazy and create a true work of art nothing like what it really looked like.
Or anything in between.
This is entirely up to you and there are no rights or wrongs in art.
If you’re producing journalistic photos you need to keep it real and true.
If you’re calling your work “nature photography”, well then you need to keep it natural. Don’t merge images taken at different locations at different times and call it a photograph.
Those of you who shoot in jpeg get a finished picture straight out of the camera but guess what? Those edits I mentioned are still made but they’re done in camera and decided for you by the people who made that camera.
When you choose one of the different “shooting styles” that many entry level cameras have, your camera sets everything for you. Doing this can produce pictures that are much more “unreal” than any RAW file heavily processed in Lightroom. (yes I’ve tried).
Many photographers will say “it’s natural, straight out of camera, not photoshopped!” when in fact your camera has done the “photoshopping” for you, basically slapped a filter on the picture and given you zero control over the final product.
You can manipulate the scene in camera when you shoot in RAW as well, of course.
Change the white balance to get weird colors, underexpose, overexpose, create motion blur, zoom in or out during the exposure etc.
Are those pictures entirely natural just because they came out of the camera like that?
And what is “natural”?
When you stand in a beautiful landscape watching the sunset, is the landscape in front of you pitch black? No?
Well if you take a photo and expose for the sky it will be.
Is that natural? Or is it a more natural result if you pull up the shadows in your RAW-file to show the foreground as you saw it. Or if you take three exposures of different lengths and merge them into an HDR image to show a much higher dynamic range, more in line with what your eyes actually saw.
And then there’s those of us who also do astrophotography. Long exposures of the starry sky.
Our eyes will never see the bright colors in the Orion Nebula or the subtle colors of the Milky Way but our cameras do!
The information is there and our cameras capture it.
A long exposure of the starry sky in a dark location will show many more stars than your eyes can see, straight out of camera with no editing at all. Is that “natural”?
To get a good photo of the Milky Way you absolutely have to do a lot of processing.
I just get so tired of seeing the phrase “photoshopped” thrown around when 90% of the time the person saying it doesn’t have a grasp of the meaning of it or the process.
If you really mean “manipulated” then say that and ask the photographer (politely) about their process. Any honest photographer would gladly answer. 🙂
If there’s any interest I’ll write a post about how I process my aurora photos!