I Didn't Invent a New Way to Photograph

When I learned photography, five rolls of film gave you 180 frames.

That was your day.

You didn't stand there firing away hoping something would happen. Every press of the shutter cost you a frame, and there were only so many frames in the bag.

So you looked.

You waited.

And when you thought everything was where it needed to be, you pressed the shutter.

Then digital arrived.

Suddenly 180 frames didn't mean very much.

A memory card could hold thousands of photographs. Another card went in the bag and another battery in the pocket.

The limitation disappeared.

And, somewhere along the way, some of the discipline disappeared with it.

Mine included.

180 / 36 / 1

I didn't invent 180 / 36 / 1.

I've simply put numbers around something film photographers understood instinctively.

180 frames.

From those, perhaps 36 frames genuinely did what you went there to do.

And amongst those, if you came home with one photograph that really mattered, you'd had a pretty good day.

The numbers aren't important.

The thinking behind them is.

Because when you've only got 180 opportunities, you spend considerably more time looking at what's happening before deciding that something deserves one of them.

That's what film taught me.

Not nostalgia.

Not that film is somehow more pure than digital.

Discipline.

Then I Found Myself Back There

For years I worked quickly.

News, weddings, editorial work, sport — different jobs demanded different things, and sometimes making a lot of frames was simply part of getting the job done.

But over time, I found myself wanting to slow down again.

Not because I'd discovered some revolutionary new approach to photography.

Quite the opposite.

I was returning to the way I'd been taught.

Look first.

Understand why you're making the photograph.

Then wait for the moment.

Eventually I gave that process a name.

BIT.

Breathe. Intent. Timing.

Breathe

Before I lift the camera, stop.

Look at what's happening.

Photography can become surprisingly frantic when you're worried about missing something. The irony is that sometimes, in trying desperately not to miss the photograph, you stop seeing it.

Intent

Why am I making this frame?

There doesn't need to be some profound answer.

It might simply be the light.

A gesture.

The relationship between two people.

Something happening at the edge of the frame.

But I want there to be a reason I'm pressing the shutter beyond something might happen.

Timing

Then comes the bit photography has always been about.

When.

A fraction of a second can change everything.

A hand moves. Someone looks up. Two people separate. The light changes.

And the photograph that was there is gone.

Sometimes you get it.

Sometimes you don't.

That's photography.

What Photography Taught Me Twice

It took digital photography to eventually remind me what film had already taught me.

180 / 36 / 1 and BIT aren't really two different ideas.

They're the same lesson separated by decades.

One came from having a limited number of frames.

The other came from realising I didn't need unlimited ones.

Neither is a rule.

I'm certainly not going to tell another photographer how many photographs they're allowed to make.

They're simply reminders to myself.

Breathe.

Know your intent.

Trust your timing.

And above everything else, look.

Because after all these years, I keep coming back to the same conclusion.

The point was never to shoot more.

It was to see more.

Pete George

See with Purpose. Share with Heart.