Have you ever noticed how a single photographer working somewhere out in nature can attract others?

Especially if you're anywhere near a trail or a road, it's almost a given that somebody will stop. Then maybe it's a few somebodies. A couple minutes ago you were by yourself; now it's a party and they're all pulling out phones (sometimes big cameras, too). Whatever you're shooting might not be at all obvious, but that doesn't seem to matter. There must be something interesting here.

Why does this happen? Is it some sort of groupthink? Fear of missing out?

One time, on a dirt road in a lonely corner of Grand Teton National Park, a women driving by screeched to a halt, got out of her vehicle - camera in hand - walked over to me and asked, "What are you seeing?"

Not, "What are you shooting?" (though I suppose that was inferred), but even more basic: ""What are you seeing?"

Of course she stopped because I was working with my camera on a tripod. Beyond that, though, apparently nothing about the landscape or the conditions that afternoon in that location had caught her eye, yet she parked the car. She wanted to know what I'd noticed and was prepared to make a picture based on my response.

What I'd chosen to photograph was, of course, completely irrelevant. I should have answered her question with one of my own: "What are you seeing?"

Whatever captures another photographer's attention doesn't matter. It's what you see that's important.

One suspects (one hopes!) these "stoppers" aren't people who take photography seriously. But the concept of unique vision is applicable to all of us and it's important to bear in mind.

Each of us brings to our photography a perspective that is uniquely ours: life experiences shape our vision. The way each of us connects with the landscape is, therefore, unique. Details and vignettes and colors and shapes and subjects that generate a response in me might not resonate with you - and vice versa.

This is wonderful! It's how unique images can be created, even in places that are often photographed.

It's also why one gallery visitor might be drawn to some of your images but not others, while the guy standing next to her reacts differently. Everyone has their own unique perspective.

Visit a location with another photographer and there's a good chance the two of you will make entirely different images, even though the conditions are exactly the same. You could be standing side-by-side and still generate vastly different output. Each of you will notice different things. Your interpretations of the landscape will be unique. Your mindsets will be different. You will make different choices: about lenses, settings, and compositions.

There is no right or wrong.

As Ansel Adams said, "You reveal your impression of nature, or of nature's impact on you." It's not about your buddy's experience, or the photographers who have visited previously. It's personal: a unique connection between you and the environment, on that particular day, wherever you happen to be.

What are you seeing? What are you feeling? What are you experiencing?

What will you reveal about yourself in the photograph you make?

Sometimes we second guess ourselves. We might think, "I probably shouldn't be shooting this. It's not the kind of photo that will generate a lot of likes."

Stay true to your vision.

When self-doubt raises its head, swat it back down. Just because the rest of your group makes a beeline to a spot a few yards away doesn't mean you have to work there, too. Whatever caught your eye might be just as interesting - perhaps more interesting - than what they're photographing.

Whatever made you pause and exclaim "Look at that!" is worthy of your attention.

About the Photograph

It's not unusual for me to assign human characteristics to things that aren't human: that's the way I interpret a lot of scenes, anyway. The photograph at the top of the post is one example.

I love fog. It's sometimes challenging to work with due to its unpredictability, but it creates mood and is a great simplifier. On this early morning in Grand Teton National Park, the fog was extremely dense. Because there had been precipitation overnight (cold rain in the valley and snow in the mountains) I expected to see it; this location is a reliable area if you wish to be on the edge of the dense white curtain.

It took a few hours before more of the landscape became visible. While waiting, I noticed these two trees. Due to the heavy conditions, all but the immediate foreground was completely obscured. The single aspen and little pine, neither of which would normally be conspicuous (on a sunny day, for example) were visually quite significant. Peak color on the aspen added more emphasis.

I saw these trees standing there, face-to-face, in some sort of rendezvous. Were they just meeting now for the first time and sizing each other up? Otherwise alone in the world, were they relieved to have discovered each other? Or was this some sort of a faceoff? Because I couldn't decide whether or not their interaction was amicable, I simply entitled it Encounter.

You might see something entirely different. Or nothing at all. That's the magic of unique vision.