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Capturing Nature

I suspect I’m not the first person who gave little credence to the results of the high school career test my guidance counselor had insisted I take. My results put me right on the line between biology and art, which seemed far fetched to me at the time – I couldn’t draw to save my life and while I’d done well in the class, I proceeded to burn all my biology notes right after graduation. I may have even vowed never to take another biology class in my life, and yet I spent that summer before college wandering through the woods with my younger brother spouting the biological details of our surroundings as we hiked. My brother wisely brought this to my attention and I registered for an ecology class that first semester. 

 

My biology training up until that point had focused on taxonomy, physiology and cellular biology, none of which had particularly captured my attention but this class sent me into the woods to measure trees. I was hooked. I loved the excuse to spend time outdoors, to travel deep into the wilderness, to wade in waist-deep water or squirm through the mud on my belly as I stalked various animals. I loved these purposeful engagements with nature that allowed me to fully see it, hear it, smell it, feel it and yes, sometimes taste it. I loved being part of nature. But I’ll never forget the day I first questioned whether biology was the right path for me. 

I’d gone on a full-day hike, deep into the rainforest beyond the field station in Costa Rica where I was studying strawberry poison dart frogs for my master’s thesis and I’d found a purple caecilian resting on a mossy log. Caecilians are fossorial amphibians that are rarely seen above ground and are severely under-studied as a result. I’d never seen one before and as I enthusiastically described the experience to a fellow graduate student in the cafeteria that night, a senior researcher from the next table leaned over to ask where the specimen was. I had stared at him blankly.   

 

“Do you mean to tell me you didn’t collect it?” the researcher had admonished, “What kind of a scientist are you? So little is known about caecilians! That could’ve been a new species.”

 

It had never once crossed my mind to capture that magnificent animal, to remove it from its emerald throne. I hadn’t even owned a camera at the time, but I wish I had. Perhaps I’d be both a biologist and a photographer today had I been able to photographically capture the scene that day. Though in reality, I am both a biologist and photographer today. I rely on my biological skills and training to stalk the wildlife I photograph today, to read animal behaviors to capture decisive moments but also to ensure that I don’t disturb. Photography allows me to be part of nature without the need to interfere. I never bait, I don’t even tempt birds with artificial calls. I simply capture undisturbed nature through my lens. 

A strawberry dart poison frog, the species I studied for my master's degree.

Initially my photography was more of a biological documentation, one I attempted aesthetically but nonetheless as realistically as possible. Over time though, I’ve come to play more with the artistic side of my biology-art balance. I seek patterns, colors, textures, and expressions in my natural surroundings, I look for reflections and motions that might convey the art in nature, often playing with panning and shutter speed to create nature abstracts in the field. I limit my post-processing to stay as true as possible to the inspiration of the moment, and to maximize my time in nature. I now live on that predicted line between biology and art.