And Now for Something Completely Different…

Gary Hart Photography: Reflection, Moke Lake, New Zealand

Reflection, Moke Lake, New Zealand
Sony a7R V
Sony 100-400 GM
ISO 200
f/5.6
1/40 second

I’ve been hyper-focused on my storm chasing images for nearly a month, and while I’m far from finished with them, I thought I’d take a brief break from those thrills to share a far more tranquil image from last month’s New Zealand workshop. What I most appreciated while processing this simple reflection, especially after being fully immersed in images of lightning and tornadoes, is the reminder of art’s power to evoke emotion.

Take music, for example. One song might fire you up, while another might be the perfect de-stresser at the end of a trying day. Most of us leverage both qualities in our music choices, depending on our state of mind. Photography has a similar power to stimulate or soothe. Whether it’s photographing, processing, or living with them on the walls at home, dramatic lightning and tornado images fall safely the stimulate column. On the other hand, an image of a thin crescent moon hovering above a silhouetted horizon, or the stillness of a mirror reflection, is nothing if not soothing.

In the New Zealand winter workshop Don Smith and I do each June, we’ve seen very little lightning, and (sadly) no tornadoes, but we have had our share of crescent moons (including this year), and reflections are a pretty much daily sight. Most of our New Zealand reflections come courtesy of large glacial lakes and fiords, bounded by snow-capped peaks and maybe even a plunging waterfall or two. Sometimes we’re even able to add the Milky Way or a star-sprinkled sky to our New Zealand reflections.

For this year’s final sunset, we ascended a steep, unpaved road above Queenstown to Moke Lake, a tiny, reflective jewel nestled beneath (you guessed it) snow-capped peaks. The lake’s sheltered setting, tiny circumference, and overall shallowness makes mountain reflections especially reliable here—not every year, but more often than not.

This year the reflection was in place, plus a few nice clouds to boot. But instead of concentrating on these larger reflections, I quickly gravitated to a small patch of reeds jutting from the water just a few feet from the shore. The lake’s still surface perfectly mirrored the reeds’ graceful curves and lines, further enhancing the scene’s tranquil feel.

To minimize peripheral distractions, I decided to compose tightly with my 100-400 lens. After a bit of moving around, I was able to position myself so the reeds and their reflection were transposed atop a reflection of clouds basking in the warmth of the day’s last sunlight. After starting with a horizontal composition, I quickly realized that a vertical orientation would be best for including all of the reeds and their reflection, while eliminating an adjacent, more disorganized clump of reeds.

Once my composition was set, I photographed for at least 10 minutes, clicking frequently as the canvas of reflected blue sky and warming clouds shifted behind my primary subject. Occasionally a few gentle ripples kicked up, creating a little background texture.

As thrilled as I am about my exhilarating storm chasing images, I have to say that it was nice to relax with this one. While I fully expect the storm chasing images to garner the most enthusiastic responses in today’s instant-gratification world, I hope people spend enough time with the more subtle scenes like this to appreciate their value.

All this made me think about the choices people make when they decide to purchase a print, and how sometimes they fail to consider the long-term relationship they’re entering when they choose something they’ll be living with for years. We would all do well to slow down and recognize, as with any relationship, sometimes the quality that draws us in the first place might not be the quality necessary to sustain it.

Rather than reinvent the wheel, I dusted-off and polished-up my (13-year old) essay on this very topic…

The “Oooh” and “Ahhh” of Nature Photography

It’s a getaway weekend and you’re browsing a quiet photo gallery near the wharf. The photography is nice, but soon the aroma of (free) coffee commands your attention, your brain starts bouncing between Thai or Italian for dinner, and you wonder whether you remembered to close the garage door—maybe your brother-in-law can swing by the house and check it on his way home from golf…. Suddenly, just as you reach for your phone, your eyes stop, your brain exclaims, “Oooh…” as your eyes latch onto a Pacific sunset on the far wall, a solitary cypress clinging to the rocks above the surf. Instantly the cell phone is back in its holster and your hunger has vanished.

What just happened? Volumes have been dedicated to identifying the combination of composition, color, and light that “grabs” a viewer in just this way. But what then? Do you simply nod approval and return to your phone? Or do you cross the room, plant yourself before the the scene, and beckon your partner? Maybe you’re even moved enough to check the price, to mentally banish to the attic the flower print above the sofa that has survived three moves, an earthquake, and come to think of it, you can’t even remember what kind of flower it is.

Art of any form appeals on two seemingly contradictory planes: it must stimulate enough to attract, yet soothe enough to sustain. These are art’s “oooh” and “ahhh” factors. You probably understand the “oooh!” that grabs your attention and draws you from afar, but once that initial jolt has faded, it’s the soothing “ahhh…” that holds you. We each have our own oooh and ahhh triggers. Some are touched by an intimate flower portrait, others find inspiration in a sweeping landscape; some seek connection to a familiar place, others long for vicarious exploration. Before reaching for your wallet, you need to know whether this is a scene that will uplift you each time you enter the room.

The way we enjoy art is just as personal as the art itself. I sometimes browse other photographers’ online galleries, but much prefer the intimacy of paging leisurely through a glossy, hardcover photography book. Art shows are fun, but a little frenetic; galleries can be nice, albeit somewhat pretentious. But nothing beats having a special print on my wall, one that reconnects me to a special time or emotion.

I’m very thankful that some people do decide that my prints are worthy of living with. But I can’t pretend to know what inspires your oooh’s and ahhh’s, nor can I let those thoughts influence my photographic choices. Before plunking down $1000 dollars for that stunning sunset print (or the orange and black velvet matador that your partner has been eyeing), spend a little time with it. Does its virtual world transcend your literal world, even briefly? Do the emotions it generates rejuvenate or deplete your energy? My own, private answers to those questions determine the things I photograph and the way I photograph them. Sometimes I need to be stimulated, other times I long to be soothed. Either way, it’s this dichotomy that makes photography a perpetual source of pleasure for me.

Join Don and Me in New Zealand in 2026