Reflecting on Reflections: A Meditation Through the Lens
Reflections in landscape photography are more than visual echoes; they symbolize introspection, the interplay of truth and illusion, and the fleeting nature of clarity.
By Daryl L. Hunter
In the stillness of a mountain valley at dawn, mist clings to the earth, and a lake mirrors snow-capped peaks bathed in sunrise hues. Each ripple on the water tells a story of duality—above and below, seen and unseen. Reflections in landscape photography are more than visual echoes; they symbolize introspection, the interplay of truth and illusion, and the fleeting nature of clarity.
My love for photographing reflections runs deep. Calm waters double the grandeur of sweeping vistas or the fleeting grace of wildlife, offering a dual perspective: the world as it is and as it appears. Some viewers find reflections distracting, but for me, they add depth and mystery, inviting contemplation. Window reflections, meanwhile, spark creativity, blending the real and the mirrored into intricate puzzles that prompt viewers to ask, “What is happening here?” These images transcend mere scenery, engaging the mind and stirring curiosity.
Yet, the metaphor of reflection—introspection, memory, meaning—cannot be fully captured through a lens. It’s an abstract dance, personal and elusive, that photography can only hint at. As a photographer kneels by the water’s edge, framing a shot, the mirrored mountains shift with the slightest breeze, fragile and fleeting. Adjusting the camera, they chase not just the scene but its essence, using slow shutter speeds to craft an artificial calm or embracing the lively chaos of fractured light on rippling water. Like memories reshaping the past, reflections distill and transform reality.
At 71, with mobility waning, I find myself in a season of reflection. Time stretches generously, allowing me to weave a tapestry from a lifetime of adventures, missteps, and triumphs. I think of my family, the paths chosen, and the vast bucket list left unexplored. As a father, husband, and friend, I ponder the relationships I’ve nurtured and the legacy I’ll leave. My memories—threaded with joy, sorrow, and regret—are a mosaic of a life richly lived, making this chapter one of profound introspection.
Photographing reflections teaches me to embrace imperfection. When sunlight scatters across water like shattered glass, the fragmented image mirrors a fractured self—moments when clarity feels elusive. Capturing this chaos, or waiting for calmer waters, reminds me that even broken reflections hold beauty, like a vibrant mosaic of disorder. This lesson resonates beyond the lens, guiding me to find meaning in life’s imperfections.
Regret lingers when I think of my grandmother. In her 80s, her ability to share her past faded, and I wish I’d asked about her life when her memories were sharp. I hope my children won’t face the same loss. For fifty years, I’ve written sporadically, capturing stories I hope they’ll one day cherish, even if their curiosity hasn’t yet sparked. Writing now, as my linguistic agility fades, is my way of staving off mental rust. While peers tackle crosswords, I revisit my past on the page, my thesaurus a click away to keep the words alive.
Running my photography tour business, I chased perfect reflections with fervor. On half-day sunrise tours in the Grand Tetons, we raced to glacial lakes before the wind stirred their still waters by 10 AM. One guest, mid-tour, looked up from his tripod and said, “I don’t even have to do anything.” His words made me wonder: was I giving too much or too little? Another couple, initially puzzled by my urgency, later marveled at the wealth of images they captured, understanding the race against time.
The quest for pristine reflections has led to reckless moments. Leading a private tour in Banff, I charged through grizzly country with a guest, shouting “Hey, bear!” to ward off danger, all to recapture a favorite image of Bow Lake. We emerged a mile off-target, the wind already rippling the lake, but found unexpected gems along the way. In Jasper National Park, my friend Jim and I barreled through huckleberry thickets to reach Lake Edith, our sixty-something exuberance fading to eighty-year-old exhaustion on the return. At Patricia Lake, a hasty sprint through more huckleberries startled an elk, and we later found bear scat on the road—a reminder of the risks we’d brushed past.
These adventures, now relived through reflection, deepen my appreciation for a life of chasing beauty. Photography and writing are my tools to capture the fleeting, to wrestle with truth and illusion, and to find clarity amid chaos. As the sun rises higher, casting light across the water, I see not just a reflection but a dialogue with the past—a reminder that even in stillness, there is movement, and in imperfection, there is grace.
In the quiet dance of reflections, both in nature and within, I find a profound harmony that ties my life’s passions to its deepest questions. Photographing mirrored landscapes has taught me to embrace the fleeting, the fractured, and the elusive, revealing beauty in imperfection and meaning in chaos. As I reflect at 71, weaving memories into words and images, I seek to preserve a legacy of curiosity and connection for my progeny much like the still waters that hold a mountain’s fleeting image. These reflections—on water, in glass, through time—are not just echoes but invitations to pause, to ponder, and to cherish the interplay of truth and illusion. In this season of introspection, I am reminded that life, like a rippling lake at dawn, is ever-changing yet eternally beautiful, a mosaic of moments that shimmer with grace.
Thanks for sharing Bill.