Behind the photograph
What you do not see in the photograph
When I began sharing my photography on LinkedIn some time ago, I spent a long time thinking about how I wanted to present my work.
At first, I showed my photographs in different interiors, to give an impression of how they could come into their own on the wall. I considered that important, but I still felt that something was missing.
What was missing was everything that takes place before a photograph comes into being. The emotions, the observations, the memories and the moments I spend with my camera beside a flower that has caught my attention.
Sometimes I already have an image in my mind and know exactly what I am looking for. At other times, everything happens spontaneously. There are times when I observe the same flower for days. I watch how it develops, changes colour, bows its head, loses its petals and slowly withers.
And it is precisely that final phase that often fascinates me most.
Flowers make me think of our own lives.
We too change as time passes. We are not always beautiful according to the standards our surroundings impose on us. We are not perfect. As we grow older, the traces of our years become visible. Our experiences, our joy and the difficult moments we have lived through.
It is no different for flowers. Their withered petals, discolouration, bent stems and dried leaves tell something about what they have been through.
That is why I try not to hide or correct their imperfections. I want to show them as they are at that moment.
You only need to look at them for a little longer.
Memories hidden in flowers
When I photographed a green hydrangea, my thoughts wandered back to my grandmother’s garden, where white hydrangeas were blooming abundantly.
Every year I admire the different varieties and colours anew, but those white hydrangeas in particular have remained deeply rooted in my memory. Sometimes a single flower is enough to bring back a place you have not visited in your thoughts for years.
A very different memory belongs to my photograph The last day of summer.
I found the green poppy seed pods in Landreville, among the vineyards. I still remember their sharp, raw scent. I can also see my favourite place to photograph again: the granite windowsill and the shutter, where I placed the plants I had found.
When I look at this photograph now, I see more than the seed pods. I remember that place, the scent and the atmosphere of summer slowly coming to an end.
There is also a photograph of a chestnut leaf on a concrete staircase, where the autumn sun fell on it.
Looking at that photograph, I asked myself: do we ever really look at what lies beneath our feet, to discover something we can easily overlook in the rush of everyday life?
That ordinary leaf held my attention for longer. I did not need to look for anything extraordinary. It was enough to notice what was already lying in front of me.
Beauty that becomes visible later
I also remember my green sunflowers, which I called Not by Van Gogh.
They had already lost their characteristic yellow petals. Once all the petals had fallen, their simple, stately form emerged. Only then did I see something in them that I had not noticed before.
The same thing happened with a rose.
A small branch of it brought back the memory of an old painting with a personal inscription for my grandmother:
“For my dear wife, from Władek.”
The rose branch in that painting looked almost exactly like the branch I had in front of my camera. That single detail was enough to bring a memory from years ago back to life.
And then there is The final bow, a sunflower in autumn.
Autumn is my favourite season. I was born in October, and sometimes I wonder whether we do indeed feel more strongly connected to the season in which we came into the world.
I like watching how autumn changes plants. It takes away their colours and petals, while at the same time revealing their structure, forms and details that had previously remained hidden.
For me, that is not only the end. It is a next phase in their existence, at least as interesting as the flowering itself.
Why I began to tell these stories
Gradually, I understood what I had been missing in my first presentations of my photography.
I showed the finished image, but kept everything that came before its creation to myself.
The memory of my grandmother’s garden, the scent of poppy seed pods I collected among the vineyards, an autumn leaf on the stairs or a rose that reminded me of a painting from years ago.
That is why I began writing the stories behind my photographs.
I do not want to tell the viewer what they should see in my work. Everyone looks in their own way and brings their own experiences and memories.
“I only want to share what made me pause before I pressed the shutter.”
These stories are now gradually finding their own place here too, in my online gallery. I will return to earlier photographs, retell the memories connected to them and add new stories. Because new images, observations and memories continue to emerge.
Perhaps someone will think of a completely different garden when seeing my hydrangea. Perhaps someone else will discover the beauty of a flower they would long ago have considered faded.
And perhaps next time someone will pause for a moment beside a leaf lying on the stairs.
Beate Marie