Losing my Sense of Wonder - A Meditation on my Creative Journey

When I’m buried, you can put me in a box. I don’t want to be inside of one whilst I’m breathing. There is a big world outside of it for me to explore, and so many opportunities, yet I have recently found myself only going out with the camera when there is promise of some magical mist or Narnia-like wintery conditions. I feel as though I am losing some of my sense of wonder about the world, and I desperately need to get it back.

‘A Summer Harmony’ - A photograph by Brad Carr from Eryri/ Snowdonia National Park.

I created ‘A Summer Harmony’ back in August 2021. As you can see, there is not a hint of the mist that us photographers love all too much. This photograph is one of my personal favourites. It was one of the best days that I have had behind the camera, and I remember the entire day-long adventure around the Gwydir Forest like it was yesterday. I wrote very fondly about it in my 2021 zine ‘A Year Amongst Trees’, and I remember it even more sweetly since I wrote that last year.

The wild silver birch trees welcomed me into their home. Beside the tranquil waters I was free to stand and ponder my own existence here on earth for an hour with the late summer sun burning my left shoulder. The wind blew gently across the lake, and for a while, it was just me, my thoughts and the silence of a relatively untouched and unknown wilderness. With each breath of wind that passed, I would release one of my thoughts until my mind felt clear of the mental fog that had built up from a week inside my four walls.

Normally, the bright light cast from an overhead sun would be enough to prevent me from even thinking about creating a photograph. Not this time. The emotion that I felt took over and I was compelled by a force beyond myself to take out the camera, set up my tripod and compose a photograph, much to the interest of the passing family that I had met at an earlier point on my walk, who had now decided to join me in paradise for an afternoon of wild swimming. To them, these were probably just some trees. To me, this was a network of coexisting species providing life for me, as I breathed life back into them. It was a harmony. I had finally found a place to belong. In that moment, I felt at home.

In a wonderful book that I read recently by Diana Beresford-Kroeger called ‘To Speak for the Trees’, she writes passionately about an experiment that she performed earlier in her career that proved that trees possess a similar chemical within them, that we have inside of our own brains. The experiment proved that trees have their own unique way of thinking, and perhaps even know how to dream too. When I stood here in the summer of 2021, I witnessed these living organisms bursting with sheer joy at the thought of their own existence, and I felt as though I had stepped foot into their world of dreams.

What I loved most about the photograph is how spontaneously it appeared before me. I went for a walk outdoors with no preconceived ideas about what to expect. The footpaths were all untrodden in this new world. The next corner shrouded in mystery. My imagination was allowed to run wild. My heart and mind were both filled with a child-like curiosity; the kind of feelings that I crave so much to keep myself alive.

Someone I engaged in conversation with recently told me that there is a ‘consistent Brad Carr style’ to my portfolio now. I find it great that my work can be recognised, but also incredibly confining. Does that mean that I’m expected to produce something similar every time I go outside with my camera? Will it lead to disappointment in my audience if I go out and create images that are completely different to those that I already have? Am I, therefore, in danger of pursuing work based primarily on extrinsic motivations? Should I forget about my child-like desire to marvel at the world and experiment with my camera in pursuit of ‘safe’ photographs to please my audience?

‘A Summer Harmony’ isn’t a photograph that many people will ‘get’. It certainly didn’t harbour many likes on social media, and I don’t imagine that it would stand much of a chance of winning me any awards. What it does do is fill me with intrinsic rewards; and as an artist that satiates me more than any amount of social media likes or sales ever will. It’s a photograph, and an adventure, that fulfils me greatly. It gives me a story to tell and something that I can write about for years to come. It’s a story that only gets sweeter with time. I remember the conversation that I had with the family of wild-swimmers in the woodland as I passed them an hour prior to my discovery of this lake. I remember the sounds of the children’s laughter as they splashed around in the water whilst I continued to ponder my place on Earth. These days of complete presence are the ones that remind me of what it is to be human.

It would be very easy for me to fall back on my ‘style’ and continue to create these relatively safe photographs. Perhaps I could spend the next few years exploring places that I am already familiar with but I don’t want to fall into my comfort zone. That is a dangerous place for a human being that desires growth in order to live fully.

Being outdoors with my camera is my ultimate form of mindfulness. It is the only time that I feel truly present. The act of walking outdoors in the wilderness, pondering the beauty of Mother Nature and my place within it, whilst looking for potential compositions for my photographs is a process that leaves me with no space in my mind for the mental noise that most of us will know all too well. Just recently, that noise has been turned up to an all-time high. I have been finding myself not even bothering to look for photographs whilst out walking because the light is ‘too boring’ or the colours don’t sing to me. The mental chatter has taken over, and I begin to think about all of the things on my list of to-do’s. The purpose of being outdoors in nature has been lost.

I initially picked up the camera to go outside, to connect with and explore this world and parts of myself. Photography gave me an opportunity to forget about the limitations and labels that society had placed on me, experiment again and find that inner child that wants to play, wonder and ask questions of the world. It is about time I went outside to find him again.