 Seeing nature NeighborsNoticing practice: Choose something you normally avoid or overlook, notice the details and your reactions with less judgment and more curiosity. For most of my life, I loathed marigolds. In my hometown, they are everywhere —lining streets, filling planters, decorating signage. To me, they felt smelly, loud, and inescapable. Then, one day I tried a new approach to noticing these flowers. Instead of approaching marigolds as subjects, I approached them as neighbors—as a living presence within the shared place of Mantorville, MN.
This kind of noticing practice asks:
In times of personal or collective transition, it can be difficult to know how to be in right relationship with the places we inhabit. We move through landscapes quickly, often without noticing how they are shaping us or affecting our sense of belonging. In these moments nature asks us to slow down—not as a preference, but as a necessity. Whether through photography, walking, writing, or quiet observation, the practice is the same: to show up repeatedly, attentively, and without urgency. Over time, this way of relating fosters a deeper sense of belonging.  Seeing Cultural PerspectivesIn recent years, many people—particularly those drawn to land, wilderness, and care for our planet—have felt a call to slow down, deepen their noticing, and engage in cultural practices that honor both land and lived experience. For me, this impulse is not only about making images; it is about learning how to be in a peaceful relationship with the places and stories that shape us. What we often call “peaceful places, stories, and imagery” can feel universal—but when we reflect more deeply, we realize that peace, beauty, and meaning are not one-size-fits-all experiences. They are shaped by our bodies, stories, family, and relationship with land. Culture exists as a living conversation between people and place—and it requires attentive presence, curiosity, and humility. From your perspective, which of the images would you describe as peaceful? Why?
In the same way, when we approach land and landscape—whether through walking, making images, or simply listening—we bring our cultural lenses with us. No two people experience a place in the same way. Our interpretations are shaped by where we come from, what we value, and how we show up. This insight has deep implications for how we relate to nature: our cultural narratives influences how we view and use land, and our cultural experiences shape what we call peace, belonging, and home. Noticing practice becomes a way to challenge assumptions and open our attention. This relational orientation is not about technique or aesthetics. It is about expanding our capacity to see what is already here—in land, in community, and within ourselves. A noticing practice grounded in place does not begin with mastery. It begins with openness. It begins with questions like:
When we slow down enough to ask these questions, we enter culture not as spectators, but as participants in place. We begin to understand that land is not a backdrop for our intentions—it is a teacher, a mirror, and a partner in meaning-making. To regenerate land and community, we must move beyond comfortable assumptions about “peace” or “beauty” as universal ideals. A noticing practice—what I explore through Present to Beauty—is not a hobby or a pastime. It is ongoing engagement with changing seasons, shifting light, and the quiet rhythms of the world. Over time, this practice transforms how we move through life:
This requires patience, curiosity, and the willingness to sit with discomfort. But it is precisely through this kind of relational engagement that we begin to cultivate a culture of care—for land, for others, and for our own interior lives.  Seeing Identity ShiftsWhen we slow down and deepen the way we pay attention, we begin to see that who we are is not separate from where we are. We carry our histories, our responses, and our sense of belonging across the land we inhabit. In moments of transition, our sense of self can feel unsettled. We look for new definitions, new roles, new frameworks that might anchor us. We flit between what was familiar and what is unknown, looking for a language to describe the shift. We want definitions, labels, certainties. And yet, sometimes the most reliable ground isn’t a new identity—it is re‑learning how to belong right where we are. Place becomes a teacher through this lens. Not because it instructs us with answers, but because it reflects the ways we show up. In this way, identity becomes a living relationship—a shared narrative that continues to unfold rather than a fixed label we carry around.
A practice of attentive noticing—whether through photography, walking, or quiet reflection—asks you to:
As you cultivate this practice, something subtle begins to happen: identity stops being a thing you perform and becomes a way you relate. When identity is formed through attention, it becomes expansive, adaptable, and grounded—capable of holding transitions without losing coherence.  Seeing perspectives as SupportIf we are paying attention, nature has a way of supporting our ever-changing emotional needs. I find that when I take time to notice the little things around me, I feel closer to life and less likely to take it for granted. Focusing on everyday beauty brings a sense of contentment no matter where I am.  Noticing the small details can support closeness and simplicity. Try this when you’re feeling overwhelmed and need comfort.
Paying attention to the wider picture can support wonder and expansion. Try this when you’re feeling ungrounded and need a sense of connection.  If you’re feeling overwhelmed or want to focus on comfort, try noticing the small details around you. If you’re feeling ungrounded or want to focus on connection, try attending to the broader view. If you’re unsure how you feel or what you need, try both and see what arises.  Seeing Subtle BeautyIf we pay attention, our personal stories shape how we notice the world around us. Early in my life, I often moved quickly through familiar scenes without much intention—I saw the surface, but not the deeper rhythms underneath. It wasn’t until I had more life experience, a refined sense of what truly matters to me, and something meaningful I wanted to express that I began to notice with intention rather than simply reacting to what was in front of me. Artist and poet, Gabriele Glang, once described my work as “spare, elegant, concise—like a poem. Imperfection, wabi-sabi, haiku.” Those words resonated with me because they reflect not just how I see, but how I live: with care, patience, sensitivity, and a willingness to encounter mystery rather than demand tidy explanations.
This subtle way of attending—of being fully present—has helped me reframe some of the most difficult times in my life. Instead of trying to control every circumstance or rush toward answers, I learned to revel in slow unfolding and find delight in mystery. We have all been confronted with life’s mysteries in the past few years of living through a global pandemic, which challenges us to let go of control and embrace patience. When you feel overwhelmed or unsettled, try taking a slow walk through your surroundings and turn your concerns over to subtle beauty. Here are a few gentle invitations you might explore:
 Seeing Nature NourishmentKim Manley Ort and her 2021 project "Seeing Clearly" prompted me to listen for sounds out in the woods on a winter afternoon. With that intention, I heard the woodpeckers. Specifically, I heard a Pileated Woodpecker. For a more biological and ecological perspective on this amazing bird, please read this creatively written blog by Ken Bevis, a DNR Stewardship Wildlife Biologist, "Just About the Coolest Bird Around: the Pileated Woodpecker."
I watched this woodpecker continue to peck at the exact same spot. Sure, there were micro-movements, but this bird never jumped trees or even to a new spot on the same tree. Woodpeckers don’t move when nourishment is being received and, when nourishment ends, they fly away, laughing joyfully! During my photo practice that afternoon, I followed the woodpecker's lead and made micro-movements between exposures. Here's an example of how minor movements can change an image. What do you notice about how the micro-movements changed these two?
Here are additional perspectives to consider:
Spending the afternoon learning from the woodpecker, I've decided to experience 2021 with greater woodpecker-like intention put effort into experiences that provide (more often than not) nourishment. And when it's time to move on, I will do so with (at least a little bit) of gratitude and laughter.  To share creativity requires collaboration, vulnerability, and perspective. The photo collection below is a project inspired by fellow artist, Ann Taylor. Ann took the people portraits. I took the plant portraits. This project is a demonstration of collaboration...and mutual admiration. This experience offered a lesson on vulnerability. Theses photos are an experiment in perspective. Many thanks to Ann for sharing this day with me, for photographing me so beautifully, and for bringing new insight to a beauty lover's perspective.
How will you share your creative voice, collaborative spirit, heartfelt vulnerability, and unique perspective with the world?
 Seeing Nature ShapesLines are everywhere—whether in nature, in the places we move through, or in the subtle patterns of our own experience. Lines can give us insight on how we pay attention: they reveal connection, direction, and relationship. When we slow down and notice the lines around us—paths in the woods, the edge of a field against the sky, the way flowers organize themselves—we begin to see more than surface shape. We begin to see connection: how forms relate, how one moment leads into the next, how experience moves through time. Some lines feel grounding—horizontal lines that echo the horizon might invite stillness. Others feel dynamic—diagonals that suggest movement or transition. And some lines curve gently, inviting pause and reflection. When you practice noticing like this, lines become teachers rather than just marks in space. They show how we are connected to place, season, and our own inner landscapes. During life's transition, lines can be especially meaningful: Grounding horizontal lines can calm you when you feel unsteady, serving as anchors in external space and internal experience.
Powerful vertical lines can support you when you are seeking strength, stability, or a sense of uplift within yourself.
Dynamic diagonal lines can support you when you are seeking direction or noticing movement within yourself.
Gentle curved lines can slow you down, inviting you to linger and observe rather than rush toward certainty.
This noticing practice does not require a camera or technique. It simply asks you to slow your pace, open your senses, and observe how form and flow shape your experience of place and self. Ask yourself:
Over time, this quiet attention becomes a way of entering into an ongoing conversation between you and the world around you.  Seeing Spatial ArrangementsThere’s a simple way to tune into how our minds experience the world: notice how things are placed in the space around you. You don’t need a camera or special tools—just a willingness to slow down and observe. One approach is to imagine the space in thirds—horizontally, vertically, or both. See how objects, people, or even light naturally divide the area you’re observing. What draws your attention first? What feels balanced, and what feels weighted? Over time, noticing these relationships helps you understand not just what is there, but how it feels to move through or look at a place. Traditionally, the rule of thirds is a composition technique in which an image is divided evenly into thirds, both horizontally and vertically, and the subject of the image is placed at the intersection of those dividing lines, or along one of the lines itself. If you want to know more about the technical approach, Google has a vast amount of information on this rule. You might find that certain placements invite your gaze to linger, or create a subtle tension that asks for more attention. Sometimes, this is something you’ll notice when photographing—but just as often, it’s something you’ll see by simply being present. Slowing down in this way—observing the way form and flow shape your experience—is a practice in awareness, patience, and curiosity. As I looked through my images, I had a sense that when I left space on the left side, I felt called to slow down, take space, go inward. Using that insight as a baseline, I created a personal framework for using the rule of thirds to communicate a more personal narrative through images and to enhance the traditional approach with greater meaning. Before I move into my personal insights, I want to be clear: this is by no means the only way to view the rule of thirds or any abstract concept. Feel free to take what you want and leave the rest and/or adapt it to your own culture, values, spiritual beliefs, and personal experience. Continue reading below for examples of how to use the rule of thirds to tell a story.
The framework for the horizontal line placement below came from my background in portrait photography. For portraits, we were taught that lowering the camera and looking up created a sense of power and greater presence, and that raising the camera and looking down created a softness and a gentle presence. To be honest, we were also taught to photograph men looking up at them to make them appear more powerful and women looking down on them to make them appear thinner. So, there's that little bit of cultural insight from 1996... What I like about photographing nature subjects in this way is that looking up helps me understand the big, powerful, and all-encompassing perspective of nature and I feel a part of that power. In looking down, I feel a sense of awe for each tiny detail in nature and I feel humbled to be connected to such wonder.
Next time you’re walking, sitting, or even waiting for a friend, notice the “thirds” in the space around you. Try noticing:
 Get clear, know your preferences, and experiment with simplicity.
Try changing your position - knowing my subject and shifting left a bit created a thin highlight that separated the leaves from the background and softened the image, aligning with my style and intentions. Minor changes in your position can help highlight your subject.
Try getting closer vs. zooming - knowing my subject and my preference for soft, gentle images, zooming in is more aligned with my style and intentions. The spots of light and extra background shown when getting closer still feels too busy for me. Regardless of the camera (DSLR or phone), zooming should cause the background to appear closer than it is in real life.
Try blurring the background - knowing my subject was this group of leaves and not the woods themselves, the image with the blurred background is more aligned with my intention. There are many options for blurring the background of your photo, but it will require experimenting with the technology you use. To blur the background here, I used a wide aperture on my DSLR. Once you're clear about your subject and are ready to use your camera to tell more complex stories, intentional camera blur is a great way to experiment with using your technology to tell your viewer more about your subject. For a simple, well-structured tutorial on shutter speed, camera gear, and intentional blur, please check out "10 Great Tips to Capture Unique Motion Blur Photos," a beautifully composed photo blog by Anisha Singh at Pixpa. When you get clear about your subject, know your style preference, and get familiar with your technology, you can be more intentional about making images that are simply beautiful. Which method of simplifying do you prefer?
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