The Thaw of Artistic Dogma

Photography is a language, a means of communication. Images tell stories that either verify the facts we know, defy our expectations, or show us something we’ve never seen.

This particular image speaks of a cold but hopeful spring morning on the river. We know it’s spring because the winter sun hangs low, raking in from the southeast to illuminate a landscape caught in the tension between seasons. Also, there are patches of snow clinging to the banks of the river.

For years, I refused to photograph scenes littered with these snowy remnants. To me, they were “little white devils”—distracting slivers of high contrast that hijack the viewer’s eye and pull it away from the elegance of the composition. I solidified this belief during my formative years as a photographer in the 1990s, treating it as an inviolable truth of landscape photography. If I saw nasty splotches of white snow, I turned my lens elsewhere.

I was standing on the highway bridge in Horseshoe Bend when I took this photo. I was agitated by the snarl of traffic caused by a decades overdue sidewalk project. Horseshoe Bend was finally feeling the wrath of urban sprawl. In my haste, I didn’t notice the snow next to the river when I snapped the picture.

When I saw the image later, I rolled my eyes. The shot was ruined. But as I looked again, my perspective shifted. Those patches weren’t distractions; they were essential clues revealing the cold temperature and stubbornness of winter. 

I’ve officially updated my artistic dogma about these “white devils.” They’re actually useful storytellers that provide information bare ground never could. I’m satisfied with my new realization, but it leaves me with one nagging question:

What other “inviolable truths” am I still clinging to?