I know this mountain lake. Or at least that is what I tell myself whenever I stand on its shore. The paths, the rocks, the immense mountains on the other side: all of it feels familiar. Yet I never see quite the same landscape twice.
On this autumn day, the lake was restless. Wind pushed small waves across the water, breaking up almost every reflection. The shore lay deep in shadow. Across the lake, however, a few mountain slopes glowed in warm light, almost lifted out of the dark landscape.
My eyes kept returning to those bright patches. Lines emerged, rocks gained definition, and the remaining autumn colours seemed to glow more intensely. Right beside them, entire slopes disappeared into darkness.
I like these contrasts. They make a landscape feel mysterious without needing anything added to it. The light reveals one part and leaves the rest to our imagination. A photograph does not have to show everything equally clearly.
In the photograph accompanying this story, a piece of weathered driftwood lies among dark stones. It looks unremarkable, almost lost along the shore. Beyond it, the lake stretches towards mountain slopes still catching warm autumn light. A long exposure has softened the water that was so restless in the wind. I wanted to hold on to that contrast: the rough wood close to the camera, the calm surface of the lake behind it and the light on the distant mountains. It gave the vast landscape a place for my eyes to begin.
Other small things caught my attention too. Pine branches outlined against the mountains. An old metal hook by the shore. Bare twigs whose delicate lines seemed almost fragile against the massive rock face. Things you can easily walk past when your eyes are fixed on the grand view.
Perhaps that is the real challenge with landscapes like these. They offer so much that you are tempted to show everything at once: the whole lake, the mountains, the sky. But sometimes a photograph becomes stronger when something is left out. When a piece of wood, a single line or a patch of light is enough.
In other photographs I deliberately kept the movement of the water visible. For the image with the driftwood, however, I preferred the calm of a long exposure. It softens the wind’s effect on the water, allowing that small find on the shore to matter just as much as the mountains behind it.
These observations became my new photography project, When the Light Decides. It is about a familiar mountain lake taking on a different character through wind, shadow and isolated patches of light.
I think that is why I keep returning to places I have photographed many times. I am not trying to make the same picture again. I want to notice what has remained at the edge of my vision.
Sometimes it is an entire mountain slope in the light. Sometimes just a dark piece of wood among the stones. What matters is whatever makes me stop and look a little closer.
2 responses to “Wohin das Licht fällt”
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Auf den ersten Blick nahm ich an, das Wasser sei von einer matten Eisschicht bedeckt und wollte schon beim Ansehen frieren. Was für ein eindrucksvolles Licht auf dem Hang!
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