Like the Lorax, I Speak For the Trees…And So Can You

While it certainly didn’t–and doesn’t deserve to–receive anything close to the credit for spawning environmental advocacy as Rachel Carson‘s trailblazing Silent Spring, Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax, in my estimation, doesn’t receive the recognition it deserves.  The children’s book, written in 1971 and adapted as an animated television special the following year, had a major impact on me as a child and was probably my earliest exposure to an environmental point of view.  It surely colored my perspective moving forward.

Shadowland black & white, East Side Woods, Morton Arboretum, Illinois

The book’s title character, the Lorax himself, says he “speaks for the trees, as the trees have no tongues.”  Perhaps the Lorax is still whispering in my ear, because I’ve found myself inexplicably drawn to trees and, as my photography has developed over the years, I find myself trying, in a way, to speak for them myself.

Birch Tree Twins, Hiawatha National Forest, Michigan

Maybe it’s a function of the part of the world in which I reside (and, therefore, do the majority of my shooting), but over the years I’ve frequently ventured deep into forests with my camera gear.  These kinds of settings can be extremely challenging from a compositional standpoint; wooded locales tend to be cluttered and “messy,” in the sense that there are frequent visual distractions permeating from every direction.  And yet, some of my most successful and meaningful–at least to me–images have come from such environs.

Tremont Trees, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

When I’m photographing in the woods, I’m typically looking for one of two things:  patterns and/or interruptions of patterns.  In this instance, it’s important to think of the word “pattern” in a broad sense; it could mean something as simple as a fairly predictably arranged set of tree trunks, or the alternation of dark and bright tones or clumps of trees alternating with clearings.

Hemlock Hill Black & White, Morton Arboretum, Illinois

Pattern interruption, on the other hand, might be a strategically placed splash of differentiated color or a single tree trunk or branch that breaks up an otherwise directional pattern or a distinguishing element that belies a deep woods setting.

Squaw Rock Trail, South Chagrin Reservation, Cleveland Metroparks, Ohio

What I’m looking for, in other words, is something eye-catching.  And please don’t misunderstand; it’s not as though I head out consciously thinking to myself “let’s see what eye-catching elements I can identify.”  What makes an element eye-catching is precisely the ability to naturally catch the observer’s eye.  If something is eye-catching, I don’t have to find it;  as long as I’m observant, it will catch me.

Hall of Mosses Trail, Hoh Rainforest, Olympic National Park, Washington

Once found, it’s the responsibility of the photographer to transmit the eye-catching element to the viewer.  That’s where the art of composition comes into play; you need to use the frame to emphasize the elements contained within in a manner that translates your vision to the passive viewer.  In a sense, that’s photographic art in a nutshell.

When I’m engaged in this exercise in the forest, trees are invariably part of the puzzle.  I think about how the trunks and branches fit into the puzzle.  Are they emphasizing the story I’m trying to tell?  Would it be better to shoot the subject matter as a vertical, perhaps emphasizing the majesty of tall trunks, or as a horizontal, which might better accentuate the breadth and number of trees in the setting I’ve chosen?  Should I widen my perspective or tighten it?  Are there distractions that I can eliminate?  What about that branch, cutting through the corner of the frame…can I move in closer to remove it or will that negatively impact the overall composition?

George Washington Forest, Hiawatha National Forest, Michigan

Do I need to include the entirety of a tree or stand of trees or is it enough just to show a part of them?  Is it critically important to show the bottom of a trunk, as some kind of an anchor, or can I eliminate that part of the image, and successfully leave out some unwanted distractions (forest floor clutter, for instance) as a result?

Tulip Trees & Red Maple, Elkmont, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

Just so there’s no misunderstanding, there isn’t a single correct answer to any of these questions.  They’re merely a few things among many that I ask myself when shooting in the woods.  And if you ask these and other questions–many of which I’m sure I’ve never even conceived of–of yourself when photographing in the forest, you too can attempt to “speak for the trees” via your own vision.  Speaking through imagery may be a logical oxymoron, but it’s a highly honorable exercise, I assure you.