How to Use Photography to Write Stories
Bring yourself into your art
Someone at work knew I was down and anonymously left a sealed envelope on my desk.
I opened the envelope and unfolded the note, which included an admission ticket to the Filoli house and gardens in Woodside, California, which isn’t far from my office.
The note, written in elegant cursive, expressed the following:
I know your late wife loved to garden, and I thought you might enjoy an afternoon at Filoli, where the sun, flowers, and gentle breeze might lift your spirits and entice fond memories of your wife. Enjoy!
It had been three years since my wife’s tragic car accident. Three years, and yet upon reading this kind note, tears spilled from my eyes.
Grief is like that. Ever present, lurking below the surface, even when you think you’re doing better.
I wiped my eyes and looked around the office, unsure who had left such a thoughtful note and gift. But I suppose it didn’t matter. If they had wanted me to know, they would have signed the note.
I checked my watch and realized it would soon be lunchtime.
Impulsively, I decided to take the afternoon off. It was Friday, and the thought of meandering through the beautiful gardens at Filoli uplifted me. I poked in my supervisor’s office, shared that I was all caught up, and would like to leave early. She said, “Fine, have a great weekend.”
The drive out to Filoli didn’t take long.
I presented my ticket at the front office, and soon I was strolling around the grounds and gardens. The sun was warm, the air fresh, and the blooming flowers and manicured gardens brought a calm surrender to my spirit.
After a bit, I sat on a stone bench in one of the garden rooms.
It was peaceful and relaxing. So much so, that I barely noticed the woman who sat next to me. And then, just as a butterfly danced past me on a gentle breeze, the woman spoke.
“I’m so glad you came.”
I turned to face her, and immediately realized she was the attorney who joined our office last year. My work in acquisitions differed from her legal work, but occasionally we’d bump into each other. What was her name?
“It was so kind and thoughtful of you to leave that note on my desk, along with the admission ticket to Filoli. But how did you know that my wife loved to garden?” I asked her.
“She told me. I hope you’ll forgive me, but she met with me not long after I joined the company,” she said.
“She did? Whatever for?” I asked.
“Because she thought someone was going to kill her.”
Bring yourself into your art
The short little story unfolding above was entirely inspired by the photograph at the top of this post.
I shot that photograph of my wife at Filoli house one afternoon as we strolled the grounds and admired the beautiful gardens. It wasn’t a planned photograph.
Just a brief, lovely moment caught in time.
My wife was smiling because she loves to garden, and what better place to find gardening inspiration than Filoli house. As for me, while I love gardens, I love photography even more. Thus, I try to bring my Fujifilm X-Pro3 rangefinder-style camera with me everywhere.
Because you never know where your next great photograph might come from.
My favorite kind of camera work is street photography.
There’s something exhilarating about capturing candid scenes of people, things, and places in their natural state. Unrehearsed, unplanned, and authentic.
“Photograph who you are and what you are interested in. Bring yourself into your art.”—Bruce Gilden
And while a photograph can stand alone and tell its own story, the writer in me discovered a few years ago that photography helps me tell better stories. Truer, more universal, poignant, and inspirational stories.
How?
Well, have you ever sat down with someone and people-watched? Airports are a great place for this, but you can do it anywhere. And while you were people-watching, did you ever have fun making up the conversations that strangers were having?
I remember doing this at University when a buddy and I were enjoying a beer at the student union pub. We saw the Dean of students talking to one of the campus police sergeants, and we started making up what they were saying to one another.
“I thought you said you’d get rid of the body,” said the Dean.
“I did, I posed it on the floor in the life drawing classroom,” said the Sergeant.
“Yes, I know. You and your perverse sense of humor. But you screwed up. You left some of your jelly donut behind,” said the Dean.
I know, the whole conversation is ridiculous. But when you’re a college student fueled on beer, you think it’s hysterical.
Somehow, when we watch people, it’s easier to conjure stories about them. The way they’re dressed, the way they look, and the things around them all help us construct a fictional scenario and make-believe story.
The same is true with photographs.
I keep a photo library on my computer of all my street and travel photographs, and whenever I’m itching to write a good story, I often scroll through my images until one speaks to me.
I could just close my eyes and try to dream something up, but looking at all my photos helps expand my creative storytelling. In some ways, it’s a bit mysterious and magical.
I’m not sure why it works so well, but it does.
The camera is a sketchbook
Some of my best short stories, many of which appear in my upcoming book, “The Morning Fox: Stories of Love, Loss, and Hope,” were inspired by street and travel photographs I’ve taken.
For example, take a look at the following photograph.
I was in Scotland with my wife and we were about to enjoy a Range Rover tour of the highlands. The fellow with the owl was an employee at the tour company. I don’t know why he had an owl, but it was pretty cool, so I photographed them.
A year later, I’m scrolling through my photo library and I see the picture of the guy and his owl. I copy the image into my blog text editor to serve as the main image, and then I imagine a story around it.
That photograph led to my short story, “To Dance With the Barn Owl,” which garnered over 51 positive comments on my personal website, and led me to include the story in my new book.
The below photograph was taken during a trip to downtown Carmel, California.
I was seated outside a cafe in a shopping center and observed a refined- looking, older gentleman chatting with a woman. Nothing remarkable.
After my trip to Carmel, I downloaded the photo and others onto my computer library.
Months later, I was scrolling through my photo library and fastened on this photo. Something about the gentleman carried a hint of melancholy. So, I copied and pasted the image into my blog text editor, and crafted an entire story around it that became “Nothing You Love Is Lost.”
Short stories and fiction don’t usually perform well on Medium, but “Nothing You Love Is Lost” fetched 35 comments and 2.7K claps. Not bad, and more importantly, I included the story in my new book.
“For me, the camera is a sketch book, an instrument of intuition and spontaneity.”—Henri Cartier-Bresson
These days, everyone is a photographer.
You don’t need a fancy camera to capture great images. Today’s smartphones take amazing photos, and everyone uses them to capture special moments, vacations, and family gatherings.
If you want to write better stories, take photos of random people, places, things, and events around you. Think of your smartphone or camera as a sketchbook, a recorder of inspirational images.
Store the photos on your phone or make a special computer folder. Then, whenever you want to write a story, scroll through your images and see what stands out.
I don’t know why, but somehow the photos we take seem to open the portals of creativity.
The people you have loved
I think the late, great photographer Ansel Adams understood the power of photography to tell stories.
He understood that a part of us is in every photograph we take. After all, we choose the subject matter.
We snap the image of whatever it is that speaks to us. We may not know why something catches our attention, but that doesn’t matter.
“You don’t make a photograph just with a camera. You bring to the act of photography all the pictures you have seen, the books you have read, the music you have heard, the people you have loved.”—Ansel Adams
All that matters is that something spoke to us.
So we take the picture and store it away. And there, in your smartphone or computer photo library, the image will live until you are ready. And one day, you will rediscover the photo, and it will entice memories and feelings.
Listen to those memories and feelings.
And then, pour your thoughts and emotions into whatever you intend to write.
This is how you use photography to write stories. This is how you bring yourself into your art. This is how you deepen your writing with authenticity.
And when you do, your readers will benefit.
Before you go
I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essays about life. Check out my free weekend newsletter, The Saturday Letters, which pairs nicely with coffee and quiet reflection.
