Had you met me when I was younger, between 1984 and 2005, and told me that most of my lenses would be wide angle, and my photographic style would be defined by wide compositions, I wouldn’t have believed you; in fact, I’d say there’s no way. In my early photography, I defined good photography as successful presentation of a beautiful detail through isolation, using depth of field.

Here are some of my earliest preserved works:

Those are all colour negative prints, 35mm film, year 2000 or earlier, but nothing earlier than than 1998, I think. Everything earlier than that was left at my parents’ place when I moved out. You can see the pattern in all of them – basically, get close, get the detail, isolate it from the rest of the world, and capture that feeling. It’s not a matter of equipment; I used a 35-70mm zoom lens, so I could have gone wide enough, but I didn’t; even when I did, I sucked at it because I didn’t know how to compose wide.

This is my first successful wide-angle shot:

Probably because I used Romana’s film point and shoot camera which didn’t have the closeup functionality I instinctively relied on, I composed the picture differently, but that did not result in a change of style. In fact, my pictures in the following years were more in the line of this:

You get the picture; again, remove the detail from the world, find the beauty as separate, isolated, in a photographic equivalent of meditation.

It’s not that I stopped taking such pictures completely; they still make up a significant portion of my work. However, a typical shot I am aiming for these days is something like this:

I’m trying to figure out the differences and similarities myself, because it’s not that the wide-angle compositions lack that meditative feeling of the closeup shots. It would be too easy to say that I just learned to evoke a similar feeling with a different technique, but I don’t feel that it tells the whole story. You see, in order to do a closeup shot, you need to remove almost everything from the composition. With an ultrawide lens, everything that is in front of you will be in the frame, even your shoes or tripod legs if you’re not careful. With it, you can no longer abstract ugly and the mundane from your composition and create beauty by omission. You need to compose the entire world in front of you into an artefact of beauty. It’s not just a matter of photographic technique; it’s something about the worldview, about not fearing chaos and ugliness and escaping into reduction.

It’s not just a matter of using an ultrawide lens. The picture above is made with an 85mm portrait lens, at f/1.8, but I would never have used such a wide composition in my early years. Even when using a long-ish lens and shallow depth of field, I’m leaving more of the environment in the composition.

I mean, this is taken with a 400mm telephoto wide open, for fuck’s sake. If you gave this lens to my 2000 self, I’d have composed it so tight you’d see nothing but the cyclist’s head and shoulders, most likely. This is a normal, slightly wide composition, just with telephoto spatial compression. I remember a conversation I had with two people, somewhere around 1999-2000, about what equipment I’d like to have. The first thing would be a digital camera that has a 35mm sensor capable of full film quality, not the stupid toys that existed those days, but real replacement of film with digital technology with preservation of everything that’s good about film. The second thing I wanted was a big zoom lens, essentially this 100-400mm telephoto that I have now. What I couldn’t imagine then was the way I would use that big zoom lens. I would expect portraits of birds in their environment. I wouldn’t expect, essentially, normal to wide compositions with spatial compression:

I think I’m starting to understand what I’m doing there. It resembles the difference between meditating in a quiet, isolated room with your eyes closed, and learning to meditate with your eyes open while walking or interacting with people. It’s a difference between having to hide from disturbances, learning to ignore them, and finally learning to make them part of the experience. It’s a transition between waiting for your wife to stop taking pictures and remove herself from the composition, then composing her into the shot as a joke, and then intentionally composing her into the environment as a stylistic choice that makes the compositions what they are.

I was thinking more about that last article, especially the photography part because it’s easier to explain. My best photos are rarely taken with my best equipment. They were taken with what I had with me when the stars aligned.

These three were taken with an iPhone, because that’s the camera I always have with me when I’m not actually going out to take pictures and a picture shows up in front of me. Then at one point I realised that I don’t actually want all my photos to be taken with a phone, and started to take the proper camera out with me when I’m out for a walk. Of course, the camera has only one lens on it and that lens happens to be the one that takes the pictures, so the determining factor tends to be not which lens is the sharpest, but which one tends to be chosen for walks, because it’s either light, or practical, or I just like having it on the camera.

Sure, there’s one way of making sure that all your pictures are taken with your best equipment, and that is to have only the best equipment; no inferior lenses, no inferior but practical cameras; however, that’s not as simple as it sounds. “Best” is not a single-dimension metric. Recently I carried two lenses up the local hill in sunset; one was the new 14mm f/1.8 ultrawide, which is one of my optically best lenses, perfect for all intents and purposes. Sharpness edge to edge wide open with resolution that probably outresolves the 61MP sensor, no flare directly into the sun, no contrast loss, no geometric distortions, nothing; just perfection. I also took the 24-105mm f/4 zoom as a backup. Well, as it turned out, almost all the pictures that showed up were ideal for the 24-105mm zoom and the 14mm went into the bag and returned only in the end, in the blue hour, for that one picture.

Sony A7RV, FE 24-105mm f/4 G OSS

The pictures I made with the 24-105mm had some flare on them when I shot into the sun, the sun stars weren’t as crisp, the parts in focus weren’t as sharp as they would have been had I used some of the optical monsters I left at home, but guess what – I got several pictures that are my all-time favourites, that are sharp and contrasty enough to be printed meter wide, because the lens was versatile enough to allow me to get those shots, and it was also optically good enough to make the pictures look great. In the end, yeah, it wasn’t as sharp as a GM prime would have been, but a GM prime wasn’t there and the versatile zoom was, so tough shit. If I only had my optically best lenses, I wouldn’t have taken those shots. That’s the reason why “versatile while still good enough” is sometimes preferable to “exceptional but limiting”. When the pictures in front of me demand 24mm, 35mm, 50mm and 105mm, and I have to carry the optics for an hour of brisk uphill walk, I’m just not carrying four primes of half a kilo each. Also, when the ideal light is changing quickly, I’m just not going to waste it changing lenses. I’m going to look for motives and use what I already have on the camera. Apparently, trying to aim for perfection can be a good way of getting nothing.

So, an obvious question presents itself: if I can take those pictures with an iPhone, and if I can take pictures that good with standard zooms, why do I have those expensive super-lenses? Because image quality at magnification is a thing, and I like looking at what happens when I actually get to have one of those optics on the camera when a picture turns up. The iPhone pictures break under magnification on a big display or on a big print. You actually need a certain level of quality to pull certain things off, but you also need to be reasonable and have all kinds of tools in your toolbox, because as I said, “good” is not a single-dimensional metric.

This goes way beyond photography. For instance, cars exist in all kinds of shapes, form a fast convertible to a large SUV, and what looks sexy in a showroom isn’t necessarily what’s practical and useful. A home that’s on a respectable location will elevate your perceived status, but if you don’t have anywhere to park your car and there’s something noisy in the neighbourhood, it’s more trouble than it’s worth. A wife that’s super beautiful but cold, calculating and disloyal is a nightmare.

When you’re looking for someone who is a candidate for yogic practice, you don’t look for the person who’s smartest, best looking, least emotionally damaged. You are looking for someone who has the best reaction to transcendence, who flares up with desire at the presence of God, but you still want them to be smart enough, to have a good heart, and to be willing to break, to give up the known and the safe. You avoid the crazy, the cruel, the selfish, the stupid and the self-absorbed. However, the metric of “smart” doesn’t have to mean a university professor, or the most intelligent person in the world. It just means someone who has a good head on their shoulders – smart enough to get things quickly, not necessarily smart because they maintain Linux kernel or teach university level mathematics. If someone is really stupid, no amount of good heart or desire for God will help, because stupid gets deluded quickly because they can’t discriminate between pleasant and useful, for instance, or detect that someone is really harmful because they are trying to be nice to everyone. If someone is really smart but nasty, their poor character will be a bigger liability than their intelligence is an asset. You really need a mixture of qualities, and some things are immediate red flags, while some things don’t really matter because everybody starts fucked up in some way; that’s why yoga is a process, and process means you get better with practice. Eventually you get to be holy, pure, smart, powerful and beautiful, but that’s not how you start. What matters is that you’re not someone who will immediately give up at the first sign of trouble or difficulty, someone who will keep doing something like an idiot despite warnings, or someone who will be easily deluded and perverted by all kinds of evils you are bound to encounter along the way. You can think of it as a selection of good company for God. Who would God want to train to be worthy of His company? First of all, someone who really strongly wants Him and wants to be with Him. Other characteristics need to be just good enough to avoid failure along the way, because you actually get to develop everything you’re missing in the start, but if something is really fucked up, you’re not going anywhere. It’s like the lenses – if things are good enough, you can make your best picture with it, but if something is really bad, it’s going to ruin things and make the end result useless. So, multi-dimensional vector representation of good. That alone is an example why you need to have enough brain to attain success in spirituality; because if you lack it, you won’t be able to understand explanations such as this one.