Water with a silk effect is drained under a coihue (Nothofagus dombeyi) lit by the last rays of the sunset in the Manso River, in the Nahuel Huapi National Park, Río Negro.
I think there are geniuses, the enlightened ones, those who were born with touch, the gift. I've met a few. They are people with a lucidity in their field that leave you speechless when you see them working or seeing the results they get whatever field they dedicate themselves to. I remember a couple of architecture students who were really incredible, drawing designs from the galley many times exceeding the limit of the imaginable. I've seen musicians of those who when they grab the guitar feel that it's like an extension of their arms, for the naturalness with which they extract melodies, for the relaxation and happiness they show when expressing themselves. And we find people like that in most professions and occupations of the human being.
Of course, that also happens in photography. There are photographers who were born with this gift, with the camera built in you might say.
I didn't have to be one of them yet, and you probably aren't either, but I think you can achieve that greatness by working hard.
It is said that the first ten thousand photos are proofs and it is only when we surpass this amount that we begin to photograph in earnest. I can't say that I agree with such a statement, but I'm not so against it either: the only way to improve our images is by working, that is, going out with the camera to shoot, shoot and shoot. And then in the digital darkroom, analyze, retouch, review, understand what happened, what went well, what didn't, and what to change next time. And never stop learning: take courses, read books, search the Internet, whatever it takes to get the tools to save mistakes and reach the intended results.
I don't know if the number ten thousand refers to this, but I do think there is a time when all the normal photographs are taken. We've already tried to get out at noon and confirmed that the light doesn't help. We hardly ever do that test again except when we are in places we can't go back to, and the same thing happens when we photograph a bird, a mammal, a flower, whatever. Once we get the photos in focus but they don't say anything, we will feel that we don't need to repeat them every time we find ourselves in the same situation again and, slowly, the number of shots will go down but, at the same time, the number of "good" photographs will increase as we will have no choice but to look at the light, look for a story or do what we can to make our art evolve.
And the only way to do that is by working, analyzing, researching, going out, searching, opening our eyes a little more and, fundamentally, not getting stuck at one point in our photography (or at one point in our life).