Behind the Lens - "The Queen and Her Court"

Photographers often talk about creative or artistic "vision," but what does this really mean?

Part of developing your vision is learning to see the world differently — not just as your eyes and brain perceive it, but as your camera interprets it. In a sense, it’s training yourself to visualize reality through the filter of your equipment and settings. A choice as simple as focal length or lens type can dramatically change how a scene looks (a fisheye lens being an obvious extreme example). A slow shutter blurs motion; a fast one freezes it. Exposure can dramatically change how a moment is rendered. Being able to anticipate these results is an important step toward consistent, intentional creativity.

But vision isn’t just technical. It’s about cultivating your artistic eye — recognizing how composition, the play of light, and the magic of the moment come together to create an image that resonates. Yes, the technical tools matter, but true artistry lies in shaping how the viewer experiences the photo, guiding their gaze, and evoking an emotional response. And while the technical side can be taught and measured, artistry is — by its very nature — subjective, slippery, and often impossible to pin down. It’s very much one of those “I know it when I see it” things.

Recently, I had a chance to put this into practice while photographing white pelicans near my home in Minnesota. I used a drone for a fresh perspective, and while the video below walks through the creative and technical choices in detail, in the rest of this article I want to explain how my vision shaped the process behind one particular image.

If you have any trouble watching the video above, you can also watch it here.

So, did I have a clear vision from the start? Yes and no. My initial goal was simple: capture the pelicans from above in a way that felt different. But as I experimented, adjusted, and responded to the birds’ behavior, my vision became sharper. It wasn’t just executing a plan; it was adapting to what unfolded in front of me. Trial and error became the sculpting process that revealed my final idea.

Early on, I made one decision that set the tone for the final shot: I wanted the water around the pelicans to be as unobtrusive as possible. The more detail the water had, the more it distracted from the birds. I realized I wasn’t aiming for strict realism — I wanted the pelicans to stand out against a clean, abstract background. To get there, I mounted a polarizer to cut glare and dropped my exposure until the water turned nearly black. With the low-angle sunrise light highlighting the birds, the composition gained a striking, graphic quality. The water essentially became a silhouette framing the pelicans.

Shoot. Pause. Assess. Repeat as necessary.

That’s the cycle I followed. Take a few shots, review them critically, then refine. If you want to take better photos, take more photos. But, don't just do so blindly; rather, shoot with intention. Each frame should teach you something about what’s working and what isn’t. Think critically about each creative choice you make, and assess the results honestly.

The longer I experimented, the closer I came to something that felt right. However, I approached each step of the process intentionally and with clear purpose — although I left the door open for randomness and luck to reveal a new, better way of rendering my subjects. And that's when I spied this perfect pod of preening pelicans (yup, a group of pelicans is actually called a "pod").

It was then that I recognized that this is exactly what all of my experimentation was leading to. Here's why it worked:

• A small group meant I could highlight each bird’s personality without clutter.

• Six pelicans encircled one in the center, forming a natural frame.

• The warm sunrise light bathed them from one side, creating a complementary color palette.

• Against the dark water, the birds became the clear focal point, giving the image balance and impact.

At that moment, everything clicked. My vision crystallized. All that remained was patience. I circled above for twenty minutes, waiting for the central pelican to strike a dynamic pose. And when it finally did, I knew I had the image I’d been chasing.

But here’s the truth: it wasn’t luck alone. That final moment only happened because I had taken the time to experiment, refine, and commit to the process. Vision isn’t always something you start with in full clarity. More often, it’s something you uncover — through persistence, curiosity, and the willingness to wait for reality to bend toward the image you imagine.

In the end, vision is personal. Not everyone will see what you see, or connect with the choices you make. And that’s okay. What matters is that your photos reflect your intent, your voice, your way of seeing the world. Each frame you capture is an opportunity to make that voice stronger and clearer.

That’s the story behind the shot! What do you think? How do you shape and chase your own vision? Share your thoughts in the comments!