Light Beneath the Snow
How winter changes the way we see, shoot, and tell stories through the lens.
Out here, every season rewrites the rules of light.
When the days shorten, and the air becomes brittle, the world looks different — and so does the work.
Winter, with its precision, offers a unique canvas for light. Light arrives late, departs early. The sun rides low, pulling the shadows along like a trailing hand on a landscape. Snow becomes a natural reflector, throwing color and brightness back within a frame in a way summer cannot. It’s a season that beckons you to explore its unique light, to capture its essence in your work.
That’s a time when photography asks more of you: more patience, more awareness, more respect for what light can do if it’s scarce.
In summer, you chase it; in winter, you wait for it.
Settings shift: ISOs rise to compensate for the lack of light, apertures widen to allow more light in, and shutter speeds lengthen to capture what little warmth the day offers. Every frame feels earned, not given. On the contrary, you can have days of intense sun bouncing off snow where you have to speed up the shutter and raise aperture and lower ISOs to retain the highlights. Everything feels more extreme in the winter and less nuanced.
And maybe that’s the gift of winter: it demands intention. You move more slowly. You study angles. You shoot less, but mean more with every photograph. It’s a season that challenges you to be patient, to be intentional, to make every shot count.
In this Women of the West series, that slower rhythm came naturally. Cold light wrapped around the subject — quiet, reflective, unhurried. The landscape simplified into shape and contrast. It wasn’t about spectacle; it was about endurance, grace, and presence.
Winter, with its unique light, reminds us that light has character — and character only shows itself when you take the time to understand it. It’s a season that encourages you to appreciate and respect the character of light, to let it guide your work.
Field Notes | The Western Lensman