Does photographing a moment steal the experience from you?

What is the most beautiful place
you have ever been?

And when you were there,
did you take a picture of it?

Here's a place that tops that list for me.

This is Mesa Arch
in Canyonlands National Park in Utah

at sunrise.

It's the traditional homeland
of the Pueblo, Ute,

Paiute and Navajo people,

and when you are there,

it is absolutely stunning.

The sunrise illuminates
the bottom of the arch orange,

and then behind it you see the buttes
and clouds and cliffs.

But what you might not see
from my photo here

is the 30 people behind me
who were also taking photos.

And these are just the committed people,
the sunrise people, right?

So when you think about that,

there must be hundreds if not thousands
of photos of Mesa Arch taken every week.

I've been sharing my photography
on Instagram for years,

and it started to become
really interesting and funny, even,

just how many similar photos
of the same places

I started to see online.

And I was participating in it.

So this made me wonder:

Why are we taking photos
in the first place?

Sometimes, I visit a popular landmark --

this one is Horseshoe Bend in Arizona --

and I see all the people
with their phones and cameras out

who snap a photo,

just to turn and get back in the car
or walk back to the trailhead.

And sometimes it seems like
we are missing the point

of going to this place
to experience it for ourselves

or to see it with our own eyes.

When I'm behind the camera,

I notice the smallest details:

the layers of light in the mountains

as the light fades at the end of the day;

the shapes that nature so expertly makes,

abstract and yet completely perfect.

I could go on and on here musing
about the intricacies of this planet

and the way that it makes me feel.

Photographing the beauty
and complexity of this world

for me is like making a portrait
of someone that I love.

And when I make a photograph,

I have to think about
what I want it to say.

I have to ask myself
what I want it to feel like.

When you're communicating
through an image,

every creative choice matters.

Sometimes, I plan to share my images,

and other times, I take them
just for myself.

I currently host a video series
on the future of the outdoors,

and for one of the episodes
we wanted to explore

the relationship between
photography and outdoor spaces.

I learned about the research
of Kristin Diehl

and her colleagues at USC,

who studied photo-taking's
effect on enjoyment levels.

They found that when we're
behind the camera,

when we're the ones taking the picture,

we enjoy our experiences more, not less.

But it wasn't true all the time.

If the person took the photo
solely with the intention of sharing it,

there was no increase in enjoyment,

because they didn't do it for themselves.

So this points to
an important distinction:

photography can enhance your experience

if it's done intentionally.

The intention piece is what matters.

As a photographer, I've really
had to check myself on this.

When does it help me
to have my camera out,

and when do I just need to put it away?

On a trip to Alaska, I had the opportunity
to photograph Alaskan brown bears.

I was on a boat with
four other photographers,

and we were all having our minds blown

at the same time

in such close proximity to these animals.

It's an emotional experience.

Being eye to eye with these bears
gave me a feeling of connection

that transcends words,

and having my camera with me
in this case enhanced that.

We were all creating independently
but also all completely in the moment,

both with nature and with each other.

I so clearly remember

capturing the water droplets
and the motion as the bears swam

and the cute cubs following their mothers.

That group and I will have
that experience together

and these images to look back on

time and time again,

and photography is what enabled us
to share this in the first place.

Other times, I choose
to leave the camera behind,

and I think that choice ultimately
improves both my experience

and my work.

I recently flew to
the South Pacific island of Tonga

to swim with humpback whales.

I noticed myself feeling pressure

and a certain obligation
to take the camera with me,

when sometimes I just wanted
the pure experience itself.

And the experience is seriously amazing.

You're talking about being in the water

with a curious baby animal
the size of a station wagon

while you are surrounded by particles
that float around you like glitter,

and the mom swims gracefully below you.

There were times, obviously,
when I did take my camera with me,

and those were really amazing
to capture as well.

But the setup is pretty big.

It's like this big box.
This is what it looks like.

And so this is between me and the whales,

and at times that feels like a block
between you and reality.

Is there a difference
when it's just your phone?

Last year, I went to Uluru
in Central Australia,

which is this massive rock
that towers over the desert.

This is sacred land to Anangu,

who are the Aboriginal
people from this area

and the traditional owners of the land.

There are particular spots in Uluru
that you cannot photograph professionally,

because they are culturally sensitive,

equivalent to sacred scripture to Anangu.

So because of this, most of my photographs
are from either far away, like this one,

or from specific angles in the park.

You could say that some of the most
interesting and beautiful visuals in Uluru

are located in these sensitive areas,

but the request not to photograph them
is an explicit and direct invitation

to learn more about the land,
its importance and its people.

Isn't that what we should be doing anyway?

So my visit to Uluru
quickly became not about me

but about connecting with the place.

Ironically and unsurprisingly,

I have found that presence and connection

also happens to make
for more compelling images.

We can probably all point to social media

as being a good place to share the images
from our travels and from our lives.

We not only share pieces
of the world that we have seen

but also parts of our
day-to-day experiences.

And if we're applying intentionality
to the photos we take,

then hopefully we're sharing
intentionally too.

For me, allowing people to see pieces
of my story and my perspective online

has reminded me that I'm not alone.

It's helped me build support and community

to do the same for others.

Let me be clear:

I am not trying to discourage you
from taking photos.

Even if thousands of people
have been to whatever exact location

and taken whatever exact photo,

I encourage you to get out and create too.

The world needs every
voice and perspective,

and yours is included.

But what I'm trying to show you
is that the phone or camera

doesn't have to stay out all the time.

What I'm trying to encourage you to do

is to put it away, just for a moment --

a moment for you.

So let's go back to Mesa Arch,

the way that the rock glows orange

and the lovely layers of blue
in the background.

What if the next time
you were somewhere amazing,

you couldn't bring your camera or phone?

What if you were not allowed
to take any pictures at all?

Would it feel like a limitation?

Or would it feel like a relief?

So what can we do?

Well, the next time you feel the impulse
to take out your camera or phone,

or, in my case, once you realize
you have already pulled it out --

(Laughter)

first: stop.

Pause.

Take a deep breath.

Look around. What do you notice?

Are you experiencing
this moment with someone else?

Remember that this moment only comes once.

Photography can be part
of a beautiful experience.

Just don't let it be a block
between you and reality.

Be intentional,

and don't lose a beautiful,
irreplaceable memory,

because you were too focused
on getting the shot.

Thank you.

(Applause)