Mindfulness and Contemplative Photography

Source: Courtesy of Joshua Lutz

I recently exchanged a few questions with Joshua Lutz about finding meaning in photography and his new book. Lutz is an artist and educator working primarily in photography and text. His monographs include Mind the Gap (2018, Schilt), Hesitating Beauty (2013, Schilt), and Meadowlands (2008, Powerhouse). His new book is Orange Blossom Trail (2024), a collection of photos interspersed with three texts by novelist George Saunders. Lutz has served on the faculty for The MFA Program at Bard College, The International Center of Photography, and Pratt Institute. He is an associate professor and chair of photography at Purchase College and cofounder of its Contemplative Studies program. An exhibition based on his new book opens at the CLAMP gallery in New York City on November 7.

Mark Bertin: Can you say a little about what contemplative photography means to you?

Joshua Lutz: You’re getting me into trouble right from the start with this one! There are many great books out there that define contemplative photography in ways that differ from mine. The term was likely coined by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, who used photography as a mindfulness tool. His approach focused on moving away from trying to capture the perfect shot and encouraged photographers to be present with what is in front of them, free from distractions. Imagine the experience of photographing a stop sign that is not about the word STOP but a focus of attention on the textures of the sign and light reflecting off the object. I find it helpful to define this practice as "mindfulness photography"—using the camera as a way to stay anchored in perception of the present moment.

I define “contemplative photography” as something broader. It goes beyond being present and extends to a deeper awareness of the world around us. It’s not just a perceptual visual experience but also about considering what’s happening in the larger world—our own inner struggles, the suffering on the planet, and the interconnectedness of everything. In this sense, contemplative photography captures something more expansive and becomes a more direct reflection of experiencing reality fully and directly. It also recognizes how photographs function, what they do, and, more importantly, what they don’t do.

MB: What do photographs do, then, and what don’t they do?

JL: Photographs are very good at capturing light reflecting off objects. This is part of what makes photography such a great mindfulness tool: It brings us back to the immediacy of the moment, the literal light and form in front of us in the present moment. But beyond that, photographs are remarkably adept at telling stories. These stories are usually grounded in some version of truth, though the fun part of working with images is exploring what that truth actually is. Where things get really interesting is how unbelievably convincing they are in making us believe that truth is more than just light bouncing off objects.

Source: Courtesy of Joshua Lutz

MB: How does that all relate to your new book?

JL: The new book definitely started with a mindfulness photography approach and evolved into a contemplative practice. On one hand, I’m using photography as a way to calm my mind and focus my attention. I spent years visiting this area in central Florida called The Orange Blossom Trail. Initially, I would just walk around and observe, drawn to simple things like color and contrast. Over time, though, my approach evolved as I started setting more intention, trying to understand what was really happening in this space.

Throughout the process, I was also grappling with my own concerns, while using photography to look deeper at the struggles unfolding along the trail. It became a way not just to document but to tell the stories of this area—through images that speak to both what’s seen and maybe what’s beneath the surface as well.

MB: How do the George Saunders stories fit in?

JL: They definitely fit more on the contemplative side than the mindfulness approach. The short stories throughout the book create a narrative arc that touches on birth, labor, sickness, and death, weaving in ideas of impermanence, attachment, aversion, and grasping. These stories aren’t just about a focused moment in time; they’re about how we relate to the world and the stories we tell ourselves.

The first story reflects on the randomness of birth and its effect on the trajectory of life. The second digs into moral responsibility and the human cost of progress, almost as an allegory for how societal and economic growth overshadows individual suffering. The last one is a disturbing look at impermanence, showing how we grasp and cling—both literally and metaphorically. They’re not isolated reflections but woven into the broader themes I’m exploring in the book.

Source: Ithaca Press

MB: I read recently that the act of taking photos with our phones makes it less likely we’ll store an actual memory of an event. Our memory becomes the photo. What do you think people can do to balance taking fun pictures but also living life and making memories?

JL: You should focus on taking the picture, especially if it’s a selfie, and don’t worry about the memory. As long as you’re able to post a great shot, that’s what matters. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

Mindfulness Essential Reads

How to Live in the Present Moment and Stop Worrying So Much

Do You Make a Chore Out of Pleasure?

This is tough, and my feelings on it have shifted over time. I used to be pretty judgmental, seeing crowds of people taking photos and thinking I was the one really present in the moment. But looking back, there are times when it would’ve been nice to have taken a picture.

Like anything, it’s about balance and finding a middle path. One simple thing you can do is set your intention before you take a picture. Pause for a moment, set that intention, then put the phone away ... or not.