Concert photography makes you want to chase the obvious moments.
The singer at the microphone.
The lights hitting perfectly.
The crowd with their hands in the air.
The big moments.
But sometimes I like the ones in between better.
I took this photo at the concert, and there isn’t actually a whole lot happening in it.
She isn’t singing into a microphone.
There isn’t a giant explosion of lights behind her.
There aren’t a hundred things fighting for your attention.
It’s just her.
Standing on the edge of the stage.
Arms stretched toward the ceiling.
Purple light and smoke filling almost everything around her.
And somehow, that makes her feel even smaller and the moment feel even bigger.
That’s what I keep coming back to when I look at this picture.
The space.
I could have cropped most of it away.
I could have brought her closer and made her fill the frame.
But I don’t think I want to.
Because the empty space is part of the photograph.
It shows how big that stage felt.
How much atmosphere was hanging in the air.
How one person can take up such a tiny part of a photograph and still be the first thing your eye finds.
And I love the way she’s reaching into all of it.
There’s something about concerts that photographs never quite capture.
You can photograph the artist.
You can photograph the lights.
You can photograph the smoke.
But you can’t really photograph the bass vibrating through your chest or the sound of hundreds of people singing the same words.
You can’t photograph what it feels like to hear a song you love performed right in front of you.
But every once in a while, I take a picture that feels like it caught a tiny piece of that feeling anyway.
I think this is one of those.
Not because I caught the biggest moment.
Because I noticed the smaller one.
And sometimes, when I look closer, those are the pictures I end up loving most.
Until next time,
—Destiny
P.S. When you take pictures at concerts or events, do you usually photograph the big moments—or the little ones happening in between?
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