Often, photographers are driven by the obsessive need to capture the moment, to be productive at all costs. Recently, however, I rewatched a movie that contained a different reflection, one that I would like to share with you today. It is the beauty of choosing not to shoot, to fully immerse oneself in the moment, and rediscover the pure pleasure of observation, which ultimately leads photographers to better photos.

A Reflection Inspired by a Movie Scene
Photographer: “There’s a snow leopard right in this ridge. So, we have to try to be very, very, very, very still. They call the snow leopard the ghost cat. It never lets itself be seen.”
Walter: “Ghost cat?”
Photographer: “Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.”
…
Walter: “When are you gonna take it?”
Photographer: “Sometimes I don’t. If I like a moment… I mean, me, personally… I don’t like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it.”
Walter: “Stay in it?”
Photographer: “Yeah, right there. Right here.”
This dialogue is taken from the film “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” released in 2013. It is a nice film, even though it is not particularly notable for its photography-related content. It certainly includes some odd details, such as the use of a Nikon F3 with a motor drive mounted on, seemingly, a Nikon AF-S 400mm f/2.8 G, which doesn’t match the camera (and, by the way, certainly couldn’t provide the level of magnification shown in the movie).
But in that scene, in that dialogue, it encapsulates a truly special wisdom I would like to share and comment on with you. Sean O’Connell – the photographer played by a charming Sean Penn – strongly resembles Vincent Munier to me. He is waiting with Walter Mitty on a Himalayan slope. He stands in front of his “holy grail”: the elusive snow leopard. He has the camera ready, the situation is perfect, and the subject is there.
Yet, when asked, “When are you gonna take it?” his response is a philosophical manifesto: “Sometimes I don’t.” In these words, there is no laziness or hesitation, but a conscious and profound choice. A choice that invites us to reflect on our relationship with images, and with the world we aim to portray through our photographs.

The “Ghost Cat” and the Value of Presence
The snow leopard, the “ghost cat,” is the perfect metaphor not only for an elusive subject but for the moment itself: an unrepeatable conjunction of situation, light, emotion, and presence that makes a scene worth living.
In this movie, the photographer Sean tells us that the ultimate goal of his long and arduous journey is not necessarily the photograph, but the encounter. The printed image (and yes, I print my pictures and think of photography as a paper thing) would only be the proof, a testament for others. But the experience belongs solely to the one who lives it.
“Beautiful things don’t ask for attention,” he says. It’s a powerful phrase. Authentic beauty does not pose, does not cry out to be captured. It doesn’t need to; it simply exists.
Instead, our instinct as photographers – almost Pavlovian in the digital age – is to use a device and “capture it,” almost as if to possess it. Yet, paradoxically, in trying to save the moment, we often lose it. We’re busy adjusting exposure, checking focus, thinking about composition, and in doing so, we stop being there, and our attention shifts from the real scene to the one filtered through the viewfinder.

Instead, Sean’s decision to “stay in it” reflects a choice to focus on emotional connection and direct sensory experiences without technological mediation. It involves prioritizing living in the moment over capturing it digitally.
Digital-Social Compulsion and the Loss of Connection
It is all around us: We live in an era of visual gluttony. Everyone films and photographs everything, all the time. The food we eat, the places we visit, the friends we meet. Digital galleries overflow with thousands of images that will rarely be viewed again. Even on the most “photographic” social platforms like Instagram, the most incredible images receive at best only a couple of seconds of attention and maybe thousands of likes, each one based on those 2 seconds. This compulsion to document and share every single moment often stems from a subtle anxiety: the fear of forgetting, the fear that an undocumented experience is an unexperienced one, the fear that without posting it on our favorite social platform, the experience won’t tell our story.
But the opposite is true.
The photographer who loves what they portray should find a primary pleasure in the simple act of looking and enjoying, taking the time to do so. Love for the mountain is not love for photographs of the mountain but for its cold air, its silence, its imposing presence, its stern and wild nature. In this perspective, the camera can become a barrier, a constant filter between us and what we love the most; the “distraction of the camera,” as Sean calls it, is real and transforms us from participants into spectators, from lovers into technicians.
As a very passionate photographer, I’m not saying that Sean is exactly right. After all, he is just a character in a film. And in many ways, all the effort we put into our photography is exactly devoted to capturing those rarefied instants and sensations by using our tools, perhaps in hopes that others will feel something like we did in the field. But I’m pretty sure that maintaining a good connection with our subject is paramount, leading us to better photos, too.

Observing to Understand – Waiting as a Creative Act
I remember photographing a polar bear in the Arctic for the very first time. It was around 3 AM, with the midnight sun. A significant experience I dreamed of for years.
I took thousands of frames, burst after burst, before realizing I was not fully engaging with the moment. The subject was gorgeous, but my pictures weren’t exceptional because I was so focused on the viewfinder that I was unable to pause to observe and understand the scene outside the frame setup. I failed to experience the subtleties of light, the pale blue shades in the ice in the background, and the wind patterns on the ocean water, studded by small pieces of floating ice. I was missing an understanding of the rhythm of the polar bear and its interaction with the environment.
Ultimately, I was missing how and why a polar bear is unique.

It is not solely about those exceptional subjects. Allocating time to establish connections has just as much benefit with the more commonly encountered subjects. It allows you to slow down, experiment, and be unconcerned about the photo – which, perhaps paradoxically, means that better photos will follow.
Generalizing the concept, the optimal image often is not from the photographer’s initial reaction to a scene or their rapid frame bursts. Rather, it is the outcome of a process involving waiting, connecting, understanding the moment, observing the scene, and appreciating it with our naked eyes before and during the shot. These are all steps to creating meaningful pictures.
This approach may seem to be less suited to action photography, but I don’t think it is. Considering which lens to use, how to frame, and identifying the precise moment while observing is a useful exercise in pre-visualization. Even if the peak of the action is brief, it is our observation of the world which enables us to recognize what is about to happen, prepare for it, and photograph it when it arrives.

Conclusion
Sean O’Connell’s lesson from the Himalayan ridge in Walter Mitty is an invitation to rediscover the heart of photography. The act of not using the camera and instead choosing to “stay in it,” in the scene, allows us to return to photographing with a purer gaze, a clearer intention, and a stronger bond with the subject. It reminds us that being a photographer does not just mean knowing how to use a camera and understanding how to construct a photograph. It is knowing how to see – and, even before that, knowing why you love what you see, because a love for your subject is the secret ingredient of any beautiful photo.
Eventually, through observing the world, we’ll achieve better, meaningful images even with fewer photos taken overall.

I hope that this essay has encouraged you to seek a deeper connection with the subjects of your photos, appreciating the experience of engaging with them. Should you have any inquiries or feedback, or wish to share your thoughts on this topic, please feel free to leave a comment in the section below.
Great topic. I’ve started not taking a camera…or just use my phone for a casual pic… to some activities for the very reasons mentioned in the article and comments. I’d get so focused on taking the photo that I’d miss the “experience.” I remember sitting along a bay with binoculars a couple years ago, just enjoying general viewing when I “accidentally” picked up a bird in the binoculars. Rapidly realized it was a bald eagle flying right towards me. As it filled the field of view it dove and plucked a fish from the water. I dropped the binoculars from my eyes as it soared by literally just feet away–an amazing experience. At first I was annoyed that I didn’t have my camera but I soon realized I would have never had seen it in time, would have likely had the camera setup for landscape (and if not would still have been fidgeting with controls), and would have missed the shot and, moreover, missed the experience, which is still seared in my memory. That was a teachable moment for me–not everything requires a photograph. Thank- you forthe reminder!
As a traveler, I sometimes think photography allows me to spend more time at beautiful viewpoints. Sitting at the edge of a mountain for 10 minutes may seem like a long time, but with photography, 1 hour might not be enough. Just as you said, photography is a way to connect what I see with my own experience, even if I don’t shoot. This is an extremely thoughtful essay!
Great Article, I like the ones that make you think.
I like wildlife.
As such I’ve had the feeling that I was missing something stuck behind the camera. But I’ve also at other times felt I would have missed something if I didn’t have the magnification to enjoy what was happening.
I think it comes down to if we’re having fun and can appreciate the moment and be grateful for the experience.
The Following is a Comment I recently made in the Subject about Binocular use.
” Binoculars need not be limited to assisting in Photography, for myself the Photography on occasion is the accompanying Tool to the Binocular.
Some interactions with nature are for the very best when left as just that, leaving the camera at rest with the interaction being encountered having the outcome a Memory is made only.
Binoculars can at such a time be the tool to make the observation feel there is a intensity to the activity being seen. ”
‘Sometimes I don’t’ is at certain times a more powerful stimulation than the antithesis being ‘I did a lot’ .
I’ll remember the Female Goshawk seen with my own eyes in the Wild, this is indelible, it is to myself more meaningful than any other moment had in nature whether capturing images or not.
I’ll remember the Mating Ritual of Stoats with the aerial acrobatics and serpentine interactions, snaking around each others torsos, watched with my own eyes in the Wild, this is indelible, it is to myself more than any other moment had in nature whether capturing images or not.
A very good example, thank you John. Our memories and experiences are with us forever!
Beautiful words and an idea that makes one reflect on various areas of life that have nothing to do with photography.
But as far as photography, sometimes it is better to enjoy the real to its fullest by being in the moment and have the memory as the best image of it.
Many times on tours around the world I see tourists taking thousands of pictures almost constantly as though they will have more joy in seeing the pictures on a screen later when back home rather than in absorbing the reality of the culture, cuisine and art that surrounds them now.
One fine piece of writing and I thank you.
For me, the creative process is part of the emersion into the moment. I see no conflict here, in fact the photographic process amplifies the experience for me.
The ultimate example of this is a total solar eclipse. While it’s nice to get a snap of totality, 100% of the experience is immersing yourself in the surreal spectacle. Especially since a total solar eclipse cannot be truly captured in an image. Photographed, yes. Truly captured?…not possible. So yeah, soaking in our experiences is the most important thing to do, even as passionate photographers.
Ken, I SO agree with you. My first experience photographing a total solar eclipse was at age 20 on Feb. 26, 1979 in Roundup, MT, a very rural location (see, e.g., www.timeanddate.com/eclip…o=19790226). It was very cold with a crystal clear sky and the ground was fully covered in snow. The sun on the snow was intense but gradually diminished with the onset of the eclipse until mid-morning when totality occurred. I was with a group of photographers and every one of us pretty much forgot to take photos when totality was reached because it was just so stunningly eerie and incredible to be there in the moment. I do not even think I could today find any of the photos I took that day; but the memory is seared into my brain — unforgettable.
Thank you, Massimo, for this wonderful article.
Very poignant article, not just for photography but for life.
I love this site just for this kind of article.
Thank you Wilfred, and is really a joy for me to write here.
But it is not just it because to me writing is a way to think more deeply and and it’s even more so chatting with others here.
Sometimes, I just take binoculars. It makes my bicycle lighter too :D. Great article with thoughtful content Massimo.