His Nature Images are "For the Birds"
If "patience is a virtue," as the old adage claims, then Lorris Keizer must be approaching candidacy for sainthood. It is difficult to imagine an avocation that requires more patience than taking close-up photographs of wild birds, and Lorris is, without a doubt, one of North America's most accomplished practitioners of the art.
Given the international renown he has achieved, it's surprising to discover that this quiet Nova Scotian did not get involved in photography till later in life. As a child, and as a young man growing up on a family farm at Northville, Kings County, there was neither time nor money for anything as frivolous as picture taking. There were chores to do. There was homework to complete by lamplight. The idea of owning a camera was a remote dream.
For a long time his growing interest in photography remained latent. He and Nancy, his childhood sweetheart with whom he rode the same rural school bus, were married. Over the next period, with four young children growing up, serious photography had to be left in abeyance. It wasn't until the mid-'80s that he felt he could afford the $100 special deal on a 35 mm, SLR Canon camera with a 50 mm lens. While basic, it was a start, and he began practising the art of composition, studying light, and understanding colour.
The calibre of his early snapshots (as he calls them) must have been encouraging, at least to Nancy, because one Christmas she gave him a new 70-210 mm zoom lens. This opened up a whole new range of possibilities and his interest in the art and science of colour slide photography leapt forward. He studied and attended seminars on photography. He was inspired by the work of wildlife artist Robert Bateman and he claims to have learned much from established East Coast photographers like Fred Greene, Keith Vaughan, Patrick Wall and Freeman Patterson. He also studied the portraits of Karsh, for he realized that filming wildlife close-up was much the same as making a portrait, the big difference being one of co-operation between photographer and subject. A bird will not willingly pose.
Lorris knew that expensive equipment in itself would not make him a good photographer. Using the lenses he already owned, he practised and experimented, exploring his own creative instincts, always seeking to improve his mastery of the medium and his understanding of the subjects. Ultimately, however, equipment that is inadequate for the photographic task at hand does impose limitations. This is especially true when the subject is wildlife, where proximity and speed are always a special challenge.
To someone who had grown up with modest habits and strong values about eschewing extravagance, the idea of laying out a large sum of cash for something as apparently impractical as a camera lens presented a crisis of conscience. Over a period of several years Lorris thought about what he might be able to attempt with a fast, long-range lens. Often, he and Nancy would talk about owning one. Together they pored over models advertised in catalogues. But he couldn't bring himself to spend so much money on camera equipment. The frugal farm ethic held him in its grip. It was Nancy who, while he was at work one day, ordered the coveted lens, a 400mm, 2.8L Canon. Now the work began in earnest.
Although many categories of photography interested him, Lorris's drive for excellence told him that he should avoid spreading his efforts too broadly. He would concentrate on nature, and more especially, upon birds. This "focused" approach has won him the kind of recognition that puts him high on the roster of great wildlife photographers.
Asked why he chose to concentrate on the difficult subject of birds, Lorris struggles at first to explain. "I find it hard to fully answer," he hesitates. "Perhaps it is because I grew up in a rural setting where Nature was all around us." He reflects for a moment before continuing. "You know, we live in a beautiful part of Canada made up of lovely seascapes, hills and lakes. But what people often miss seeing is the small bird sitting on a branch singing its heart out." Though controlled, there is emotion in Lorris's voice.
Respect for his subjects is evident in the care he takes in locating a site and setting up the necessary blind. "It's important to do everything without stressing the birds," he emphasizes. Many of his images capture that intimate fraction of a second when the adult bird is dropping a succulent morsel of food into the gaping beak of its offspring. To fill the frame and to ensure texture and detail, the photographer may be 30 feet above ground level and no more than from seven to 14 feet away from the nest.
Getting into position is painstaking. Then, waiting for that split second opportunity to press the shutter release may require hours, days, or even weeks of patient waiting in the blind. To obtain a prize-winning portrait of a kestrel, for example, he and Nancy spent close to a total of 100 hours sitting quietly and as motionlessly as possible in the blind. During that time the bird was only present in seconds for a total of about five minutes. In another instance it took three years to locate and get a good shot of a wood duck.
Lorris does not profess to be a "birder," but he researches carefully in order to understand the habitat and habits of each particular species. The process of locating a site often requires walking over a vast area. When a bird is spied he and Nancy, who always works with him, observe carefully. Does it have nesting material in its beak? Is it carrying food? Is it "displaying"?
Only after noting these telltale signs does the detailed search begin. "Nancy is better at locating than I am," Lorris admits, humbly.
Even if a nest is located, an assessment has to be made about the suitability of the location. Is it too close to a road, for example, so that a blind would attract human attention? Is the nest well constructed? What kind of activity is going on in and around the nest? If everything does look suitable a strategy is then developed for erecting the blind. What direction will be best in terms of prevailing light and background? What is the flight pattern of the birds? Is there an adjacent tree? Will it help or be a hindrance?
The actual work of erecting the staging and building the blind (made out of old blankets from Frenchy's second-hand stores, camouflage material from the Army and Navy Surplus Depot, and plastic to keep out the rain) must be done when the adult bird is away from the nest. When it returns Lorris and Nancy stop work and step back, resuming their tasks when the bird, or birds, leave again in search of food. Setting up the blind may take hours or, in some cases, weeks. And when everything is at last prepared, the subject may disappear, perhaps the victim of predation or accident. Lorris sums it up, "There are no shortcuts. We have no control over nature."
However, when at last it is possible to press the shutter release at precisely the right fraction of a second, the result is often amazing. The final image may be projected from a 35 mm slide onto a screen in local, national, or international competition, or it may be enlarged, printed and hung in an elegant frame to adorn a home or a corporate boardroom. In all cases it is the photographer's uncompromising regard for detail, his care and patience combined with artistic integrity, that enable him to capture fleeting moments from the natural world and to preserve them for posterity.
His works have won a long list of awards. Among others they include first place slide in North America in the Photographic Society of America's nature category, First place slide in the Canadian Association for Photographic Art's nature category, and a host of best nature, best bird and best wildlife medals. He is a renowned international judge, presenter and lecturer, and his printed images of wildlife grace galleries in several countries. Closer to home, he has captured the Nova Scotia Bird Society annual trophy nine out of the past 10 years.
Lorris Keizer is by nature a soft-spoken, unobtrusive fellow. But when he speaks about the birds he photographs there is quiet intensity in his voice. "When I think about a tiny vireo," he says, "that comes here to breed and raise its young, then flies all the way back to South America for the winter-I regard it a great privilege to get close to such a marvel of nature. If I can capture a portrait of that beauty perhaps it will bring pleasure to others. Then too, the more people become aware of the wonder of nature the less likely they will be to harm it."
Lorris speaks with conviction. He speaks with warmth. With love. You realize that ultimately, in spite of his infinite patience and awesome technical expertise, it is this love that makes his images so great.