The Dharma Gate: Monk Photographer Nima Norbu's Vision
Having grown up in a rural family with deep religious faith in Bailong Village, Chengduo County, Yushu Prefecture, I later became a monk. The winter in this snow-covered land stretches on for a long time, and white snow covers the entire monastery. Overnight, even the evergreen cypress trees turn white. The crimson-robed monks add to the monastery’s serene atmosphere, and at first glance, it feels like stepping into a dream. As Dongpo’s Forest of Records says, “Though the eight winds blow fiercely, The sage sits firm upon his purple-golden lotus.”
My parents are true farmers—hardworking, modest, and kind-hearted. During my early years, my father was the person I admired most. I enjoyed hearing him recite scriptures and share the life stories of renowned monks and great teachers. He taught me from a young age to live with compassion and concern for others. Day by day, he guided me carefully, from morning prayers and sutra reading to evening smoke offerings. It is worth noting that both my brothers and I have become monks.
My brother's experience greatly influenced me. Deeply rooted in virtuous foundations. I remember one night in the depths of winter when my elder brother, who had not yet completed his studies at the time, told our father he wished to leave the world behind. Each day after school, he would recite scriptures in that dark, musty warehouse. After six years, he finally became a monk. Without my realizing it, I also finished three years of junior high school and arrived at the first turning point of my life.
That day remains vivid in my memory: a gentle drizzle was falling over Bailong Valley, and the entire mountain range lay wrapped in clouds and mist. By myself, I followed the riverside path, moving past fields and white stupas. During the whole walk, my thoughts kept turning to what lay ahead and to the words my brother once spoke: "If a good idea suddenly comes to you in a moment, you must pursue it. If you miss the chance, it may be hard to come by again." Once I reached home, I told my mother without hesitation that I wished to renounce the world.
Red Life in the monastery is simple and peaceful. As for the causes and conditions for leaving the world, I believe each master has unique reasons. Some are moved by wisdom and awakened by insight, while others act when conditions are ripe and grasp life's impermanence. In my own case, I consider myself to have been firmly planted in virtuous roots, passing straight through the gate of emptiness. To my relief, both my parents fully backed my decision.
Every morning at six, I get up to recite texts, chant scriptures, and say my prayers. During my spare hours, I remain in my room to practice calligraphy. In the summer of 2017, I came across the works of Steve McCurry, a globally acclaimed photography master. That encounter sparked my passion for humanistic photography. Now, whenever I have free time, I stroll around the monastery and use my camera to record the people and events I encounter. My initial camera equipment was a Huawei phone that my second uncle had purchased for me.
Red is the color I love most, and it appears most frequently in my photographs. I believe that color is essential to photography’s artistic expression. After gradually gaining knowledge of composition and lighting, I began attempting to shoot with a professional camera. For Tibetans, red carries profound meaning—it represents compassion and nobility.
At that time, a major ceremony was taking place at the monastery, and the young monk was in charge of the day's kitchen work. My first photograph, 'Young Monk Serving Tea,' came from that moment. He was on his way to serve tea, kettle in hand, his crimson robes framing a face that was still young, with resolute eyes. The scene made a deep impression on me, and I pressed the shutter without hesitation. That image became the bedrock of my photographic career.
An important understanding came to me after I started photography. At first, I was self-taught, relying on mobile video tutorials, and I looked for chances to shoot around the monastery. The masters feared this would interfere with my studies and urged me to concentrate on learning. However, when I later earned an excellence award in an academic assessment, these concrete results dispelled their worries. Photography not only failed to hinder my studies; it became a pastime that enhanced my spare time.
My photograph of a joyful elderly man from Zhuomuchi was taken at the annual Chengduo County Zhuomuchi Tsampa Festival, and his genuinely unvarnished smile touched me deeply. That image later earned first prize in the Holy Mountain Photography Competition, an achievement that filled me with great encouragement. Meanwhile, the monastery's masters gradually came to appreciate my efforts and entrusted me with documenting the monastery's events, which made my life more satisfying and free. I now hope to stay engaged with everyday affairs while maintaining a transcendent perspective.
Photographers must stay true to their own creative approach, since adjusting it to meet outside expectations or altering it on purpose will only constrain artistic expression. I have always felt that photography and venerating the Buddha both come from the heart, just as the inner pure land is never lost while inner awareness continues. Beyond merely holding a camera, what is essential is sincerity and reverence.
For me, photography and honoring the Buddha are both forms of spiritual practice, because learning to observe—whether through the lens or in daily life—makes it possible to perceive different aspects of the self and different perspectives on the world.