Photography as Zen: Monks Observing Themselves Through the Lens
I was born into a simple herding family and raised on the grasslands among the lambs. A "New Language" exists within the monastery. The photographer did not depict the monk as the 'divine' figure expected by the public; he unconsciously captured a 'human' being, either from heartfelt intention or by inadvertently achieving 'truth'. I hope these images endure and serve as strong evidence of how monastics themselves view their community, while aesthetics remain a secondary concern.
Before I had even finished elementary school, I left my parents and entered a monastery, where strict rules require daily scripture chanting, practice, prayers for all living beings, and a simple, disciplined life. Sharing tsampa and milk tea with fellow monks, the small joys and hardships of those years have become beautiful images in my memory. Perhaps that is why I developed an interest in photography.
Everything captured through the lens has become my new language. Though my command of Chinese is limited, my love for nature and my observations of everyday human life serve as how I connect with the world. An Adventure Stuck in the Mud I bought my first camera in 2014 and began trying out photography. I never formally learned photographic techniques— perhaps 'interest' is the best teacher.
One morning, I headed out alone to photograph Qinghai Lake. My ties to the plateau shape much of my work, and beyond its landscapes, I focus on the everyday lives of herders and the rhythms of monastic routine. With limited shooting opportunities, the experience carries a mix of hardship and reward. In my free time, I test different camera settings step by step, while my framing rests purely on instinct to catch fleeting, beautiful moments.
I slipped into a freezing, icy mudflat by accident—an experience that nearly cost me my life and left me overwhelmed with fear, forcing me to face firsthand how fragile and fleeting existence can be. My photography work is usually filled with joy, particularly when I catch people in unposed, natural moments. As the times shift, even those living on the plateau are slowly changing, yet it’s still their plain, unvarnished faces and ordinary routines that draw my focus. The monastery is full of entertaining tales, such as those behind "Debating with a Snowman.
During the bitterly cold plateau winter, playful young monks often build snowmen and hold scripture debates with them. In the courtyard, they soak up warm sunlight, study and read together, snack on tsampa, and play with small dogs. These amusing scenes have become the subjects of my photographs. Through the lens, I tune into their joys and sorrows, gaining a deeper understanding of each person's inner world and creating greater closeness and interaction. For me, photography is the art of linking oneself to the vast world.
A momentary expression or gesture, along with the story behind it, often moves me deeply, even though a single image can only convey so much. Photography, in my view, is another form of "Zen." The act of picking up a camera instills a peaceful focus within me. These beautiful scenes bring me closer to life itself, allowing me to experience a simple joy that is my own. This forges an inner link with meditation. To put it simply, meditation is the practice of abiding peacefully in the present moment.
My approach to photography has no deliberate posing or affectation—just seizing the moment and pressing the shutter with certainty. My life is simple, and while I lack a strong material foundation or advanced photography skills, I observe with my eyes and feel with my heart, capturing ordinary moments that often go unnoticed. When we perceive with the heart through awareness, we naturally discover the beauty of life. And the beauty of the natural world can also become a supportive condition for 'inner abiding', whether as a sound or an image.