"What Are You Lookin' At?" ▎ Wildlife Collection by Herdsman Photographer

"Huh? Who's looking for me?"

"Me! I'm looking for you!"

"Let me see."

"Quietly watching you all stir things up."

"Just don't forget about us."

Messengers of the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss

Senna loves nature.

Senna — a herder who relocated his entire family from the pastoral region. By chance, he began lifting a camera to record the living beings around him. Perhaps it was innate talent, but I prefer to call it the call of his primal life. In any case, his work possesses, from the very beginning, a kind of natural, innate emotion — not intense, but simple and pure, drawing people into the philosophical wonderland of nature.

The Blessings of the Plateau

The Beginning of a Foreign Couple's Photography

Twenty years ago, our family moved to the city to make it more convenient for our child to go to school. During that period, I mainly worked as a tour guide. Once, I took a foreign couple on a tour—they were particularly passionate about photography. At every stop, they would get out to take photos. After watching them for a while, I tried taking a few pictures myself. I showed those photos to them, and they said I had a good eye, praising me again and again. Not only that, but later, every time we went out to shoot, they would follow behind me and take photos from the same spots I chose. That made me even happier, and I started to think that maybe I really had some talent. And that's how my photography career began.

A wicked smile.

Looking back now, what really attracted that foreign couple wasn't just my technical skill, but the way I saw things differently—my perspective through the lens. And honestly, that perspective wasn't something I consciously chose; it was more like a mark left on me by my earlier life, a natural expression of lived experience.

My Life in the Pasturelands

I used to be a herder. Like all herders, the sky, the grasslands, the livestock, and the tents were everything in my life. Until I was 20, my work was herding—driving the animals up the mountain each day and then back down. While they grazed, I would either daydream or simply gaze at the scenery. There were no surprises, no ups and downs—just a simple, free-flowing life.

Freedom at the Foot of the Mountain

Perhaps because of this, I developed a strong sense of environmental awareness from a young age. I never saw myself as separate from this nature; all these elements formed my life. At the same time, I knew I was a part of this nature—perhaps not essential, but I was one with it all. That’s why I couldn’t bear to see the surrounding environment at risk of damage. I’ve carried this habit with me to this day. Even now, when I travel to pastoral areas for work, I still lead my team in voluntarily picking up litter.

"Let me see who's here."

Besides daydreaming and gazing at the scenery, the other thing I did most often during that time was carving Mani stones. I had shown a natural talent for stone carving since I was young. You know, for us Tibetans, carving Mani stones is one of the best ways to express blessings. We believe that the Six-Syllable Mantra, meticulously chiseled into the stone, can protect the peace and well-being of all living beings and the surrounding environment. So back then, I almost always carried a chisel and a hammer with me. Whenever I had free time, I would search for suitable stones, and my childhood footsteps covered every hill in the surrounding area.

Peaceful Homeland

From a young age, I also showed a love for technological products. Even though my access to such devices was very limited at that time, I cherished the few items I had—like the radio. I loved tinkering with radios the most, and gradually, whenever someone’s radio broke in our area, they would come to me first for help. Later, after meeting that foreign couple, they gave me a Canon 76D—my very first camera. I was deeply grateful to them.

Where Snow Mountains Connect

I burned the camera out.

I paired this camera with three lenses of different focal lengths: an 18-200mm zoom, a 100mm prime, and a 13-35mm wide-angle. I learned the meaning of these numbers and how they affect the relationship with the subject by experimenting with the camera function on my iPhone. To this day, I’ve never received any formal photography training.

"Don't peek at us."

After I got my Canon 76D, I carried it with me every day to shoot everywhere. Often, after a whole day of shooting, I would come back and find not a single photo satisfying—yet even that never discouraged me. I had a natural passion for photography.

But once, when I took it to Mount Zari, that famous sacred mountain, the fog on the slopes was so thick that the lens kept getting covered in moisture, making it impossible to take any photos. So I came up with an idea: I covered the lens with a transparent plastic bag and kept shooting. Little did I expect that this move would end up burning out my beloved camera.

Frantically, I took it to Lhasa for repairs, but at the time, I couldn't find an official service center there. So I went to Xining instead, but it couldn’t be fixed there either. With no other options left, I reached out again to that foreign couple—oh, by the way, they had settled in Guangzhou. After explaining everything to them, I sent the camera over. It ended up costing me more than 8,000 yuan to get it repaired.

Self-sufficient

My photography, without thought.

Many people say there is emotion and thought in my photos. Emotion, yes—but the so-called thought often only comes after I've finished shooting, when I export the images and realize a certain photo carries a particular mood. I never shoot with any intention in mind. Even when I went to the sky burial site to photograph vultures, it was the same.

Majestic Posture

Back then, I contacted the person in charge in advance. I assured them I wouldn’t photograph anything forbidden—only the vultures. They agreed. When I arrived, I found that each vulture stood taller than an adult human. I moved in very close to shoot; they weren’t afraid of people, and I wasn’t afraid either. Even now, I can still remember the dust kicked up as they flapped their enormous wings and took flight, and the occasional feathers that drifted down when they circled above me. As a photography enthusiast, faced with a scene like that, at a moment like that, all I could do was capture them instantly. There was no time—and no room—to dwell on questions of life, death, or reincarnation.

What's on your mind?

But my photography carries emotion.

When I say my photos carry emotion, it's because beyond my passion for photography, I also love everything I photograph. For example, whenever I stake out to shoot animals, hiding in the distance and quietly observing them, I can't help but feel a pang of heartache. I notice how even when they're just taking a bite of grass, they cautiously glance around, afraid some creature might suddenly rush out and harm them. In those moments, I think how pitiful these lives are—living in constant fear. Our belief teaches that all beings are like one's own mother, and that’s a beautiful way to cherish life. When I look at them, when I photograph them with that mindset, my emotions naturally flow into the work.

"Your Majesty, I'm so innocent."

Though I am no longer a herder, I still keep a herder’s ways. I love nature and photography, and over the years my footprints have spread across most of Ganzi, Yushu, and Tibet. Especially when work slows down each winter, I deliberately set aside one or two months to "nomadically" shoot in various places. For example, recently I heard that a white deer appeared in an area farther from my hometown, and it has been lingering in my thoughts day and night. I made a long journey to stake out the spot for two days, but I still haven’t been able to see it.

"Heads down, digging in."

When I go out shooting, I usually contact locals in advance—mainly herders—to learn where wildlife and good scenery can be found. Later, I realized that my photography could also help locals understand the living conditions of these animals. For instance, based on my observations, I could remind them that some of their habits might unintentionally harm the animals. This is a meaning of photography I had never thought of before.

A glance back in the midst of panic.

Now, when I look back at my earlier photos, I often feel regret. Thoughts like, “I was in such a beautiful place—why did I shoot it like that?”, “If only I had framed it wider,” or “This angle is too low” come to me frequently. I’m not sure whether the change from then to now reflects a change in myself, but one thing remains clear: I still love everything I photograph as much as ever, and my photography is the way I express that love.

Aww~ little cutie.

Interviewee