The Butterfly Effect by Ana Sylvia Encinas
In this captivating close-up, a butterfly rests amidst lush greenery, its wings unfurled to reveal vibrant, intoxicating colors. Captured with a deliberate eight-second exposure at f/22, the image emphasizes a profound stillness, inviting the viewer into a moment of natural serenity. The photographer’s choice of a wide-angle 35mm lens creates an intimate perspective, drawing the eye into the delicate textures of the subject. This photograph is award-worthy for its masterful balance of technical precision and poetic atmosphere, effectively translating the fleeting beauty of the butterfly effect into a permanent, mesmerizing visual experience.
Teresa Boardman
Teresa Fisher Boardman is a Realtor and licensed real estate broker in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA. She is also a writer, blogger and a photography enthusiast. She bought her first DLSR camera in 2008 and it changed her life. Teresa's interest in photography goes beyond enthusiasm but she dislike the word passion because it is over used. She loves to say, there isn’t anything she enjoys more than she enjoys photography. Landscapes, cities at night and architecture are her favorite subjects. Many of her photographs feature water because she lives near the Mississippi river and in the land of 10,000 lakes. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="145"] Teresa Boardman[/caption] Camera Gear: Canon EOS Digital Rebel XTi Current Location: Saint Paul, Minnesota Portfolio: http://stpaulphotos.com Twitter: http://twitter.co
Resonance Score Breakdown
Transparency Note: The resonance score (11.7/20) is calculated based on social engagement metrics collected before the award announcement.
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Read the reflection →Reviews & Comments
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We look at this butterfly and we’re not just seeing an insect; we’re meeting a traveler. Ana Sylvia Encinas held her breath for eight seconds, listening to the stillness of the Tucson air before the shutter clicked. It’s a portrait of patience. I feel a quiet ache in my chest looking at those wings, as if the creature is sharing a secret about the fragility of our own journeys. It’s a photograph that asks to be returned to.
Shooting at f/22 with a 35mm lens invites significant diffraction, yet here, it’s a calculated risk. The airy disk size expands, softening the micro-contrast, but it’s precisely this loss of clinical sharpness that grants the butterfly its ethereal, dreamlike quality. I’m genuinely moved by how the light bleeds across those wings; it’s a soft, velvet surrender to physics. It doesn’t just capture a moment; it’s a fragile, optical meditation on the limits of our own perception.
Eight seconds is a long time to hold your breath while a creature so fragile sits still. You’ve captured a quiet, heavy stillness that feels almost sacred. I find myself leaning in, half-afraid I’ll startle it away. Because you chose that long exposure, the world around the butterfly softened into a dream. It’s a patient piece of work. You didn’t just take a picture; you sat with the moment until it let you in. That’s rare.
Eight seconds of light. The shutter held its breath. I’ve spent minutes watching the blur of the foliage against the stillness of the wings. It’s a quiet tension. The butterfly doesn’t move, yet the world around it drifts. I feel a sudden, sharp ache for that kind of patience. Nothing here is accidental. The empty corner is not empty. It’s the weight of the pause. Encinas understands the silence. It’s rare. It’s enough.
The eight-second exposure creates a static void that doesn’t quite resolve. While the f/22 aperture forces a sharp depth of field, the lack of a clear fulcrum leaves the eye wandering aimlessly across the foliage. It’s technically precise, yet the composition lacks the necessary tension to anchor the frame. I’ve grown weary of such aimless stillness. The butterfly’s placement is too centered; it fails to challenge the picture plane. It’s merely decorative.
Eight seconds of exposure at f/22 forces the light to surrender its frantic pace, yet I’m unsettled by the clarity. It’s too bright, too eager to reveal. Where is the hesitation? A butterfly shouldn’t be this exposed; it’s a creature of fleeting transitions, not a static specimen. I feel a strange, cold grief looking at it. By denying the shadow its rightful territory, Encinas has stripped the subject of its mystery. It’s beautiful, but it’s hollow.
Eight seconds of stillness. That’s a lifetime for a butterfly, yet Encinas holds the frame steady. At f/22, the depth of field pulls the greenery into a soft, cinematic blur, forcing the eye to lock onto those wings. It’s a long take that refuses to cut. I’ve spent hours in editing suites, but I’d kill for this kind of patience. It’s not just a close-up; it’s a sequence frozen before the wings could ever beat again.
Eight seconds is an eternity for a creature so fragile. She must have held her breath, waiting for the desert air to settle completely. I feel a strange, quiet ache in my chest looking at this; it’s as if the butterfly and the greenery are breathing in unison. By choosing f/22, she’s allowed the light to deepen, turning a fleeting moment into something permanent. It’s a rare, patient prayer captured in the Tucson heat.