I lost my shit when I lost my shoe.
It was slurped up by the bog monster, to cries of despair and dismay. Was it the universe trying to scold me, punishing and preventing me from jumping that farmer’s fence? Possibly. But don’t you also think the universe might have delighted in the production of a dazzling photograph of a lighthouse at sunrise?
But alas, the artistic sensibilities and partialities of this dashed world are of no consequence. Following the separation of foot and flip-flop, I handed the camera off to Eric and launched a full scale campaign to sulk. (An ongoing wallow, really, for I’ve just now snuck in to the cupboard for my second hit of self indulgent chocolate. Don’t judge. It’s a welcome balm for my weary soul.)
Anywho.
After finding myself ankle deep in a squelching quagmire of mud (and feces?) I picked my way around the minefield of thistle thickets back to the safety of concrete. I stood barefoot beside the lighthouse, wondering if indeed this was the cosmos directing my focus. (And we’re back to that.)
Perhaps this is a lesson to be found only in the slick, soggy depths of a cow pasture, that I need to put down the camera more often. A reminder that snap shots for the social media machine are shallow. That forgoing all of my other senses to create a single, curated visual is absurd. That focusing on the “what will they think of it later” versus the “how do I FEEL about it NOW” is silly. Silly, silly, fucking silly.
But where’s that line drawn? Does this mean that taking photographs holds no real positive value in our personal experiences? Does it DEvalue them, taking one away from the moment? Am I allowed to capture, just not allowed to share? Does photography ironically thwart our attempts to “capture” a moment, laughing in our faces, as the very act inherently weakens it for the photographer?
I remember being asked by my big brother to photograph his marriage proposal several years ago. Our families gathered, the question and cork were both popped, and a festive CHEERS followed as glasses touched and twinkled. I remember capturing a beautiful photo of that moment. But more vividly, I remember having no one to clink my glass with after the moment had passed, passing me by in the process. I was there. But I wasn’t there.
And so I ask again: at what point does being a photographer get in the way of being present? Can these two courses coexist? Where’s the balance?
-K
^ Well. Tadaaaa. Turns out we did come away with an even better photograph than the one I had originally planned. When I handed the camera off to Eric in a fit of disgust, he didn’t end up being so idle with it. Me + Egmont + Mt. Taranaki in the distance. (First lighthouse I’ve ever seen with a volcanic backdrop. Whoop, whoop!)
^ The lighthouse the night before at sunset. Yeeeeeah, buddy.
^ Seaside puzzlin + yet another view of the lighthouse at night
