The triplets from Wooster who were celebrating their first birthday at Jimmy V’s after visiting the St. Paul School class that created a prayer chain while mom was in the hospital waiting for their birth. Abigail, Brandon, and Claire are doing fine after being born at 27 weeks weighing a total of six pounds.
All this reminded me of the video I’d watched earlier in the day.
Wonder why I’m a photographer? Because these stories surround us. I have a camera and ask others to talk with me. Photographs and stories are one result. You don’t need a camera to ask others to talk with you. Everyone has a story. Learn to ask. Learn to listen.
Leaping out of the rain – My Final Photo for May 10, 2013
Earlier this week I got caught in a thunderstorm while I was on Main Street in Uptown. It happened again today as I stood in the doorway of Cluckers to protect myself from a swirling deluge of rain so severe there was no safety under any awning.
I thought about making a run for State Street which usually had more shoppers and increased my chances of someone dashing to their car because they needed to get somewhere rather than stay dry. I stayed where I was as I only carried the D5000 which is not sealed against the weather.
There were two people who braved the rain. The man above, caught at the “decisive moment” on his tiptoe leaping across the rain-filled gutter onto the sidewalk, was eager to meet friends for chicken wings and liquid refreshment. Given the same choice I’d run through heavy rain, lightning, and rain-filled gutters. Wise decision. Very decisive.
Dashing to the car in the middle of a thunderstorm – My Final Photo for May 10, 2013
The other was a woman running to her car at the rear of The Old Bag of Nails. She couldn’t use the back door. It was closed because the restaurant’s outdoor grease trap had overflowed spreading the foul smelling viscous liquid into the lot, across the sidewalk and into the street.
She had not only to navigate a longer run to her car, she was forced to run into the street to avoid the thick layer of used cooking grease that blocked her path.
Then I wished I had a longer lens. My decision to carry only the D5000 with the kit lens was not a “decisive moment” for me although I liked the photos I got with it.
Every now and then I stumble on a scene that takes me a moment or two to begin to understand. It happened today while I was on my bike for a late afternoon ride through Huber Village Park.
Alon the norther peremiter of the lacrosse field stood a young couple boxing. Both wore red gloves. She wore protective gear as a barrier against the much large boy she competed against.
I watched for a few minutes as I shot more bikes being stored in the nearly full bicycle rack next to Planet Westerville.
The pair continued to spar along the sidelines of the lacrosse field being used for practice.
Finally, after I was satisfied with my bike rack photos and worried they might finish training, I biked over and started up a conversation about how unique it was to find sparring boxers in the park.
Of course, I shot a few photos, one of which is this portrait that becomes My Final Photo for Tuesday, April 23, 2013.
Families bury six children killed in house fire. Photo copyright The AP
Earlier today one of my Facebook friends pointed me towards a New York Times story with a remarkable photo of a lone person walking through dust and debris in a canyon of buildings destroyed by the war in Syria.
I always enjoy our online conversations because each of us have strong opinions, don’t always agree, respect each other, and love photography.
Today we agreed that it’s very difficult for a photographer to express pride or contentment having to shoot photos like the one he pointed me to. It’s not an enjoyable task, shooting disasters and deaths.
I spent almost all of my photojournalism career shooting moments that weren’t necessarily very enjoyable. There’s plane crashes and auto wrecks. Funerals for police, firefighters, children, military, the famous and infamous.
The photo at right is one of those moments where journalism overcame emotion and fear in an attempt to communicate to newspaper readers the gravity of burying six children at the same time.
There were only three frames of film from this viewpoint. I’d left my other cameras with telephoto lenses in the car and walked up to the crowd of mourners carrying one camera with a wide-angle lens. I stood quietly at the edge of the crowd gathered tightly against the edge of the tent covering the families and the caskets. I stayed quiet, my camera concealed under my winter coat, until I could see through the space between the heads of several mourners that emotion had reached its zenith.
As the parents hugged and the pastors said the final prayers I reached over the crowd positioned my camera in where I hoped it would be a good angle and fired three frames. No motor drive. This was film days and cameras still had a thumb drive for moments just like this.
As soon as I shot the three frames I returned to my car and left.
I knew I had photos to help tell the anguish of a funeral for six children. Also, I didn’t want to explain my actions to anyone who was offended.
My actions were cold and calculated. I anticipated one of the reactions would be anger at me. Still, the story needed to be told. I am a photographer. I did what was needed to tell the story.
No one chased after me. No one complained. There were no nasty letters from readers.
I did receive congratulations for succeeding with a good photo in such a tough situation.
I thought of this photo when I had my Facebook conversation this morning. Especially after what had happened the night before.
Young couple pose for iPhone portrait – My Final Photo
One of my granddaughters visited last night wanting me to give her a bunch of black and white prints from my archive so she could decorate the walls of her room. Among her choices, in addition to the dogs, cats, and skunk photos, were photos of Jerry Rubin, Jane Fonda, Stokely Carmichael, a couple of presidents before Clinton, andassorted spot news photos. Sandwiched in the collection now covering her walls are old news photos showing disasters, insurrection, injury, and recovery.
All are now decoration for a teenager’s room. They are not even the poignant records of events forgotten in time except for the participants, and the photographers who were the observers.
They are decoration, wallpaper in black and white blurred to the grays of history.
At right is My Final Photo for Monday, April 8, 2013.
