I have a confession to make.
When I first became interested in photography at the ripe old age of 13, my interest may not have been driven by the quest for art. As you might imagine, any young boy has one thing on his mind, for me that was fitting in.
I was not athletic in the competitive sense; I was more of a geek I guess you could say. In later years, I preferred chemistry over baseball, physical sciences over proms, and definitely industrial arts over history. In PE classes, I had few friends, during Chemistry tests, people that would normally taunt me on the outside, sat unusually close.
I wanted to be good at something that might garner some positive attention but without trying to be like everyone else. I thought photography might do that. I will never know if it could have been, because I couldn’t afford film and parts for my cars weren’t cheap.
I never lost the desire to be my own kind of special, whatever that was, and photography started being a bigger part of my life during my college years. But then in a quiet late-night conversation, in a snow storm driving across central Colorado, my aspiration almost collapsed upon itself.
With my home in Denver while attending school at Ft Lewis College in Durango, commuting back and forth was fairly common. During most trimester breaks, as soon as finals were over, I would head off to Denver to see my mom and catch up with high school friends. Most times I drove alone, but on this evening, a friend offered to drive. Michael and I left Durango around 6 PM in fairly clear weather but aware of a storm coming down from the north.
It was probably near Fairplay when we met the storm head on. The snow was falling fast and the wind was pushing it diagonally across the headlights. The dark, dark night broken only by the bright snow reflecting in the beam of the new halogen lights was both unsettling and mesmerizing. Probably more mesmerizing than anything else due to the fact we had been on the road about 4 hours and were exhausted. I was feeling drowsy and in looking at Michael could see the hypnotic flow of snow might be getting to him.
I reached in his glove box and found an old harmonica and thought I would try my hand at it.
Did I mention that it was old and sitting in the glove box.
We both became more alert as we laughed about the amount of dirt and crumbs I managed to suck into my mouth. I recall Michael saying, “I forgot that was there, you might want to clean it.” Ok time for a change of subject, I thought as I picked God knows what off of my tongue and from my teeth.
“Mike,” I said, “look at that snow, that would make a great picture.” I was trying to make conversation and possibly impress him about how observant I am. Who knows. But what I do remember is his somewhat dismissive terse remark. “I don’t need a photograph, I can see it in my mind.” Silence returned as we continued down the road.
It was a casual remark in an offhand way and seeming long forgotten until recently. In retrospect, that subtle comment may have influenced my philosophy towards photography. For one, more and more I find myself in a seemingly photographic moment and don’t bother with the camera. As I have mentioned before, sometimes the moment just doesn’t need me to record it.
On the other hand, so often these days, my images start in my mind. Sometimes it might be a recollection of another piece of work that would be challenging to put my spin on. More often than not it is a mental construction, something that might keep me awake all night until I finally create scene and create the image.
Wherever you are Michael, thank you.
Leave a Reply