My purpose in writing this book is rooted in a desire to share, on a human level, some of the moments in my life that have significance to me as a photographer, and as a man.
While all of life’s moments are sacred, our ability to perceive their subtleties is often elusive. Perception can be achieved with a modicum of effort when we allow ourselves to stop. When we cease to do and allow ourselves to be, we can fully savor the moments as they flow over us.
I have found that I’m able to see much more clearly when I’m doing the least. Being conscious is the key to seeing. By being aware of what is around us, and then noticing that awareness, we allow our vision and perception to grow. It’s very difficult to do this on a regular basis. Stillness is a life practice. At times I will catch myself unconsciously spinning my wheels, and then consciously try to center myself and observe.
A rock would seem to be the embodiment of stillness, and yet, on an atomic level, the rock is in constant motion. Our inability to perceive this movement is irrelevant to the truth about what is occurring within the rock.
Photographs are one of mankind’s most profound expressions of stillness. They allow us the ability to hold time in our hands and facilitate a merging with time that exists in no other form.
A photograph does not require any information beyond the confines of the frame. The moment the shutter is tripped, the information captured on the light-sensitive surface alone comprises the image. Viewers may want to peer beyond the edges in search of context, but it is the nature of the photograph to deprive them of this experience. If the photographer does not provide a backstory, the viewers may find themselves creating their own; however, the stories are the product of their thoughts and not related to the actual story contained within the photograph.
The first time I recall having the impulse to create context for a photograph was when, as a young photographer, I saw Cartier-Bresson’s 1932 image “Behind the Gare Saint-Lazare.” This remarkable photograph captures a man playfully jumping into a water puddle, mid-leap. His reflection seems almost to mock him as he hovers above the water. The more I studied the photograph, the more I began to wonder how such a moment could have existed without the collaboration of the subject. Was Bresson simply walking down the street and, as the scene unfolded before him, his instincts and agility were so precise that he was able to preserve the fleeting moment for the world to see? Or was the man in the picture a participant, collaborating with the photographer to co-author the image? If so, is the photograph no longer valid? Is it a counterfeit moment? Or worse, a lie?
The picture is so wonderful that it really needs no story. It just “is,” and that should have been enough for me. At the time, though, I needed to know how this type of image was created. I feared, as a photographer, I would never see anything so wonderful. If the scene, with no premeditation, materialized out of the ether, would I be granted the same opportunity to capture it? Would the photo gods smile on me one day and drench the surroundings in beautiful light and allow my exposure and focus to be set just as a man dressed head to toe in dark clothes scurried across a crystal-clear puddle? Furthermore, presented with this opportunity, whether real or manufactured, would I have the ability to see the potential of the situation and trip the shutter at the precise moment that would result in a masterpiece?
I now find peace in the realization that countless potential masterpieces happen each moment the world over and go unphotographed.
The world owes a great debt to all those who have, from a state of exceptional awareness, preserved stillness for us to hold.
THE WORLD OWES A GREAT DEBT TO ALL THOSE WHO HAVE, FROM A STATE OF EXCEPTIONAL AWARENESS, PRESERVED STILLNESS FOR US TO HOLD.