and then it was gone
Several years ago I was enrolled in a darkroom class and had gone to the school’s lab to make some prints one Saturday morning. There were only three us there that particular day; myself, a lab assistant, and a man who was most enthusiastic about a recent shoot he was printing. He was telling us how he had waited an entire year to return to the spot he had photographed prior where he’d made exposure errors and botched the images. With great passion he described how all of the elements needed to come together at just the right moment: the time of day, the exact position of the sun, the clearness of the sky, the temperature, the humidity in the air……..all of it cavorting together in a precise manner was necessary for the shot to be made as he envisioned it.
It’s been so long that I don’t even remember what it was he was actually photographing. I’m sure I didn’t at that time appreciate the subtleties of light as he was describing them. But I do recall thinking it was a terribly romantic thing that he’d done–how he’d been so patient and thoughtful, and cradled the moment so tenderly. No, I don’t remember a thing about the images that arose from the developing waters in the darkroom that morning at all……..I only remember his clear vision and passion.
I am a portrait photographer. I’d rather photograph an elusive and unpredictable child than a dramatic sunset any day of the year. Even so, I sometimes wonder if what I mostly am seeking to photograph is light. I am enthralled by its ever-changing qualities, and get most excited when a worthy little subject momentarily lands in what I imagine to be a glowing haven of ethereal potentiality.
The little girl pictured above was actually perched upon a railing with her mother’s arms securely holding her bottom in place so she wouldn’t fall. She was essentially “pinned down” in the good light……which as a general rule never works, especially with a child not quite 2 years old. But after we’d tried unsuccessfully to get her to simply hang out in this spot, this was a last ditch effort that amazingly paid off.
I shot 20 frames here, all of them very simple close-ups in landscape orientation. Because I was backed into a tight corner to photograph, and there were many distracting elements around the scene (including mom squatted below holding the child in place!), I was limited as to composition. And yet within this very unoriginal framing the child gave a wide variety of the most genuine and soft expressions of the entire session, resulting in nearly all of those 20 shots being proof book worthy. This came as a big surprise to her parents and me because she’s always been a bit of toughie to extract any sort of relaxed expressions from.
Maybe she felt bold sitting atop that railing………maybe the slight breeze blowing through her hair gave her a feeling of gentle peacefulness or even freedom…….maybe we just got lucky. I don’t know, but I wonder if she was in the least responding to the way I was intensely adoring her in that moment. Mesmerized by both the girl and the light to the degree that she could feel the warmth of my adoration wrapping around her and lifting her up.
A week later I was photographing another child and thought to the return the spot where I’d previously been successful. This child even being agreeable to sit for a moment as she inspected a small flower. But as I took a meter reading, and then looked at the scene through the viewfinder I soon knew that the light quality I’d relished prior was missing. Though it was around the same time of morning, and the weather conditions were similar, the position of the sun had moved just enough to leave the spot in diminished dull light. I shot a few frames despite the fact that I could plainly see that both the light and child’s expression were lackluster. Was this child responding to my dashed hopes????
After that session I thought of the man I’d met in the darkroom so many years ago. I considered again the way he’d planned and prepared for a year to return to a particular spot at just the right time for a second chance to create what he’d envisioned. While I still think it’s a romantic notion, I suspect now that this craft of photography is trying to teach me something altogether different.
Things are continually changing. The earth keeps revolving around the sun while babies are born and loved ones pass on. It is easy to want to return to where we once experienced magic and then be disappointed to discover the magic is gone. We stand in that place and all we can see is a big gaping hole that was once filled with light, now void and lifeless.
What do we do when the light has left and everything’s changed? We can mourn the loss, we can desperately wish it back, or we can make an elaborate plan to orchestrate all of the elements in such a way that we get a second chance, just as the man in the darkroom did. But what I’m learning as a photographer is that I must continually keep looking for beauty and magic with fresh eyes and in new places. My best work arises when I remain in a state of allowing, when I pay close attention, stop orchestrating, and simply let in what wants to come to me.
I’ve written too much here when all I really wanted to say is that the light is never really gone, even when all appears dreary gray and flat. It’s only moved somewhere else. Our job as photographers and as seekers in life, is to try to not get stuck looking in the same spots for perfection or for what has worked the easiest in the past, but to instead open ourselves over and over again to expanding our vision beyond that which we’ve seen before.
~Cynthia
PS Thank you to those who’ve emailed encouraging me to update this journal. While I’ve wanted this little corner of my life to be something I do only when it feels good and right and not be a self-imposed obligation, it inspires me to hear it’s in fact making a difference to others. So, I’m back.
