Finding The Decisive Moment

Recently, I needed to search through a box of archived photographs from the 1950s and 1960s. Many of these prints are of unknown faces and unexplained situations. But I ran across one particular black and white image that truly left me mystified. In it were strange structures, an open area apparently over-washed by the sea, and a stretch of ocean. In the distance was a sign atop a building that read “Steel Pier”. The photo was dated “April 1962”.

It wasn’t too hard to Google “Steel Pier” and 1962. The resulting hits quickly filled in many of the blanks left vacant by the details in the old photo. In March of 1962, on Ash Wednesday, one of the strongest Nor’easters in recorded history hit the Eastern seaboard, pounding the coast from New York to the Outer Banks with waves over 25 feet high. And the subject of this photo was revealed to be the storm-damaged Steel Pier in Atlantic City. But what remained unanswered was why this photo was in our archives, who took it, and why they were in New Jersey, many hundreds of miles from Georgia, in the days following this disaster.

In my opinion, one of the greatest attributes of a great photograph is its ability to tell a story—to exist alone without need of a caption to convey its message. Such an image leaves enough unanswered questions to evoke the imagination of the viewer to fill in these blanks. Photographic history is filled with memorable images. And in rare instances, a photo can serve to create such a stir, to evoke such emotion, that it can change the world.

Henri Cartier-Bresson’s notion of the “decisive moment” fathered photojournalism. “There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment.” Since those early days with his Leica, photographers like Cartier-Bresson have frozen moments that changed ideals and history.

The recreated Iwo Jima flag-raising photo by Joe Rosenthal is probably the most recognized image from World War II. But George Strock’s image likely did much more to win the war in the Pacific. Sensing that Americans were becoming complacent about the war, President Roosevelt lifted the ban on the publication of images of U.S. casualties in 1943. Strock’s shocking photo of three dead Marines on a beach in Papua New Guinea shocked Americans and rekindled a sense of determination.

While Strock’s image may have strengthened American resolve to win a war, an infamous Vietnam photo may have served to turn a country against the conflict. During the first Tet offensive in 1968, Associated Press photographer Eddie Adams captured the execution of Viet-Cong captain by Nguyen Ngoc Loan, South Vietnam’s national police chief. The photo won a Pulitzer Prize, destroyed the life of Loan, who was executing a true war criminal, and turned the public opinion against the war in Vietnam.

Whether the result of pure happenstance or careful planning, opening the shutter at the “decisive moment” can change history. And not every photo was intended to evoke change. Would the photographs from Abu Grave prison in Iraq have ever been taken had it been thought that they would air on international television? Did Stuart Franklin Magnum think that his image of a student facing down a tank in Tiananmen Square would become an icon for hope in China before he squeezed the shutter release?

So the fact remains that I have no idea who took this photo of the Steel Pier or why they ventured to New Jersey and left this image for me to find. Seeing it captured my imagination and my curiousity. Because of it, I know more about a long forgotten storm and its impact on Atlantic City. And it leads me to wonder what impact my images might have on the world and when the next opportunity for a “decisive moment” might come for me.

Finding Something New in Springtime

Georgia O'Keefe said, “I hate flowers. I only paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.” Flower photos catch way too much grief in my opinion. Yes, they are easy to take. And they never talk back. Regardless of your feelings about petals, leaves, stems, and stamens, Springtime is difficult to experience without a few flower photos. So while the cherry blossoms were fresh, I ventured out today to capture some images of my community's most iconic subject. While this effect is quite easy to replicate in Photoshop, it's more fun to create "in camera".
(f14, 1/20, zoomed 18mm to 36mm through shutter)

Dipping A Brush in My Soul

Duke Ellington once said, “I merely took the energy it takes to pout and wrote some blues.” To me, that’s a pretty powerful statement of the channeling of hope, frustration, love, anger, and fear into an artistic endeavor. Be it performed on an instrument or painted on a canvas, art serves as a window to our souls.

On a recent Saturday morning, I ventured into McDonalds for breakfast. It was raining hard outside, and the restaurant was filled with very noisy customers. At a booth off to one side, I noticed an older man with papers spread out across a table. He was writing in a notebook in longhand. One of several books beside him was titled The Screenwriter’s Handbook.

Here among the pancakes and Egg McMuffins was a guy writing a screenplay in a spiral-bound notebook. Many questions came to mind... what was he writing about, why was he writing in this cacophony of distraction, why was he writing in longhand instead of on a computer, and most importantly, would his work ever see the big screen? Truthfully, the odds are against it. Regardless, I couldn’t help but be inspired.

This past Saturday, I photographed a “Meet Authors and Artists” event in my town of Gray. Two local businesses hosted cartoonists, painters, a photographer, and a number of authors. Save the cartoonist, who worked on Spiderman comicbooks, most of these artists had no chance of making a career from their art. But they shared their work with the world. And once again, I was inspired.

It was Henry Ward Beecher who in 1887 said, “Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.” Likewise, I feel that the stolen moments I have captured through my lens are both scenes of the unique way I see the world and also windows into my own soul.I don’t know how many of my images will be seen by the world. I don’t know that I will ever reach a point where I can pay all the bills with my art. And I don’t know that this is a worthy goal in the grand scheme of life. But like the Duke, I hope every day to turn the energy of the emotions of my life into an art of my own.

Seating for Two

Bleak days are not without promise. A tripod, a fast lens, and a slow shutter speed can find beauty, mystery, and intrique, even while dodging raindrops and puddles. (f2.8, 1/30, 70mm)

Edging Nearer the Deep End

So I got my hair cut today by someone different. Seems the lady who usually cuts it is out following surgery. So at the recommendation of a friend, I tried someone new. We talked a little bit about me, about how much I hate my hair and some ideas about what to do with it. She processed that info for a few seconds and then asked, “Are you having a midlife crisis?” How could she say that? Does she think I’m forty? Heck, I’ve got six months until I hit forty.

As I sat down to contemplate this observation from a learned source—let’s face it, hair stylists and bartenders are experienced therapists—I thought of Jimmy Buffet and A Pirate Looks at Forty. I’ve not lived the colorful life he describes. In fact, I think my life has been quite the opposite, void of risk, and I have come to wonder if that is an entirely good thing.

Photography is a passion for me. Seeing my world through a lens—capturing a moment— is therapeutic. That didn’t happen overnight. But in a few short years, it has come to consume much of my imagination, my creativity, and my dreams. And one of those dreams is to find success as a photographer.

Ironically, in the last two weeks, I have had been asked to shoot images for a local magazine, a book cover, and a wedding. My stock photography has done extremely well. Yet, the thought of really sticking my neck out there, of buying new equipment, insurance, and all the other things that come with owning a business sends butterflies rocketing around my belly. Why is it so hard to jump into the deep end of the pool? And in how many other areas in my life have I been cowering near the shallow end where it’s nice and safe—where I can’t get hurt?

A journalist and author from Chicago, Sydney Harris, once wrote. “Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.”

For what it’s worth, I’ve got a new hair style today. And I recently bought some new bootcut jeans that I think look quite good on me, especially for someone 39 years old. And I’ve been hanging out near the deep water, wondering if I can see the bottom—or if that matters.