I spend a lot of time at the beach—biking; kayaking; exploring tide pools; enjoying the sun, sand, and surf. The family and I went whale watching a couple of weekends ago. We’ve been a number of times, each trip a unique adventure. From late January through mid April, California Gray Whales migrate from the warm waters of the Baja Mexico peninsula (where they breed) to the food rich waters of the Arctic.
On a two hour expedition, it is a treat to see one or two of the exquisite mammals. On this particular outing, we were privileged to follow three whales for over an hour. Seeing the Gray Whales fluke (a dive fully exposing the large, powerful tail) is also no guarantee. We saw the trio fluking more than half a dozen times.
I took our old beater, 2.0 megapixel, digital camera on the trip. When we would see a whale crest the blue-green waters on the horizon, I would rush to the side of the boat and snap feverishly, desperate to capture the moment. I kept thinking of people I wished were there with us—family friends who would love this experience. I hoped the photos might inspire them to plan their own expedition. Even more, I wanted to capture the wonder and remember the connection I felt with creation. On occasions like these, my petty problems are swallowed up by a glimpse at the enormity and beauty of God; showcased in this breathtaking work of art we call Earth. These are among the lean but precious moments that grant pause to my otherwise evanescent existence.
Once home, I couldn’t wait to view the photos. The images staring back at me from the screen failed to meet my expectations. I wasn’t surprised by the poor quality. My disappointment and frustration had little to do with the inferior results. Even with the very best technology, the photos were destined to miss the mark.
I grabbed a great shot of my wife leaning against the port bow, the late morning sun warm on her face. But, there was a young boy behind her in the shot. Not one of my children. A stranger. I honestly don’t remember him being in the frame. So, I used my finely tuned photo editing skills and extremely expensive software to simply remove him from the photo. After the expedition was over, we went on a hike up the coast, investigating tide pools and exploring caves carved out by centuries of waves crashing against the rocky shore. I took a photo of the stony coastline. On the left hand side of the frame, a couple stands near the ocean cliff. I somehow overlooked them in my viewfinder. In fact, I don’t recall them ever being there at all. Again, a little computer magic, and they were gone.
Not long ago, we celebrated a good friend’s birthday by going to see jazz singer, Jane Monheit, at a club in Hollywood. She is a favorite of mine and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have her sign a CD and pose alongside me for a photo. After a few weeks of displaying the picture as taken, I cropped Jane out, did a little photo manipulation, and used the headshot as my profile icon on a social networking sight.A friend commented: “You're playing with Baudrillard's notions of simulation/simulacra quite a bit here...”
My reply: “Is that the notion that reality doesn't exist; that humanity has reduced everything to a mere simulation of reality? If so, I'm not entirely certain I disagree— with the theory or how it may relate to this photo. [written with a sly grin]”
Her response: “Yes, this is a simulation of ‘you’ - the simulation is even furthered by merely taking a picture... copies of copies... =)”
On principle, I am not one for revisionist history. I like to think I remember (or at least strive to remember) things as they were, not as I want them to have been. However, I realize that my understanding of “how things were” was then and still remains limited to my perspective, my values, my focus. I manipulated the photos to better serve as a reflection of my memory of the outing. One may argue that, in doing so, I altered reality. But, alas, in truth, it is my experience, my perceived reality I want to immortalize.
I trust the images I capture with my camera to spark memories of the experience. I see the photos and suddenly I can smell the ocean. I feel the breeze. My muscles recall the difficulty of the rocky terrain. I feel the cool of the water filling my boot as I misstep in an ocean cave. I hear the seagulls overhead and the crash of the waves against the shore. I feel the rocking of the boat, the smooth wood of the starboard rail, and the softness of my wife’s hand in mine. I hear Ms. Monheit’s warm, sultry tones— the fragrance of wine rich and heavy in the air.But, sharing my photos with you, providing a soundtrack, simulating a fragrance, adjusting the temperature… regardless of the accuracy of the images, no matter how multisensory the replication; I cannot give you my experience.
My grandparents used to travel a lot. They would fly off to exotic places and visit people and things I had only read about or seen on television. My siblings and I could hardly wait to see what souvenirs they might bring. We would pour through their photos. (My grandmother was notorious for cutting people’s heads out of the frame.) We would listen to them talk about their adventures. It was enough to wet my appetite for such experiences but, sadly, it would be some time before I had the freedom or resource to taste them myself.
A number of years ago, my family and I drove down highway 101 in Los Angeles for the first time. I saw the murals that had been painted on the freeway wall in preparation of the 1984 Olympics. I remembered them from my grandparents’ photos. In context, they were nothing like what I had imagined those many years before. The amazing thing was not seeing them for myself, it was sharing them (along with my childhood memories of the idea of them) with my own children.In the next few weeks I will be spending a good deal of money upgrading my camera. I am excited about the notion of capturing the beauty of the world around me with a higher level of excellence. I thoroughly enjoy photography as art. I am a graphic design hobbyist largely because I enjoy sharing ideas and emotions through visual expression. But, life is not a scrapbook. It is not a collection hanging in a gallery. And, if I wish to really taste it and smell it and feel it and know it… I must do so by personally engaging life’s subject matter. If I want those I care about to enjoy the benefits of my experiences, I must bring them on the journey. In the end, to see the whales —I mean to really know what they look like— you can’t log on to my blog. You have to get on the boat.
2 comments:
Interesting, also, is your use of the computer software to “re-make” or dare I say “perfect” a photograph-worthy experience. I’ve done this also – particularly when on amusement park rides where I’d prefer the photograph to reflect only my party/family on a ride we had to share with others. Why do we do this? Are these human beings somehow less worthy of being captured in our photographs? Are they not also part of nature/creation/our larger family? (I’m not being serious or critical, I’m just pondering =) How does it or how would it feel to be erased from a photograph? (Just as you cropped out Jane Monheit! Haha! And if she was a favorite of yours, God help the rest of us that may appear in your future photos! j/k I know you preserved her in the original… or did you?) =p But then of course, you have the other case where people do not want to be included in others’ or any photographs at all (a.k.a. me).
You’re right – everyone has their own limited perspective and perception is always reality, whether this is in a photograph or not. And thanks, btw, for bringing my previous commentary on simulacra/simulation into this blog. Photographs are great, but knowing that your thoughts have taken up residence in another and then another and then another… is yet one other instance of a grand connection in this life. =) (That is why I’m probably more partial to writing and to writing about my experiences than to photographs and photography – but I still have a great appreciation for all art forms and what they capture… or release as the case may be.)
First, you all are so lucky to be able to venture out to sea for those extended periods of time. I tried doing it on a 4th grade whale-watching trip. Never again! Worst feeling to be rocking and rolling out there in the deep swells of the water (and my stomach agrees). So, I consider myself very fortunate when the dolphins decide to romp and play in the waves off Huntington pier. It is also nice that you and others take pictures of moments that cannot be experienced personally by some.
It is an interesting thing to want to take pictures of all of life’s experiences, yet I am so hesitant to do so. Whenever I go someplace, I never remember to bring my camera. Most of the time I honestly do not even want to bring it and begrudgingly do so when someone else requests it. It becomes this object that I have to worry about carrying, losing, damaging… it seems more trouble than it is worth, especially because this is energy I want to devote to living the moments of the experience. It almost feels like a grave interruption of the experience to say, “Oh wait a minute, I need my camera” or “Wait, let me get this” or “One more, just one more.”
One experience comes to mind immediately where I wished I had a camera; however, upon reflecting back on the snapshot in my mind, I’m glad I did not! My boyfriend and I actually forced ourselves up out of bed before five am and traveled out to Eureka Peak (part of Joshua Tree) to watch the sunrise. This moment was incredible. I’d never taken the time to actually sit and watch the earth turn and realize my small existence upon it. As the sun was cresting, five white-tailed deer emerged from the brush nearby. Tommy and I were stunned. Deer in the…desert? Immediately the thought was, “Damn, I need a camera!” But if I had one, I’d have to take the time to dig it out, set it up, and by the time all would be said and done, I likely would have missed the opportunity to take the picture! A more important loss is the fact that I would have pulled my sights away from the experience, and I would not have been able to record it, in full, upon my mind. Any movement or rustling would have also probably scared the deer and would have cut the rare experience even shorter.
I use this instance to comment on your mention about capturing and remembering the connection you felt with creation. It is fortunate, camera or not, that these types of moments leave such an impression. While a photograph helps with extended reflection, I do not believe there is any substitute for the “real” thing or for the feelings that the “real” thing creates (alluding to simulacra hehe).
Post a Comment