by Julie Carter
There
haven’t been too many years in my life I didn’t have a camera in tow wherever I
went. The difference in then and now is the cost of the film and developing
which became a non-issue in 2002 when I bought my first digital camera. That
turned up the “volume” on my love for taking pictures of life.
You cannot
spend any time at all photographing anything there is to photograph and not
soon find a correlation between the clicking sound of the camera lens and the
special meaning of the moments frozen in time.
Burk
Uzzle, who you may or may not know, (I didn’t) is a renowned photo journalist
with a 60-year resume from the backside of a camera. He made a very profound
statement that sums it all up for me. “Photography is a love affair with life.”
That
love affair will take you places you would have passed by, offer greetings to
people that may have gone unnoticed and more than frequently put you in places
that quite possibly put life and limb at risk. And sometimes, there is even
“contact” unbecoming to poise, propriety and concern for life itself. My
“moments” in photography that defy common sense are only different from those
of other photographers in that they had me for the main character.
I once
took a head-on from a running horse in an arena. It wasn’t my first rodeo,
literally. It was just my first time to find myself in the unintended path of
1200 pounds of horse (and his rider) trying as hard as I was to not collide,
resulting in a broadside hit with great momentum.
Knocking me into the air, camera flying, I landed on my back gasping for air.
And all I could think was: 1. Is my camera hurt? And 2. I have to get up. I do
NOT want mouth-to-mouth from that handle-bar mustached EMT. The latter was a
great motivator and I bounded (hypothetically) to my feet amidst a flurry of
concerned cowboys that hurried to help me.
I often
carried a small camera in my pocket while horseback working cattle. With it
came opportunity for those shots of cowboys pouring coffee from an enamel pot
over a campfire, carrying a branding iron from a fire or driving the herd down
a long draw. More often than not, those shots that were not rescued to film
were because to be an active participant in the action of the moment, it was
required that all hands be on deck, on the reins or on a rope. The ones that
got away were like those times that a horned cow was making every attempt to
punch holes in my horse, or when that bull made a lunge at my 4-year-old son’s
horse and I saw guardian angels at work.
Adventures
vary with geography and subject matter. Photographing high school sports brings
its own tense moments of finding oneself in the middle of a sideline tackle or
the unintended target of a ball pass gone bad.
Last
summer I ventured out to get some sunset photos. I was driving the back country
roads just looking for things to shoot with my camera when I saw this old
homestead with all the parts of a perfect picture. An old barn, weathered-wood
buildings and a collection of old cars, trucks and farm equipment. No one was
around, no home in sight. So I stopped the car, still on the county road and I
began shooting photos thinking perhaps snakes would be my only adversary in
this serene setting.
Shortly
a pickup came barreling down the road as fast as the two-track would allow and
at the same time a Shetland-pony sized dog came loping up to me, teeth and
tongue all showing. The guy in the pickup slides it to a stop and hollers at
the dog. "Jake, come here.”
I walked
over to the pickup with a greeting and introduction of myself, explaining that
I was only photographing the old cars and assuring him I would be no bother. He
said that was fine, he was just checking as he’d had problems with vandals
trying to steal the old vehicles.
I
pointed to my very small car and with a grin, told him I had to quit my twilight
junk hauling business because the car was too small for a profitable load. He
laughed and while the dog was still trying to knock me down, he commented, "Jake
won't hurt you, he will just bother you."
I told him Jake was indeed large enough to impress me. He laughed again, put the truck in gear and said as he drove away, “Have fun taking pictures.”
And so
I did. Good sense has nothing to do with photography.
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