Sifting

I was looking through the pictures from our recent vacation. I remember back in the days of film this exercise would take just a few minutes with the picture total easily being under 100. Our recent week off netted just under 700 pictures thanks to the wonder of digital cameras. It's easy to take a lot of pictures with a digital camera because they feel cheap. When I used to use a film camera, each potential photo was calculated, assessed and only taken if it was deemed worthy. I think I was like that at first when I switched to digital as well. Over time, my approach has changed. Now, instead of waiting for the perfect shot, I just take lots of pictures, hoping that a few of them will fall into that perfect category.

But, as I mulled through the vacation photos, it struck me that these pictures aren't all that cheap. I started thinking about the amount of time I'd already spent trying to sift out the great and good from the mediocre and poor. And then there is the cost of storing the pictures. Unless a shot is completely dark or blurry, I have trouble deleting it. I save everything and I worry about my hard drive failing so I back it all up - to two places. Yes, there are costs to having so many photos. Still, I am often struck by the wonderful images that are captured along the way. They are often shots that I know I would never have thought of taking with a film camera.

In this mix, there is a shot of N running in knee-deep water in Lake Superior. While the colors are pretty, I would not have wasted a precious film exposure on it. I wouldn't even have considered it - the light was wrong, the camera too far away, there is nothing really  remarkable about the scenery, just a lot of lake. This picture, which I would like not have taken with film, is one of my favorite from the lot. When I look at it, I can sense the exhilaration my son was feeling at the time. I'm terrible at explicitly capturing moments of emotion like this. My focus is often right-brained, striving to convey information (e.g. Two sons, eyes open, smiling faces well-lit standing in front of Devil's Tower.) I get so wrapped up in capturing the data that I overlook capturing the moment. It's strange because, after the fact, I find the 'data' pictures pretty but kind of boring. My favorites are the ones that reveal how people were feeling at the moment the picture was taken. Thank goodness my digital camera can help me capture those - even if by accident.

Vacation - June 2011

I was on vacation last week. Sometimes, our vacations are driven by place (e.g. "Let's go to the Black Hills"). Sometimes, they are driven by people (e.g. "Let's visit our friends in Arizona"). This vacation was a little bit of both - good friends in a beautiful place.

We did a little hiking during the week and this gave me a chance to reaffirm something I already knew about myself: When hiking with a group, I like to be last ("bring up the rear", so to speak). I'd like to think this is because I have some innate need to be the protector, the one who makes sure no one gets left behind. In reality, I fear my desire to be last is driven by something less noble. Being last ensures no one can photograph you from behind as you struggle to ascend some rocky trail. Nobody's backside looks all that great in those conditions, especially when juxtaposed against the surrounding natural beauty. If you are ever behind me on a hike and you feel the need to "capture the moment with a photo", please at least have the decency to pick a time when I'm near a large roundish boulder and not when I'm squeezing between two skinny trees.

I also attempted to practice a little meditation on this vacation. One day, in particular, found us on the sandy shores of Lake Superior. It was a sunny afternoon and I lay back on a beach towel, closed my eyes and just listened to the lake. The waves were breaking at regular, deliberate intervals. With each crash, I imagined any stress in my body being scrubbed, each recession was a gentle rinsing. It was as if I was a pan that had been left on the burner too long, its contents scorched and blackened and Lake Superior was a determined dishwasher, intent upon restoring me to my original condition. It was quite relaxing and I managed to meditate myself to sleep. I awoke to find that apparently my "original condition" included a sun-burned face. Even so, it was rejuvenating.

All in all, a wonderful time.