As Juli figured out, the picture in the previous post is a reflection in the Kalbaugh's television. I like the picture, and it may become the first in a series of photographs. Televisions are featured prominently in most American homes (99% according to Wikipedia), and collectively we spend a massive number of hours in front of them. It could be really interesting to look at the average American home from the perspective of the television.
Now, onto the bigger question I raised in the last post. When should I take photographs? And, just as importantly, when should I not take photographs?
Last Sunday was a unique day at DCF. I sat in church, surrounded by my friends, knowing that it would be the last day of its kind. The Elmores set out toward Richmond on Monday, the Collier family left for Charlottesville on Thursday, the Kalbaughs were attending their last DCF service before leaving for Nashville, and Liz and I are leaving for Denver this week. It's the end of an era.
I sat near the front of the church. It was the second row of chairs, but there was nobody sitting in the front row. Winn and Miska were at my left, and Liz was at my right. Corey and Juli sat behind me, and others I love were scattered throughout the room. And my camera was sitting on the chair in front of me.
My camera has been coming everywhere with me recently. There are a lot of reasons for that - excitement about a new lens, a desire to capture as much of these last days in Clemson as I can, a project I was working on with some friends, and a tool to process the change swirling around me. So I had my camera with me as this morning washed over me in wave after wave.
There are two sources of power in a photograph. The appearance of the photograph - the geometry, the textures, the shadows - all of these can be arranged to say something regardless of the content of the image. But photography is also a moment frozen in time, and the moments we choose to capture can be powerful in themselves. Much of my development as a photographer is training myself to notice these moments and be prepared to capture them.
But last Sunday, I wasn't just a photographer. I was a man surrounded by his friends. I can experience an event while photographing it, but it's a different kind of experience. And that Sunday at DCF was one I wanted to experience as fully as possible. I had no desire to reach for my camera when Ed approached me, tears running down his face, to surround me in one of his giant hugs and offer me the peace of Christ. My camera wasn't missed as I walked between the chairs at DCF toward Amy, who offered me the cup that holds the blood of Christ without words because she couldn't speak. I didn't grasp for it as Winn read his letter of hope and benediction to our body. Some moments are better left as memories than as photographs.
But as we were worshiping together in song, I felt a stirring. I wanted to stand at the front and look upon my family, these people I have come to know and love. I wanted to remember their faces. I wanted to remember their hearts, their earnest worship. And I wasn't sure if I should grab my camera for that moment. Would taking a photograph be distancing myself from the moment, or would it be making myself a part of it?
I wrestled with that thought for several moments, and I decided that it came down to my motives for taking the picture. It would be wrong to inject my own voyeuristic impulses into a sacred moment. But God does call us to set up signposts to remember what He has done. And he calls us to work creatively as an act of worship. I took my camera and stepped to the front of the church.
It was beautiful to look upon the faces of the people I love, free in worship. This was a good thing, a thing brought about by God, and a thing we all should remember. I took a single photograph. I raised my camera to take another, and Liz raised her hand to say no, not now. She was right - the second photograph would have been too much. The second photograph would have been for the wrong reasons.
That's a rather long introduction to a rather simple photograph. But I need to remember why I took this photograph. I need to ask these questions every time I grab my camera. To God be the glory.
