I Have Sinned, Maybe.

I have sinned. I have acted out of alignment with God; that is sin, right? Webster's dictionary defines sin as "a condition of estrangement from God or any violation of God's will, either in purpose or conduct." As humans our sin runs rampant through all parts of our lives, leaving no sanctuary of the mind untouched. In Dante's Divina Commedia the liar and falsifier of what is true is sentenced to one of the deepest and most torturous circles of Hell; this is where Dante would have me. I have falsified the truth, I have distorted reality, and, most awfully, I have taken the beautiful creation of God and changed it to fit what I thought was truly beautiful.

As I hiked up the Echo Mountain trail in search of a memorable panaroma, I thought to myself how easy capturing beauty was in these majetic mountains. When I reached the end of my climb, I set up my tripod and scoped out my image through the viewfinder of my digital Nikon D70. The scene was simple, breathtakingly simple. It was a perfect mountain range that curved evenly around the point at which I stood, with an orange sun low in the western sky. My horizontals aligned and my tripod locked off, I smoothly captured five images with a slight overlap. With each open and close of the shutter I was sure my image was perfect; with each gentle press on the extension cable, I was excited to get to my computer and piece together my raw pixels. Within the hour I was doing just that, aligning the pixels and masking out all lens and angle distortions. My picture was beautiful because the last entity to touch my subject as a whole was God, the God, the mountain moving God. Nothing more needed to be done to the image; it was the best it could ever be. However, out of the darkness in my mind a thought came and whispered its lies and deceit. I guiltily boosted the saturation, the contrast, and warped the hues. I had violated and defiled the masterpeice of God. I have sinned.

I have sinned. I think I have. Maybe I have sinned. Or maybe I have not sinned. Maybe in my writing of a simple caption, I over dramatized the situation. Maybe. Maybe this is my sin nature talking when I say I still really like the "defiled image;" or maybe it is not. Maybe God likes my image. Maybe. Hopefully.

A Changed Wordview

Botanical photography has never really awed me in the sense that I would leave and remember the photographer as great. Maybe I have simply not seen enough botanical photography and it is in ignorance that I make this claim. Flowers, to me, seem already too beautiful to work with and photographing them is, in my mind, cheating. I held this strong belief until I encountered a small pink flower, of no especially unique character, that caught and held fast to my impatient eyes. I did not understand what so intrigued me about the little mass of pink petals. It seemed to beckon to me from across the patio, and so, against my seemingly better judgment, my legs took me captive and dragged me into the little flower's presence. This flower was not unique, as it was surrounded by thousands of others just like it, nor was it kingly, for it was no larger than the pink erase on the end of an old fashioned Ticonderoga yellow pencil. As I drew near, I expected to be disappointed by a lame excuse for a flower; however, and much to my amazement, the closer my now captivated eyes got to the minuscule plant, the more intricate and incredible it became. I quickly loosed my wide angle lens from my digital Nikon D70 and attached a simple macro. I marveled at the enlarged version of my little pink flower in the view finder. I set my exposure, lined up my shot, and, pressing gently on that little silver button, heard the belief-shattering sound of my shutter capturing a botanical image.

What I learned about myself and botanical photography that day was simple, though I may not appreciate a botanical photographer as great, I don't think that that photographer would care about my opinion in the least. When I shot that little pink flower, I did not care about the resulting image or if my photograph would be revered or commended. My main focus at that point was on the flower, and learning about all its intricacies and wonders packed into such a small and perfect package. In my mind, a botanical photographer does not shoot to please others, he shoots to please himself.

A Dabble in Portraiture

I've only ever "gone into a shoot" once, and the "shoot" was some lighting and a big white sheet. But for the sake of simplicity I'll use such jargon. I enjoy shooting nature, the organic and inorganic; I enjoy shooting man made beauty or not-beauty; and I'll even shoot a living breathing human as long as it's unbeknownst to them. However, and much to my disappointment, I was required to shoot a portrait of a friend, and I was required to create a situation with him where his personality is shown. I was required to create. This I knew, even before going into the shoot, would be difficult as I do not create, I merely capture. After many failed attempts, and with only a few shots left, I was fairly irritated with my inability to make him more of himself for my camera to see. I gave up and was about to expose the last of my film into a negative I knew I would dislike anyway. I stopped and asked my friend to play his guitar, the prop he brought in to help showcase his personality. So he played, and with my last image I captured him. I did not create a scene; I was required to stand in front of a person who was comfortably himself on his own, without my help. I had a camera. I wound the last of my film into place, lifted the old Nikon to my face, focused precisely, set the exposure, and, gently pressing the little silver button, heard the sweet sound of my shutter capturing an image I would like. Thank you Matt Kwa.

Humble Beginings

My dad walks into my room as I'm trying to get a few assignments finished and asks me to take out the trash cans. As you can imagine (or picture vividly if you know my dad), this was not a suggestion nor was it an arguable request. My fate decided, I stall a few minutes and, hoping to make the best out of the trip, sling my not-so-sleek, heavy, film Nikon FA over my shoulder and trudge outside. The sun is low and, of course, at the perfect spot in the sky to get its rays right through the only gap in the trees and blind me. I pull out the two yard wastes, recycle, and classic trash to the curb. Before going inside I look around for something beautiful, something that Shlenker, my photo teacher, will commend me for. In a bad mood, I see nothing worth remembering. I sit on the curb and think; then, turning to the stupid trash can to my left, I raise my camera, focus, check the lighting, and, pressing gently on the little silver button, hear the satisfying open and close of my shutter.

I ended up loving the image and spent quite a bit of time making a 9x7 fiber print. Simplicity is beautiful.