A Profound Cliché

The term cliché is a phrase, expression, or idea that has been overused to the point of losing its intended force or novelty, especially when at some time it was considered distinctively forceful or novel. It is generally used in a negative context, and I use it quite negatively when referring to the above subject. When I look through my viewfinder, I search for an image that is original, or at least original to me. I admit, at times I am tempted to photograph a sunset, a baby, an autumn leaf floating down a stream, a white picket fence, a rose, or a cornucopia of others. This candle, my candle, is cliché. The image has been done time and time again, and plenty of eyes have rolled quite dramatically over the meeting of this image. This is my disclaimer and acknowledgment of my cliché.

In my mind, there are four parts to the entity of the photograph: the subject in reality, the image captured, the intended meaning of the image, and the meaning the viewer takes for him or herself. The photographer can completely control only two of these, as reality cannot be completey controled by the photographer and the viewer's perception is entirely subjective to themself. I will explain the first three for my candle, and I will leave the last up to you.

It was almost Christmas and it was raining incredibly hard outside. If one closed their eyes and imagined an occasional bark or meow, the classic saying would be quite believeable. The power had gone out and the house was littered with small candles, flickering only when someone disturbed the still air. I sat on the couch with my Nikon in my lap, angry that I had no light to shoot the Christmas themed image for class. The temptation to accidently set a candle under the Christmas tree was strong, but not strong enough to cover up the knowledge of inevitable punishment. I sat and wished the candle would burn just a little brighter so my third eye could see the small nativity scene on the coffee table. I set my camera next to the nativity scene, with the lens facing the candle. Out of boredom, not the prospect of an original photograph, I knelt, focused on the wavering flame and opened my shutter for a brief moment by pressing that little silver button.

The darkness around the flame was opressive, and it seemed that the darkness itself had the ability to extinguish the flame. I stood up and retrieved two more candles from the mantle and set them next to the first on the coffee table. The darkness surrounding immedietly backed off a few inches. I was reminded of a hymn in that moment that spoke of running into the darkness with your candle, and of joining with others to shine brighter than before. I walked around the house and gathered all the candles I could find and set them on the coffee table. The darkness reluctantly stepped further and further back from the amassing light. It became clear to me then that the idea of community is entirely accurate. In scripture, the body of Christ is referred to as a city on a hill or an uncovered lamp, the only light in a dark world.

The image above may look like a clichéd photograph of something done time and time again, but the truth is, this candle is not really a candle at all. In reality, this wax cyllinder carrying a small flame may be called a candle, but in my photograph it is not. This is a self portrait. The candle is me, alone and oppressed by the dark, but soon to stand with a multitude of other in a marvelous light.