Retreat and a Half-hearted Surmise

I mentioned several posts back that we were pulling out of the driveway for a lakeside retreat, right? All expenses save gas were covered by the church, and we had a wonderful time worshiping together, sharing the Lord's Supper, singing psalms, splashing and boating in the lake, eating three greasy meals each day that we did not have to cook on dishes that we did not have to wash, acting extraordinarily silly late at night (one of my greatest talents), and enjoying the company of good people. Now we're back, and after deleting half a dozen blurry pictures, this is all I have left from the four super days we spent with friends old and new.

Surprisingly, given my blog title and the sheer glut of pictures I post, I remain conflicted about camera use to chronicle family members and the moments that one strings together to make a life. Of necessity, the photographer must step outside of the moment in order to capture it. Some may disagree with this, but I believe that one cannot be wholly present in a moment that one is capturing. There is an inevitable disconnect that occurs as one steps back to frame the shot, consider lighting, mood, and expression, and choose when to press the shutter. Even when the photographer has no awareness of the technical aspects of photography, there is that moment when they remove themselves from something in order to "capture" it. This consideration is less relevant when one is photographing landscapes, objects, or people and events not as immediate to oneself as, say, one's children on their lakeside retreat, but when one steps back to capture personal memories, I believe sometimes the gaining of the photograph comes at the expense of the true memory itself. This is why I find it easier to photograph the girls when they're playing and unaware of me than I do in activities of which I am a part. One example is swimming. I can't swim with them if I take pictures of them swimming, and I like swimming.

If the logic of that last brilliant sentence didn't convince you of the pitfalls inherent in today's technology, then nothing will.

The End.

I ran across this poem by Wendell Berry the other day. While not fully revealing the detriments of today's age of photographing EVERYTHING, or, to be sure, not giving a fair shake to the benefits of the ease at which we can now photograph EVERYTHING, it still gave me pause, and I think it's worth a read even if you disagree with the conclusion if only for Berry's use of spare poetics.

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The Vacation

Once there was a man who filmed his vacation.

He went flying down the river in his boat

with his video camera to his eye, making

a moving picture of the moving river

upon which his sleek boat moved swiftly

toward the end of his vacation. He showed

his vacation to his camera, which pictured it,

preserving it forever: the river, the trees,

the sky, the light, the bow of his rushing boat

behind which he stood with his camera

preserving his vacation even as he was having it

so that after he had had it he would still

have it. It would be there. With a flick

of a switch, there it would be. But he

would not be in it. He would never be in it.

–Wendell Berry

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And, so, here are the rest of the vacation pictures for which I was not present! :)






There were late-night folk songs, hymns, and spontaneous jigs accompanied by guitar-strumming Michael and an authentic Alabaman banjoist whose high melodies were a true pleasure to hear. Yes, we did sing "Oh! Susanna," and I fully appreciated that he had a banjo on his knee.

Brown-eyed girls.

Secrets for sharing.

Small beauties.

Early morning runs and hidden sunrises.

The modern marvel of whirling glowsticks.

and the ageless marvel of sleeping children.