Creative: How Quickly It Goes

I still see the calendar as a large paper square comprised of smaller squares. Spiral on top, hung from the wall. Filled with pictures of Farrah or motorcycles or birds, or something less glamorous. Functional, directional, and critical. At first, time feels slow, long, and luxurious. Ample, some might say. But when you find yourself inside one of those days, the others seem to pile up quickly, right next door. “Oh, I’ve got time,” I hear myself saying. “I’ll do it next time I’m here.” “I can do it when I get back.” But I know these are half-truths at best, and I know most half-truths are more full than half.

I know and yet I still do.

We can’t wait. I can’t wait. I can’t speak for you, but I will. You can’t wait either. “Boat ride, sunset, down coast, anchor, swim, explore?” came the text. Yes. There was much to do. Writing assignments, planning, securing travel needs, and workshop logistics, but I also need to record. That’s part of my job. Maybe the most important part. So, yes. Let’s go.

Whaler with a single Suzuki. Deep V, center console. Two dogs, four people, and a small cooler filled with artifacts of summer. A sizable swell but no chop. The water a blue-black that always gives me a sense of foreboding. My body relaxes only when I see the structure of the bottom through the clarity of the shallows. Massive tides sucking then blowing back on themselves. Currents around the edges of buoys and lobster pots. Liquid forces fighting for supremacy.

Two cameras in two packs, both waterproof, mostly for the spray off the dogs who love to get wet, then come show you how much water they can shake off. Staring up at us with those excited eyes, “Was that good for you?” “Do you love me?” “Can we do this again?” Long lens and short lens. And a phone with special filters, dials, and settings. The anchor drops. I step down into the coolness, wading toward shore with no particular plan. I leave both cameras in the boat, then immediately regret the decision. I return to the boat, grab the short lens, strap it diagonally across my body, then hold it high as I wade through the salty sea.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like had I never found photography. What would these moments entail without the constant study of light, of moments, and specific compositions I find so alluring? How easy would it be? Or perhaps it would be a living Hell. No objective. No plan. No tally of success vs failure. I don’t feel this pressure with a phone, never have. There is no goal with the phone. A once-in-a-while cover-the-bases moment, but when the “real” cameras come out, the pressure bubbles up, keeping my mind alert and my heart a pitter-patter.

The dogs and humans explode through the shallows. A mid-week night, so boat traffic is light. We are nearly alone. Sounds travel across the flat expanse of land and sea. Slight notes of voices, music, and maritime movements. When Maine is on, it is so on it’s painful. Painfully beautiful. Fresh and crisp like a 1980s transparency. Kodachrome color and light. The sky is butter, a pastel smear reminiscent of the masters.

This is pure privilege. All of it, being here, having these friends and opportunities. A small sticker reads, “Wilderness Makes You Better,” and as my toes feel the Earth beneath me, I can’t help but agree. The textures and contours are endless, but they need time to appreciate. Screen-free, app-free, time to get the environment on us. Is there anything better than salt dried on the body? A thickness to the hair. A slight crust-like scale upon the edges of the eyes. The taste of summer, but more importantly, the feel of summer. Out there, in that, with it on us.

The air cools, and the anchor is pulled. Prop trimmed down, stick forward. The long lens back in the waterproof bag, the short slung around my body. Both hands holding on as the hull slams into the swell. The details of the coastline fade in the failing light. The sun a fiery, forest fire red. We are the only boat as far as I can see. Rock and moss. Foam and drifting seaweed. Of course, you say, “Yes, I’m coming.” “Will be along shortly.” There is always a reason not to go, but we must go. “Boat ride, sunset, down coast, anchor, swim, explore?” If you ask again, the reply will be the same. I owe it to history. Record things now for later. That’s it. In the end, a rather simple idea, but how quickly it goes.

PS: Putting my work in print is the goal. Always. When I photograph, for better or worse, I am thinking about edits, sequences, and design. I think about the story I want to tell. I enjoy myself, but make no mistake, the photography takes over. I might be nodding and playing along, but inside I’m keeping score. I’m attempting to make a different kind of photograph now. Gone are the long-term people projects, and in are the learn new tricks, learn to see things I take for granted, and learn to make something usable for my professional needs. This isn’t easy. I’m having to unlearn while trying to learn. Pictures like the ones below are practice. Staying sharp, staying keen with the camera. Reacting. Memorizing the buttons and menus without having to look. (All images were made with one camera, one lens.) This is the challenge of photography, and I love it. Also note, most of what I shot on this night were images of other people, none of which I’m sharing here. I made a photograph that is one of my all-time favs of my wife’s uncle. It’s so good I can’t stand myself.