Chasing The Light: Why I Take Pictures - Part 2
Moments come and go. But some moments hold more weight than others, shaping important parts of who we are. For me, taking pictures is a practice that allows me to better observe myself, others, and the world around me. Recently, I sat down to think about the moments that lead me to photography and how I became obsessed with chasing the light.
The year was 1997, and I had been living on the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico for a couple of years. While working there, I met a professional photographer named Alejandro through a mutual friend. I had seen some of Alejandro’s work, including shots of Cancun he’d taken from a helicopter. His work was impressive and the area was ripe with scenery.
I lived in a condominium in Puerto Juarez, where Alejandro’s girlfriend also lived, a few floors above me. One day Alejandro, his girlfriend, her sister, and I were going to dinner and Alejandro asked me if I could grab his camera and gear from his car. I went to the parking lot, grabbed his camera, strapped his bag around my shoulder and headed back to the palapa near the pool area where everyone was waiting.
I came around the corner, camera in hand and the bag slung around me, and when Alejandro saw me he became suddenly excited and started commenting how much I looked like a photographer, remarking how naturally I moved with the gear. Working in personal security, I often carried equipment and bags, so I suppose it was all second nature, but there was something about a photographer seeing something different enough to make a comment that made the moment feel special.
I had always maintained an interest in photography, but my job was more involved with manipulating weapons, J-turns, and putting hands on people when they got aggressive or too close to my boss. I was young, working in a foreign country, and more busy protecting than creating. Still, Alejandro’s comment had meaning for me. It reawakened a dream that I should pursue photography and start capturing some of the amazing sights I experienced.
When I think back on this time, it reminds me of Miyamoto Musashi, Japan’s famed ronin warrior, who occasionally set aside his sword to pick up a brush to dabble in something creative. Apart from becoming a renowned fighter, Musashi’s calligraphy, paintings, and carvings are now considered national treasures in Japan.
Now, I often think about Alejandro’s comment when I strap on my camera bag and head out the door. Maybe photography was my path all along; maybe it was just a coincidence. Confirmation bias is real, and perhaps the memory of carrying Alejandro’s bag is important retrospectively, because I later became a photographer. There are probably millions of other experiences that faded away simply because there was no future connection to hold them in my memory.
But, it’s also true that a small piece of the space-time continuum contains the already written past, present, and future. Even though human consciousness seems to be tied to the present moment, science tells us that there’s a real likelihood that our past, present, and future all exist simultaneously. Perhaps a part of us that can intuit when something will be important in the future, since it is already determined, even if we can't be cognitively aware of it.
Whichever the case, that day in Puerto Juarez strikes me as a meaningful event in my life. It was a foreshadowing of someone different that I would become, someone who saw more excitement in creativity than working with danger. Perhaps this is also why Musashi’s life would be a light along my path. Maybe one can glean a unique balance, an interesting perspective, and an expressive edge from a life dedicated to picking up both the pen and the sword.