NO WORDS
I was thinking about the difference between the saying “A picture is worth a thousand words”, and “There are no words.” What is it that really makes the difference between one photograph that would take several pages to describe it, and another one that is indescribable?
Now, I have taken photos that are very interesting and I say would easily fall into the category of being worth a “thousand words.” I had been into photography professionally for 4 years by this time, and was a photographer for the local newspaper. It was fast paced. I got to take photos everyday, then race back and process them to be in the paper that evening.
When I’d get back from a job, I remember the excitement and anticipation of walking with proof sheet in my hand, over to the editors desk. It felt so awesome. Everyone else was sitting at their desk either typing, talking on the phone, or reading and some would look up and nod. I was bringing the final touches to their story and it wasn’t going to be complete without a photograph.
Or maybe it was the proof. Maybe there are some things we just have to see to believe. Like the late spring snowstorm we had one year. That really wet, heavy snow that you couldn’t hardly shovel. In our town there was an area where all of the trees lining the street just couldn’t handle that weight and almost all of the limbs broke off.
I’m not exaggerating. I had to park a few streets away and walk up to the mess. It was surreal. The trees looked mangled and eerily grotesque, but it was beautiful and serene too. It was really quiet. You know how the snow dampens vibration and absorbs all sound. It felt like I needed to whisper.
There were a few neighbors out shoveling their driveways and shaking their heads. I would stop and visit to talk to them, ask questions, and take photos. I walked up that street about a block and half then turned around. There was the shot. I knew it immediately. It said it all. Old houses lined the street on both sides. The street was full of branches and snow and broken twigs. A few of the sidewalks were shoveled bare, which created a sharp contrast with all the snow still covering the road and trees. It was already getting darker.
An old man was standing on the corner resting his arms on his shovel, with his hat tilted back looking at me. I don’t even have the words to describe all that was going through my head at that time, and all the emotions I was feeling. I just watched that small piece of life in front of me.
Click. And took the photo.
Remembering that my deadline was getting closer I hurried back to my car and through the sloppy streets to the darkroom. I was excited to see that photo. Would it turn out like I hoped?
The Editor was a decent guy. At least to me. Always busy, but patient enough. He expected everyone to do their job. No excuses. I can work with that. I had never let him down before. This photo assignment had been given to me at the last minute to find a cover photo for the paper that day, something from the snow storm maybe. But if not, that’s ok too. No pressure. Right.
Now, I have taken photos that are very interesting and I say would easily fall into the category of being worth a “thousand words.” I had been into photography professionally for 4 years by this time, and was a photographer for the local newspaper. It was fast paced. I got to take photos everyday, then race back and process them to be in the paper that evening.
When I’d get back from a job, I remember the excitement and anticipation of walking with proof sheet in my hand, over to the editors desk. It felt so awesome. Everyone else was sitting at their desk either typing, talking on the phone, or reading and some would look up and nod. I was bringing the final touches to their story and it wasn’t going to be complete without a photograph.
Or maybe it was the proof. Maybe there are some things we just have to see to believe. Like the late spring snowstorm we had one year. That really wet, heavy snow that you couldn’t hardly shovel. In our town there was an area where all of the trees lining the street just couldn’t handle that weight and almost all of the limbs broke off.
I’m not exaggerating. I had to park a few streets away and walk up to the mess. It was surreal. The trees looked mangled and eerily grotesque, but it was beautiful and serene too. It was really quiet. You know how the snow dampens vibration and absorbs all sound. It felt like I needed to whisper.
There were a few neighbors out shoveling their driveways and shaking their heads. I would stop and visit to talk to them, ask questions, and take photos. I walked up that street about a block and half then turned around. There was the shot. I knew it immediately. It said it all. Old houses lined the street on both sides. The street was full of branches and snow and broken twigs. A few of the sidewalks were shoveled bare, which created a sharp contrast with all the snow still covering the road and trees. It was already getting darker.
An old man was standing on the corner resting his arms on his shovel, with his hat tilted back looking at me. I don’t even have the words to describe all that was going through my head at that time, and all the emotions I was feeling. I just watched that small piece of life in front of me.
Click. And took the photo.
Remembering that my deadline was getting closer I hurried back to my car and through the sloppy streets to the darkroom. I was excited to see that photo. Would it turn out like I hoped?
The Editor was a decent guy. At least to me. Always busy, but patient enough. He expected everyone to do their job. No excuses. I can work with that. I had never let him down before. This photo assignment had been given to me at the last minute to find a cover photo for the paper that day, something from the snow storm maybe. But if not, that’s ok too. No pressure. Right.
Maybe it was the smile on my face as I walked up to his desk. I didn't say anything. He finished and hung up the phone. "Whatch got Jon?" I handed him the proof sheet.
He looked at those 20 small images turning the page side to side and back around. Grabbing his Lupe and placing it over one photo, then another. My heart was about to explode. Tapping his grease pencil on the desk didn’t help my excitement any either. He circled one photo and handed the sheet back to me saying, “Show me this one. Print it full width for cover. Let’s see if works, nice job!” I had no words. |