Changing Light

I am sitting in the office of Dr Geeta Lalwani, an Ophthalmologist and Retina Specialist, trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to read the large E on the eye chart. She tells me, you have a form of Macular Degeneration, and that Someday, I will almost certainly lose all my central vision; the ability to read, drive a car, recognize faces or colors, and see objects in fine detail. That was July 29, 2013, and Someday was rather abstract. A long way away. Certainly not today.

Macular Degeneration is a chronic progressive disease that affects the cells which convert light to electrical signals that are transmitted via the optical nerve to your brain so you can “see.” In my case, the light makes it through the cornea fine and it shines on large sections of dead cells. As more cells die less light is converted to electrical signals for my brain to “see.” My own setting sun of sorts.

Today, five years later, I see Someday, more clearly than I see most things. I no longer drive after dark. Finding the cursor on my computer is a constant frustration. Worst of all, how do I tell the people I have worked with for years that the reason I don’t acknowledge them right away is not that I don’t care, I just am not sure who they are until they are close, or I hear their voice?

I read somewhere that when you take a picture of something it helps you remember that moment more clearly. Perhaps that is what draws me to photography. Images like this bring back great memories. The day my friend, and amazing photographer, Ron Williams and I climbed up to the top of Hawksbill Mountain to capture the setting sun; from a point that most people will never see. It is an image that will be forever in my memory. Even Someday.

A Moment of Solace

As I look back through my previous images this is one I find myself stopping at over and over again. It is a rather simple shot taken in the Caribbean near Haiti. As I sat and watched the sun set this particular evening I found myself fixated on this small sailboat. I wonder where is it going. Where is it coming from. Perhaps nowhere. I know its just a moment in time. That soon the sun will drop below the horizon and it will be dark and the sun will rise the next morning on a brand new day but for this brief moment in time I imagine the passengers on this small boat completely at peace, without a care in the world.

Don't Give Up

It is after 1:00am in the morning in Westcliffe, a small town about 4 hours south of where I live near Boulder, CO. I am there because it is an International Dark Sky community and tonight is a new moon. The sky is super dark, and I am excited to try and capture a shot of the Milky Way. As I get in the car at the hotel to head to the site I had picked out earlier it starts to rain, and it becomes obvious that it is overcast with few stars visible, let alone the galactic center of the Milky Way I was hoping to shoot. With encouragement from my wife, we press on and as we get close I opt for a convenient location rather than hike up to the spot I had picked earlier, assuming that there wasn't much to get. As my eyes adjusted even further to the pitch-black night and I began to see what my camera was capturing I realized how fortunate I was that I didn’t turn around and climb back in bed like I wanted to an hour ago. I still regret that I gave up hiking to the spot I originally scouted out as I think that was a better shot but in the end the shot turned out okay.

One of the things I have learned about photography is having decent equipment and some knowledge of how to use it helps but the most important thing is to be in the right place at the right time. The only way to do that is try, try, and try again even when you aren’t sure what you get. And sometime that means standing on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere at 2:00am hoping something works out.