Capturing Vision
Risk and Reward
Just one of the many risk and reward conversations to have.
Like all of you, I am a voyager who has traversed the fine line between vision and verity.
The wisdom to put your lens cap back on and when to go for the shot is one of the lessons people must master and continue to.
No one understands the quest to attain what is inside your head quite like I do. The places I have climbed, the truly precarious ledges I've teetered upon, the helicopter needed to get to a location, all in the noble pursuit of telling a story that is worth a thousand words that embody authentic laughter and deep sorrow.
But it begs the question: Where do we draw the line?
I like to go to the cliffs that are across the water from the city. More than once, I have wiggled my toes over the edge of a jagged cliff. It looks like the Cliffs of Dover down there. The vision of a child twirling on that green moss surrounded by black rock would have been a masterpiece. Yet, as the wind whispered warnings and the earth beckoned, I had to take pause and step back.
Therein lies the paradox of our craft: To capture life, we must sometimes put ours on hold.
I have climbed too high, found myself setting fires for light where there was none, and stood in the midst of rush hour traffic, all for my ongoing quest to tell my story with photographs. Yet, it was in these moments of adrenaline-infused clarity, I learned an invaluable lesson:
Without the photographer, there is no photograph.
Our safety, health, and well-being must be paramount, for our art is a reflection of us, whole and unharmed.
A single photograph has the power to start revolutions, to speak truths when words fail, and to transport us across space and time. However, if our unbridled determination to reach that split second of magic results in harm for anyone, we have not captured an image; we have surrendered our responsibility as artists.
I strongly urge you, as you journey onward into the paths of those deep forests in search of your vision, carry with you not just your cameras, but a firm sense of your
limits. Do not let the devil on one shoulder win over the angel on the other. It is our choice as artists to inspire, but let us not do so at the expense of our safety or the safety of others.
To be a photographer is to be a storyteller, a memory holder and sometimes, a daredevil. Yet, always a human being first. I want everyone to push boundaries responsibly and to never lose sight of why we picked up a camera in the first place—to see, to feel, to connect, and to find magic, and perhaps light a few fires, but most importantly, to live and let live.
I know after many a lesson that your images can be as safe as they are spectacular. I KNOW this. Do I like it? No. Do I want to be safe? Yes.
And, personally this has been and continues to be one of my struggles. I have other people now for accountability, but the desire to pull down the ladder and climb that fire escape is strong. Actually, the desire to strike the match that starts the fire all while taking pictures of the flame is real, but I cannot. I want to be here and keep telling my story.
We live and breathe the desire to take the images, tell a story and to connect. But most importantly we must protect and respect both human and earthly boundaries.
xoxo, Meg