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Wednesday, January 09, 2008

A Moment In Time

I have always had a fascination with photography, both color and black and white. Unfortunately I have always been a horrible photographer. Many of my photos are either out of focus or end up with my fat little fingers across the intended shot.

Once I thought I'd captured some mystical beings, orbs floating around the landscape, but upon closer inspection it was my very own fingers. Luckily I saw the error of my fingers before showing the photos to friends and associates with claims of my magical powers with a camera.

With my lack of photographic talent, and believe me when I say I've tried to develop my photographer skills to no avail, I have a deep appreciation for those who not only can take fingerless photos, but can capture the essence of what they see. I guess you can call it the photographer's "it." Sadly, I don't have "it."

For the holidays a photographer friend of mine gave me a framed photograph that I absolutely love.


In the hands of an inferior photographer this would have been just an empty pool surrounded by chain link fence and woods, but photographer Mark Indig really captures something here. It's desolate, haunting, and intriguing.

Sometimes I find myself staring at it and creating stories about the pool's existence when it was full of chlorinated water, blow up floats, and happy little families on vacation from the blandness that is suburbia. I imagine the fun they have splashing water at each other, and doing belly flops into the deep end. I yearn to be part of that family’s vacation.

But then I imagine I’m one of the kids dog paddling my way across the shallow end, and I look beyond the pool to see that the pool is actually in the back parking lot of a rundown motel on the interstate with the sounds of trucks passing by drowning out the birds chirping in the trees behind me.

Aah, the power of imagination…

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