Different Ways of Seeing

      Sean was about two or three when he, his mother and I walked into a large and densely stocked electronics department of a major department store. There were glass cases everywhere, filled with a vast array of items, as well as racks and shelves containing thousands of things. Sean immediately began shouting, “Daddy!,” repeating it over and over again. Joanie and I looked everywhere for Kevin, but couldn’t see him. What was Sean looking at? We finally figured it out. About 20 feet in front of us was a glass cabinet containing every imaginable electric shaver, and, as Sean pulled us to it, we realized that he had seen the one his dad used every morning. He saw it the moment we walked into the room.
      Joanie and I were dumbstruck. How had he seen that particular shaver so fast? Some time after that I was driving through a mountain pass at dusk, and was enchanted by how the light fell on the crevices and folds of the hills, almost translucent at the top, and getting deeper and richer as the it fell further down into the canyon, with shadows like rich dark chocolate. It was as sublime as listening to Ella sing “My Funny Valentine.” It caused me to think of how I react to light, and it’s emotional impact on me. And then I thought of Sean and his delight in seeing his daddy in one small detail in a crowded department store.

      Sean sees detail as a good detective does, while I see the world more in impressionistic washes. It’s not that I don’t see detail, but it’s not where I go first. Until I’ve had an emotional response first to the light, a feeling – until I’ve heard the music – I have no interest in photographing the detail.

      I spend a lot of time looking at photographs, and am always fascinated by the different and extraordinary vision of so many very talented photographers. From the sublime poetry of Keith Carter’s images, to the wildly colorful and energetic fashion photography of David LaChapelle, to the dark, disturbing nightmares created by Joel-Peter Witkin. From the carefully crafted majestic Yosemite photographs shot with a large view camera and printed by the master Ansel Adams to the “decisive moments” caught instantly and unerringly with a Leica by Henri Cartier-Bresson, it’s hard not to appreciate how different we are, how we see the world, and how individual we are in our approach to it.

     I do what I do. It’s neither right nor wrong.
It’s simply what I have to offer, and I’m grateful to be able to
do it. But I’m also filled with gratitude for the exceptional talents of
so many other people who fill my world with inspiration, ideas, understanding,
and extraordinary beauty.