One particular visit to the Oregon coast in 1991 I took this photograph.
At the time I felt especially insightful and sensitive about it. I was impressed with myself because I thought the image was “a metaphor of the struggle of Motherhood”.
Was it a metaphore? Am I especially insightful and sensitive?
There are two opinions that intervene on my behalf:
Opinion #1 “Not deep, no metaphore, shallow and meaningless”.
I wasn’t insightful or sensitive. This image was about the diagonal lines going from the bottom left to the upper right corner. I took the picture in an instant. I glanced over, slid the zoom lens to the proper setting and pressed the button. The entire time of conception to completion: 1 second.
Diagonal lines in an image are always interesting to look at. They are like the spice in the soup. I saw the lines and how isolated they were on the textured background and responded viserally.
“Photography is a stab, painting is a meditation”. Henri Cartier Bresson.
Opinion #2 Sensitive image, metaphore of the isolation and struggle of my life up to that point, sorrow for the trials I’ve put my Mother through.
Life moves quickly. A photographer has to move quickly too. The mind is easily capable of detecting the meaning of something within one second. It could ascertain a dozen of these metaphores in that same second.
The eyeball/optic nerve is the most pronounced and the most developed nerve and nerve ending combination in the body. We “see” a tiny fraction of the information that enters our eyes. The rest is processed and stored in our subconsious for later retrevial.
“There are no accidents in photography.” Linda Lowell
The truth…I saw the woman dragging her stroller and thought “how interesting”. It intrigued me. I took the picture. Later I thought “This is a metaphore”.
The actual print (done on Ilford glossy fiber based paper) is gorgeous. Ask to see it sometime when we cross paths.
-Jon Ball is a photographer living in Boise, Idaho. His photographic wisdom and tips are questionable. www.studiojonball.com