Death and Rebirth

From the book About Looking, by John Berger:

“Unlike any other visual image, a photograph is not a rendering, an imitation or an interpretation of its subject, but actually a trace of it. No painting or drawing, however naturalist, belongs to its subject in the way that a photograph does.”

Each moment lived is exceptional in the sense that it will never occur again, the current point in time is endlessly replaced by another of equal significance. Photography is one method of documenting our experiences and is used to supplement an imperfect memory.

The photographer’s goal is to freeze these fleeting moments at the ideal instant, with proper perspective, and artistic intent. The second a camera’s shutter button is triggered, an image is plucked from one busy reality saturated with sights, sounds, and smells, and placed into another which is devoid of these distractions. In this setting, a quality photo is one that can stand by itself and still speak for itself when aided only by our imaginings.

If created this way, a portrait will satisfy the eye aesthetically and muse the mind with meaning. Had it not been preserved and presented to the viewer as a single static image, the moment might have been overlooked entirely. Having this ability to immortalize the scenic landscapes I witness with just the click of my camera is what attracted me to photography. Recently, I had an experience which reminded me of this.

There is no shortage of inspiring views in nature, you only need to pay attention. What piqued my interest last week was the partially decomposed body of an indiscernible rodent lying at my feet. The skin of the skull appeared to be receding, revealing a cavernous opening in its wake. The outstretched stem of a dandelion, ready to burst with seeds, was suspended in the air directly above the punctured cranium.

I knelt and began taking photos when I noticed the haunting figure of a red and black harvestman headed in my direction. It scuttled onto the skull and perched itself on the rim of the cavity, pausing just long enough for me to take its picture before disappearing into the forest of Ground-ivy below.

I was left with a photo that felt like something more. In the moment I captured that image, I sensed an underlying symbolic relationship between the rodent, dandelion, and harvestman taking place. Notably, the cycle of death and rebirth.

The rodent embodied death, as it returned to the void from which life emerges, soon to be a part of the past. The harvestman is a lively representation of the present and is here only for a short while, standing on the border between conception and conclusion. Lastly, the dandelion bud ripe with seeds not yet dispersed and full of potential, signifies the future. All are parts of a larger whole.

Certainly not every photo I’ve taken has spoken to me on a philosophical level. Still, I enjoy the insights that arise from taking the time to observe our natural world and to reflect on what it inevitably reveals to us.