I love taking pictures. It’s one of my favorite hobbies – I don’t necessarily have
the skill set and the equipment to really delve into the world of photography,
but playing with cameras makes me happy.
I probably have about 150 pictures of the 4th of July
fireworks. I tried every angle,
every setting – I wanted to get the best display of the beautiful lights in the
sky. After the fireworks were
over, my memory of them lived in the pictures. Exactly that way.
In 2D. In all my effort to
take incredible pictures, I never really looked up at the incredible.
A few days later, I went to a concert at a symphony; a very
talented Brandi Carlile played with the Nashville Symphony in the Schermerhorn
Symphony Center. The building was spectacular
and ornate – exactly the way I imagined orchestra halls to look. Before the show started, the announcer
informed everyone that no photography was allowed during the show. My heart sank. I was already constructing photos and
angles, determining how much zoom to use, and playing with color and filters in
my head. How was I not going
to take pictures of this?
A funny thing happened. I was present during the actual performance. I may have
snuck in a picture or two (I couldn’t help it), but I put my camera phone away for 99% of
the show and simply watched and listened in real time. Present time.
I watched the way Brandi Carlile tipped her head back
slightly before she was about to belt out a big note. I saw each violinist place her chin on the chin rest on cue,
and I watched the conductor purposefully flail his arms about in a rhythmic
sign language that eludes me. I saw the cello players’ fingers plucking each
individual string. I caught
glimpses of smiles between Brandi and her band mates. While it’s possible that I could have captured some of that
on film, it would not have been something I was part of – it would have simply
been a frozen frame of where I happened to be at the moment. By taking myself out from behind
my camera lens, I became part of the
event instead of the one documenting everyone else being part of the event.
The kicker here is that of those millions and trillions of
photos I have on my camera phone, only a handful actually ends up in social
media, and even fewer are printed and hanging on the walls of my house. So why we do we take so many photos if
we never plan on doing anything with them? Pictures for posterity are one thing; I can appreciate
wanting to remember something. Pictures of beautiful beaches, mountains, and nature - I'm totally on board with that. But, becoming so wrapped up in taking photos that
you’re attending a photo shoot instead of a concert – that’s just stupid. At least for me, anyway. That’s what I noticed about myself this
past week – I need to be more present when Im out doing the fun things; fun
cannot be relived through a folder of 200, roughly similar photos. Fun can be relived through talking
about what you did/saw/heard with your friends.
There are too many gorgeous, important, sexy, impossibly breathtaking
things to capture on film so I will never stop taking pictures. However, there’s a time and a place for it. So today, I am grateful for that announcer who told me to put
my camera away. He knew that no matter the
#nashvillefilter on my #instagram app, the real memory was developing right in
front me.
