Eric (E.T.) photographing the Milky Way atop Cannon Cliff, New Hampshire, July, 2019. Light pollution from the southern portion of New Hampshire can be seen competing with the Milky Way for the night sky.
Sitting atop Cannon Cliff in Franconia Notch, New Hampshire, we gaze at the valley below around 1 a.m. On this night, the moon remains absent. Otherwise invisible to the eye, the Milky Way stands out prominently. Unfortunately for us, the widespread light pollution creates quite a stir as we face the South.
“I love my 24-70 lens; I just hate carrying the thing around all the time,” Jared, an adventurous climbing friend of mine, says. “I’d rather change my kit and get a few primes. Ease up on the weight.”
In my photographic approach, I try not to stress much about gear. It’s tough to ignore, though, within a discipline that relies so heavily on external equipment, its a contributing factor.
I look at my array of overly-used camera equipment, somewhat outdated by today’s standards, still holds up pretty well. If I had to complain about one thing, it would be that I have too many cameras.
Currently, I possess four digital single-lens reflex (DSLR) cameras, each with a unique ability. The one with the most battle scars, my Nikon D810. This blessed beauty has been dropped in water, covered in sand particles, absorbed the cold weather, navigated dangerous terrain while hiking, and even fought off pine martens in the White Mountains. It’s interesting to think where my camera has been, especially its proven durability.
I started on Nikon. Over the years, I’ve shot this brand primarily while out on assignment; it still has some drawbacks: Weight.
A full-frame Nikon or Canon DSLR weighs more than a mirrorless setup. This video helps to keep you up-to-date on the hype between the two.
As I look at my aging setup, I get wrapped up in the fascination of purchasing new gear. I like to stay in the loop about the new and emerging technologies, but with that same token, don’t feel that I should. It’s like people that always need the latest and greatest iPhone. Do I need the latest and greatest if it still does all of the functions I need it too?
A few months back, I took a beautiful image while out in Germany. I decided to submit it to a photographic competition. The talent among other photographers was pretty intimidating. Unfortunately, my photograph didn’t cut it. Underneath everything, I thought genuinely about how photography can shape our lives. I had an emotional connection and a story behind the image I captured. Technology, as impressive it can be, doesn’t know much about human connection or emotion.
In February and March of 2019, I was a participant in Operation Dynamic Front. A multinational live-fire exercise. A culmination of a partner nation’s test of resolve, endurance, and strategic thinking. Coordination involving large-scale combined arms in a simulated combative environment. Organic to an artillery unit, my immediate job was somewhat translucent. I had vague instructions as to the mission but decided to create my own. I was flying solo for this one (which I usually do anyway).
Every night, we were allowed to leave the main base and go out. We would hit up different restaurants or places of interest in the German countryside. I was amazed at the beauty of the German landscape and how the historical energy felt. It was like stepping back in time. The small densely packed villages, slow pace, and friendly people didn’t exactly make it an easy place to leave. From my standpoint, it feels like I could spend an eternity here.
A rough day of training turned into a good night of relaxed conversation with a beer or two. What remained fun for me, turned out to be a profound challenge for someone else.
A person who shall remain nameless looks at social media on his phone. His face changes from modest to a blank, distraught emptiness. He steps outside and doesn’t speak of where he is going or how long he will be gone. It’s raining outside, and he doesn’t seem to care. He leaves.
On his phone was a notification. A notification of the dearly departed. Each day, he is getting lost in time while training; he wasn’t aware of what day it was. He wasn’t aware that a year has passed.
The notification was a reminder that a year ago to the day, his mother went to the other side. I’m not sure of the extent of the relationship that he had with her. I’m not sure, because I don’t typically find it my business to ask deeply personal matters. I know what it is like to lose someone. I know, deeply, what that feeling is.
ISO 4000 / Nikkor 50mm F1.8D / F3.5 / 1/500s
Edited with Adobe Lightroom
Shadows/Highlights/Contrast/Adobe Portrait Profile
The next morning, I hear the sound of small droplets of rain hitting my window. Situated inside of a traditional military squad bay. Bunk beds all lined up in traditional military fashion. I’m usually one of the first people to always get up and get ready. As I gaze out into the early morning darkness, I see the person, staring into his phone. Emptied expression, filled with something only he can know.
I make a subtle noise to let him know that someone else is awake, not to frighten, but from the point of understanding. I, too, get lost in my thoughts. We each begin our day, in a type of unrecognizable connection. I’m aware of his mental state, but say and do nothing.
This same morning, we are heading to Nuremberg. A very well-developed city in Germany. It is fraught with the history of World War II but has changed immensely. This is the second M.W.R. day I’m attending. I hold my Nikon D810 close to grab images of Nuremberg. I want to recount my experiences in the city and the beauty it holds. The weather isn’t fairing so well, though.
The person is sitting directly in front of me. In what seemed like a fraction of a second, I see the same expression reveal itself. The same look, thinking of his immediate kin. Without hesitation, without thinking, I snap the image. I review it on my Nikon, but I am busy trying to process the person’s mindset. I’m busy trying to find the right way to communicate a complicated matter, into something that is meant to be my condolences. Maybe I’m a soulless individual? Perhaps I have a cold heart?
Back home, I review the image on my computer and realize that it holds some significance. It contains some importance because I see a level of myself in the person’s face. I, too, have kept this look, as many other people have.
I process the photo and order an 11x14 print. I think if I should potentially get a frame or not, but unfortunately, I don’t have the funds.
As our annual training comes to a close, most people returned from Germany with a sweatshirt, some chocolate, or some souvenir. I don’t go out of my way to find the person.
I show up early for our last day of military drill, camera and all. I enter a room with no one in it, and behind me comes the person. “Hey, I have something for you,” I say to him.
I grab the image out of my bag and remove the plastic coating protecting a memory. “I knew what you were thinking about the night before,” I say. “I just thought that it was a good image. I want you to have this.” I hand him the picture of an empty face.
As his mind processes the picture, he revisits his kinship with his mother. His face turns to the same duplicated expression in the image. For only a few seconds, he relives a memory of a time gone by.
“I’ve had this expression in my face before too,” I say to him. “It’s a beautiful image.”
Camera gear knows nothing about moments or emotions.