“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will,
I'll go to it laughing.”
~Herman Melville, Moby
Dick
Now and then, I join my daughter Carrie on a photo excursion. Sometimes when we drive by something that she
would like to take a good photo of but can’t manage to do it, she will say
rather wistfully, “There goes my White Whale.”
I chuckle at that because I think we all channel Captain Ahab, now and
then. I certainly have my White Whales…my
unattainable, enigmatic shots.
Two of mine are only about 4 or 5 miles from our house. One is in an area of wetlands where the marsh
grass grows in clumps very straight and even.
The grass snakes through the bog and when there is no breeze, it is
reflected perfectly in the still water in front of it. Some days when I pass that area and the light
is hitting it just right, it looks like endless clusters of gold wires
reflected in a pool of black oil and I can feel my shutter finger
twitching. The problem is that it is located
on a very busy stretch of Route 20 and if my car and I survived even a short layover
there, I would probably be arrested for stopping in such a dangerous area to
indulge what others, who don’t understand the concept of the White Whale, might
consider to be just a photographic itch. Ah, sometimes I feel as misunderstood as
Ahab.
My other nemesis is an old farmhouse that sits up a rise off
another busy stretch of Route 20. For
years now, I’ve thought of Andrew Wyeth’s great painting “Christina’s World”
whenever I’ve looked at it. It seems to
me that it has just been begging me to photograph it. The few times I’ve had the opportunity,
though, either the sun was in the wrong place or I just couldn’t get the right
angle on it without trespassing or standing in the middle of Route 20 playing
chicken with a semi-truck. However, we
drive past this house frequently so I think about it a lot. A few weeks ago, to my great dismay, I
noticed that the house was being disassembled.
Yes, it is being taken apart piece by piece. Now my possibilities with that particular White
Whale are gone.
I don’t suppose I should ever imagine that the world is
going to stay the same day after day just waiting for me to come along with my
camera whenever it happens to suit me.
Still, I am disappointed that I will never get another chance at that
old farm house. And truly, I’m not intrepid
enough to even attempt a shot of the marsh grass.
Thar, I've blown my White Whales.
I’m sure you have them, too…that beautiful old barn on a
busy highway, that noble old tree that has just been cut down, the fleeting
bird or the look of total and complete joy or awe on the face of a loved one
that comes and goes in the split second before you hit the damn shutter.
I will just have to keep forming photographs in
my mind when I pass my White Whales and go fishing with a cheery and open mind for
some other opportunity. After all, I am
not Ahab…not really. To me, the world is
full of possibilities and they aren't all white. I will never know all that may be coming.
An unfortunate attempt at capturing my White Whale:
The bones of my White Whale. Here it is as it sits today:
A new impossible dream...capturing every last essence of fall:
