it was foggy and dewy on the mountain. the lodge was shrouded in a cloud of white, just the deep brown and red of cedar against white cotton, nothing else. i took the chair lift up through the mist to the summit. there was nothing to look at. Just the quet white and gentle feelings of gratefulness. i hadn't photographed in a while; I wasn't sure if i wanted to anymore.
it’s a lot— the emails and the chatting and the endless qeue of reproduced materials with different faces and names. i loved its essence, but the industry had started to feel like wading through a never ending shallow end for so long that your toes turn to raisins without the freeing respite of a swim.
this wedding was me dipping my toes in again. not a full step, just testing the water.
i was second shooting, which is perhaps the best situation for any photographers in a stale mate. i would argue we should all second shoot every now and then for the creative relief. second shooting is the equivalent of being a passenger princess on a road trip; a professional dilly-dallier if you will. it frees you of responsibility from the traditional shots and leaves, in obligations absence, a soft space shaped like noticing and attention.
attention is one of the purest forms of love.
