Water has a mind of its own. Though bordered on two sides rivers will flow where they will. And the will of a river is strong. If it wants to meander it whispers over rocks on its seaward journey. When it is full of itself it will rush to destinations unknown like a wayward treasure hunter looking for a place marked “X.”
Photojournalists are a lot like rivers. Except we don’t go where and when we want. Hemmed in within newsrooms, seen as reporters with their brains beaten out (otherwise we’d be reporters), the only way to exist is to accept illustrations guised as assignments and make the ordinary extraordinary. The will of the photojournalist runs strong as the dedicated voice for the voiceless.
I went to the river with a newly given, yet gently used, Sinar F. With a 10″ Kodak Commercial Ektar lens from 1941 that I discovered in a desk drawer at a church, no less, I needed to test the lens for acutance and the box for light leaks. Both are mighty fine.
Here is a branch sunbathing on a lump of granite. As I framed up, metered, set the aperture and shutter and grabbed the cable release I wondered where the river was going as it wandered past the ground glass. I am a lot like this river on a destination known yet not fully discovered. As life should be.
I offer you, Sunbathing Branch.
