The eyes of a photographer and that of a lover are the same. They gaze with a burning passion unrivaled by any other. The mind of the photographer and the mind of a lover, they think alike. Their hearts beat to the same symphonic rhythm of anticipation of a moment of absolute bliss and content.

The photographer and the lover are the same. Both of us wake up in the morning looking forward to spending some quality time with our significant other. The lover puts on his good clothes, maybe some Tommy cologne and the photographer dons his camera and adorns it with a wild assortment of filters. Sometimes they go the extra mile and you see that the lover shaved! The photographers would put in a bigger memory card, or slap on a vertical grip for that extra added pleasure.
We step outside and bask in all that surrounds us. Beautiful days just seem to put us in an amazing mood. The clouds roll in and the photographer jumps with joy. He knows the clouds will bring with them an opportunity for him to express himself in a way that is not easily attainable on a daily basis. The lover sights the while fluffs rolling in and he knows it is a moment to bask in, an event which will bring him and his significant other together like no other force of nature. I see myself walk around with 20 pounds (or more) of equipment ranging from camera lenses to filters to tripods to maybe more, just lugging it around just so I can capture that ‘one’ photograph, that one permanent imprint of an ephemeral moment that can be sometimes as rare as a blue moon. He will walk the entire length of the earth, he will contort his body, enduring any and all discomfort to get that perfect angle on what is to be his perfect shot. After moments of contemplation, battling apprehension and dealing with the inherent fallacy of choice, he takes a deep breath and pulls the trigger. The shutter makes the most pleasing sound and within seconds, he has pulled apart the entire setup that took him what seemed like an eternity to put together just so he can review his shot. Damn it! It’s over exposed and the filter was not put on right! So back he goes on his knees, bending his body previously unknown to man. It’s hard to breathe with your spine pressing against your lungs, so h just holds his breath. He re-adjusts the filter with a delicateness only found in the fingers of Swiss watch-makers. The exposure has been reset. The wind blows against his face, calming the torrid flow of the beads of effort that formed despite the 60 degree weather. CLICK. There goes the shutter again. Once again, he returns to his screen, plagued by anticipation. He looks, he smiles. He’s got it. An hour spent making a good photograph seems like a decent price to pay in exchange for the reassurance that his technical prowess is still sound, that an abstract image of the clouds and the earth can convey a plethora of feelings. An hour seems too little a price to pay in return for an 8x12 piece of matte paper that plays host to a strong symbolic reflection of the photographer’s inner beliefs and his own interpretations of his surroundings, natural, social or man-made.

Sadly, he isn’t so lucky every time. There are times when the photographer gets caught in a stale-mate. He sees something beautiful, but no matter how hard he tries, he is incapable of capturing the beauty of what holds his mind’s eye prisoner. Sometimes, the sunset just look like a sunset, but looks more like an orange ball floating around in a sea of black. Is the state of a lover any different?

The clouds. They bring with them rain for the parched, cool winds for those burdened by the intolerable heat, shade for the poor souls suffering under the rage of our beloved flaming ball of fury. But for a lover, the clouds bring so much more. They bring in emotion, they ring in the mood for celebration, and they inspire the desire to hold your lover’s hand as you walk side by side. They ignite the burning desire to do something special. That is only a lover’s vision though, a hopeless romantic you might say. Thus begins his turmoil. He must get everything done; every prior commitment dealt with effectively, for mediocrity is not in his blood. He must finish everything so that he can start setting up for what he would like his lover to consider a perfect moment of love. He goes all out. He bends and breaks planning and setting up, paying attention to every meticulous detail, straining every grey cell in his mind to recall everything that she loves and enjoys. He runs around for the perfect spot to setup camp under a sky carelessly littered with the white puffs of elegance. He must make sure everything is ‘just right.’ Then, the moment of truth presents itself. You sit down by the edge of the green plush, looking over the majestic architectural brilliance floating on a puff of clouds and you tell yourself “this must be what heaven feels like,’ till she turns to you and says ‘it’s too cold. I want to go inside.’ Your mind suddenly becomes an expletive galore and as you bury your disappointment under a gentle smile, you take her hand in yours and walk inside. But it doesn’t matter. You still have her company and that makes it alright. You reset yourself and try and have the best time with her. You sit by the room’s window and watch the pitter patter of the rain drops beat against the window sill. As the last remnants of the fallen raindrops splash against her face, you take in a deep breath of all that the clouds brought in for you that day, and you say to yourself, ‘this is perfect.’

The lengths photographers and lovers will go to just for that one perfectly blissful instance is quite extra-ordinary. When it comes to the pursuits of these interests, time, money, sleep, personal preferences, everything takes 2nd priority. The world just seems to come to a complete standstill when our passions are involved. Hunger and thirst become an alien concept. The sense of time tends to vanish. Hot and cold don’t make any difference. All that matters is that ‘one’ perfect moment and by God we shall have nothing short of it. Every moment for us is precious, each distinguishable period of time unique, every single one of them an opportunity for us to make this seemingly ordinary moment into something substantial, something meaningful, something we can look at 40 years from now and still be able to recall every single detail. A photographer will look at his photograph and feel the environment of the image recreate itself around him. A lover will close his eyes and be transported back to that moment where he can feel the touch of her hands on his face, where he can experience once more through his mind’s eye the texture of her lips locked against his.

Neither of us looks for meaning all that presents itself in front of us. We create that meaning ourselves, for ourselves, infusing a part of our being into that ‘what is.’ That is how we establish the connection, our gateway into a deeper realm of emotion, though and philosophy. Both of us are constantly striving to capture the infinite beauty of a seemingly casual moment, a photographer through his images and a lover will always try and have a most memorable time with his special someone. Both of us are a hopeless breed, trying to make the best of what is. Both of us are the same.
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A little background on this 'thought'. I first conceptualized this essay in my freshmen year when i took photography with Mark Kirchner. he is a BRILLIANT photographer and an awesome person to talk to. Somewhere down the line, i lost the will to write and this thought got buried somewhere in the deep abyss of my Freudian mind. however, recent events in my life have strangled me to the point where i picked up the pen once again and decided to finish what i had started two years ago.
a series of photographs go with this thought i had. I am uploading a set of photographs with the same title as this essay to mark the photos that go with this essay.