The Image Holds Still. Everything Else Moves.

What makes photography so powerful is the contrast between the still image and the time that moves around it.

Eyes steady over the camera, I'm already anticipating future moments of looking back. That anticipation sharpens my attention: what's significant here? What will this mean later? 

But it’s long after circumstance and context have changed that I begin to perceive the fuller weight of the moment. 

Seeing precedes understanding. 

The image remains fixed. 

Everything else moves.

Memory plays its part. I return to images because they reveal what I couldn't see in the moment, and teach me to see more clearly next time.

Every photograph is an act of faith. I trust the image will reveal something I couldn't perceive in the moment and that it will be significant later in time. But faith isn't blind. Thousands of photographs teach you what's worthy of attention. You learn to recognize what draws your eye and why.

This is why I take photos: to train myself to see. Each return reveals what I missed, and that revelation sharpens how I see the next moment.

The photograph holds still. I keep moving. And in that contrast—between the fixed and the changing, the then and the now—I discover what the moment meant all along.

From the Edge,
Zack