The Benefits of Lugging a Camera

If I could tell the story in words, I wouldn’t need to lug a camera.
--Lewis Hine

Lewis Hine, the first “real” documentary photographer, sure did have a way with his camera—and, apparently, his words. Some stories, he’s right to point out, can’t be told in words. Some stories are just too big, too inconceivable. Seeing the pictures—sometimes on their own, and sometimes with some form of written commentary—helps give a shred of credibility to what the anecdotalist can’t otherwise illustrate.

The effect of a visual is surprisingly strong. Suddenly horror movies seem mild by comparison. “People do this to one another?” I always think when confronted with surprisingly horrific images. “Do people know that this happens!?” But yes, they do. And, because their lives are easy and unaffected by the atrocities of their neighbors, they don’t take action.

On the other hand, sometimes a story is too beautiful or perfect to be verbally represented. It might be too beautiful, or to technically perfect, but some of my favorite “perfect” photos are the ones that are of seemingly innocuous objects that unintentionally look like something else, as in “The Face(s) of the Earth” on Flabbergastedly.com. Seeing the camera used as a tool to record the silly, the absurd, and the mundane, then to add captions, has become a business model for ICanHasCheezburger.com.

I have most often captured my favorite pictures, my favorite moments, by carrying a compact digital camera with me everywhere I go. It had its own little pocket in my purse, where it was never more than six seconds to snapping the shutter, and my daily commute to work had me strolling the streets of San Francisco, forging a new path each day. The camera, purse, and leisurely commute are all long gone, and I keep meaning to reinvest in such a simple sense of daily photographic joy.

Even though it might be a bit more inconvenient to now, I still work to keep a camera with me most of the time. It protects me (and my friends) from my verbal storytelling skills, which are atrocious. My stories tend to be filled with the wrong details, anti-climatic, and otherwise exasperating to those around me, but my pictures can speak for themselves, giving as little or as much information as the recipient wants. They can incite questions or comments, but don’t require anything more than their presence. And for that--for protecting my mouth and brain from one another--I’m eternally thankful to my photos.