After hearing their talk, I looked through some photos I had taken at the Oregon beach of a sea lion that had improbably hauled itself onto the sand, to be pestered by passerbys and their dogs(!) As the largest living thing at that spot, it never seemed to care very much, and yet I dared not get too close, and had to be satisfied with distance shots. At the time, I cursed myself for not bringing a longer lens, but now, as I review the images, I can’t help but seem somewhat pleased.

And another photo from the beach:

While toying with the thought of buying a new digital camera that I just can’t afford, I’ve been pulling out the unused film cameras that offered me so much joy in the past – from a medium format beast to a simple point and shoot. Part of photography for me is the technology – the weight of the camera around my neck, the view through a rangefinder, and above all, the unknown quality of film. After a shoot with my digital, when I pick up a film camera, I find myself looking at the back after I shoot. Usually, I see what kind of film I’m using. I guess that’s the biggest difference between film and digital for me – the participation. It’s been said that a photographer is mediating his experience with the world by putting a camera between himself and what’s on the other side, and I feel that a digital camera can do that even more by adding a self-editing step into the process. Instead of shoot shoot shoot, it’s shoot, look, shoot, look, etc.

All this is fine – mediating my experience, objectifying the world around me, separating myself in order to document it. Because I’ve found that despite all that, being a photographer can actually bring you closer to the world around you – more observant, more in tune with what’s happening than you might have been. I remember a morning at Crater Lake in Oregon – I had just driven from Sacramento the night before (delivering an eagle of all things for the Cascades Raptor Center) and got up early to catch some morning light. I chose my vantage point, set up my tripod and waited. In the time I was there, several cars drove up, got out, took a few shots, wandered around, then left. I was able to watch the sun rise over the rim, saw a kestrel hunting for breakfast, and got some great shots to boot. I just haven’t scanned them yet.

“Moments” are what photography is all about, mostly. This place, this thing, at this moment. But that, too, generalizes. Because it’s not. Some are, some aren’t. Is this my moment, or the bird’s? Is it a moment in objective space? Does a tree …. ahhh, forget it.

The great thing about this pasttime of recovering other people’s photos is the opportunities I get to travel to far and distant lands and root among their trash. Like Seattle. And the rummage sale for the prep school of the rich. On a visit during my wife’s book tour, visiting the cousins. The thing about the rich is that their rummage sale donations consist of digital cameras past their manufacturer’s expected lifespan, so these photos came from a pitiful 3mp camera. I almost bought the camera. But I swiped the memory card instead and bought the $20 blender/food processor, balancing my karma.

What happens when you give a dog a bone?