Dispatches to friends

The quiet of momentous events

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A horizontal black and white photograph of a blackbird in flight over overlapping tiled roofs. In the foreground is some vegetation. The sky is full of thin wispy clouds.

'Have you seen my camera? I can't find it.' I ask my partner as my hands open a drawer I've already checked five times. I am convinced I tidied it somewhere in the study when I put away nearly all of my photography equipment.

'Have you checked your storage?'

No I have not. I jump downstairs and pull the curtains in front of the cavity below the stairs. There, in one of the small IKEA plastic boxes, the camera stands, surrounded by a handful of once well used siblings.

I pick it up and bring it back to the study before I have time to think about it. I have no idea why I am doing this but it feels right and I choose not to question this feeling.

A vertical black and white photograph of a woman tinkering in her front garden made of gravel. She is in the background in a residential street. In the foreground is the back of a dark car creating distance between the viewer and the woman A vertical black and white photograph of houses drives with a car and a motorhome parked. The car is in the foreground, dark, and with only the front wheel and bonnet of the car visible. It is in front of a brick house. The motorhome is in the background next to the house. There a is a leafy bush between it and the car. On the left of the image are more bushes and trees. Light streams through in patches.

The next day I bring the camera to work. I know I will not use it but it needs charging. I can do this at home but something feels right about packing the camera with me on that day.

It charges faster than I thought it would, the battery barely drained after months of storage. I close the charging door shut and return the camera to the depth of my bag.

A vertical black and white photograph of a front garden by a brick wall. There is some grass, a tall bushy tree, and a 'to let' sign down on the grass.

The camera is returned to the study and remains there. I want to get an empty SD card in it. I know where those are but it's a bit of a faff to get to them, so I'll get to them when I get to them.

A week passes with the camera dangling on a hook on a wall with an old portable radio that used to belong to my great grand father. It is at once familiar and odd. The cameras on that line of hooks have all disappeared into the storage under the stairs. Now there are only keys, the old radio, candles yet to be burned, and my bicycle saddle.

A vertical black and white photograph of a person with a backpack is walking on a tarmac path under a tunnel creating by two large bushes meeting at the top. Both are very leafy. A vertical black and white photograph of a cyclist on a road going around a curved pavement curb with a tree at the left edge corner of the frame.

I work from home on that day. The morning is full of fog and pain and dizziness. I know it will likely pass as the hours in the day tick on but I cannot face the commute. I stay home. I busy myself with the sudden flow of e-mails and regular tasks, my mind clearing, my body easing.

Early in the afternoon, I open a drawer, slide my hand through the jumble of cables and find the small pouch with all of my SD cards. I pull out the ones marked empty and slot one in the camera. I return to work.

A vertical black and white photograph of a gull in flight over interesecting brick houses and a wooden fence in the foreground.

Later, as I close the laptop and put it away for the night, I take the cover off the camera, let my hand feel the ridges once known so intimately, and walk out of the front door. I do not want to allow myself any time to think about what I'm doing. I want to be guided by how I feel.

I tell myself it won't matter if I do not find any images. I'm probably rusty from months of only using my phone, of thinking in colour, of making visual notes rather than images I want to call photographs. My body remembers though. The camera is raised to my eye easily. My fingers press buttons and turn wheels as if I'd last used the camera yesterday. My mind find images easily. It is all effortless, a path untrodden for a while but not forgotten.

Will I continue to photograph? To edit and share?
I do not know and in truth I do not want to think about this. I have been led my feelings and impulses and this is something I want to follow, forget to live in my head for once, let something else guide me.

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