What Does it Mean to See?

As a photographer, one looks, frames, considers... I've been thinking about how much time and money I want to invest in photography. Do I want it to pay me back? Do I want to build up my equipment in hopes of selling more pictures? What do I do with the thousands of pictures I already have? Why haven't I printed more pictures and why aren't they hanging up in my house? Can I make a living doing this some day? What do I tell my students who want to become photographers?

Then I am confronted with a beautiful photograph, most unexpectedly. In a setting where I am not expecting to even be looking at photographs. Almost excused away by a brush-off comment, though maybe as a way to protect the self. And as part of a collection of photographs, just "pictures I took of myself... I wanted to try it. They are nudes, but nothing is showing..."

Flesh, metal and glass. The photographer hiding from view in this one, shielded by the camera which does the seeing for her. Legs - tripod, human - intertwined. Fingers curled around the camera, almost clawing, caught in the act of arresting the moment for those not present. And everything dependent on a mirror which sees but cannot be seen.

What to make of it? I want to buy it, but do I need to? I can still see it. And it wasn't offered for sale, only as evidence of a private, courageous moment. So true, for the photographer. For me, the viewer, a hopeful student of the art, something different altogether. In this photograph I read the Photographer's struggle to display, to hide, to check, to capture, to reveal, to pose, to reflect, to measure, to learn, to grow... And now, a few days later, what am I left with? Inspiration? A new benchmark? Alas, more questions. But I know for sure that this was an amazing photograph.