Tell your story behind the shot...

[NorthernFocus]

Still photography can be both revealing and deceiving. I thought it would be interesting to start a thread of shots with a story behind them that isn't self evident in the image.

I'll kick it off with this one. I recently posted this shot in mini comp no.2197. I titled it "Warning sign". It looks like a bear feasting on its kill and growling a warning at the brave/stupid soul behind the camera to back off, yes? Well.... that's half true. The bear was feasting on its kill. Which was a salmon. But that's not a growl on his face. He had apparently gotten a bone stuck in his teeth/gums and was moving his lips/tongue trying to get it out. And the ears pasted back as if in warning were actually in submission as this was a young boar and there were other more dominant animals near by. I was focused on the animal waiting for it to lift its head in hopes of a nice portrait shot. I ended up with this instead. So there you have it, full disclosure

Nikon D4/80-400mm G @370mm, handheld
1/1000s, f8, ISO1000


.

[billtils]

What an interesting idea Dan!

I often wonder how much context affects our judgment of a photograph - perhaps more so than any other visual art. As an example, this came out of nowhere (or sort of). I like wine and am interested in how it is made. A recent visit to the tasting room at a boutique winery was accompanied with the offer of a tour of the wine-making facility, which was taken up eagerly out of interest and with a hope of some good shots. Expectations were shattered the minute I entered the plant as it was all clinical stainless steel and computer control. Until 3 rooms later, and the fermentation tanks with dimpled coolant collars at the top. It's personal taste (like the contents, I suppose) but I really like the abstract end product more than many of the more artisanal options I have encountered.

[xpatUSA]

Somewhat self-evident, sorry Dan . . .



Tailgate down.

Bed full of can't-see-through-it brushwood with leaves.

Dirty wing mirrors.

Wearing reading glasses (please don't ask).

Sun full in eyes as it slowly sinks in the west.

Helpful high-torque 389 cu in (6.4 liter) "stroker" (long-stroke) V8 engine + high-ratio non-slip differential.

"I'll just back up a bit more, so I can turn closer to the bonfire" . . . . . . . .

(ho hum, needed a new tailgate anyway after arguing with a power pole some years ago )

[rachel]

I've got a few photos of graffiti, whether street art or slogans that amuse me. This is my favourite and I'd love to know the story behind it.

On a block of flats near the Paseo Marítimo in Málaga, southern spain. Te Amo would be I love you, but whoever was writing this must have had a last minute change of heart. I've always wondered who and why.

[rachel]

This is another where I'd love to know the story.

That street is barely one car wide, yet two of those cars are coming this way and the one between them is going the other way. How did they get like that?

I regret not having hung around to see what happened next. Taken in Cusco, Perú.

[RBSinTo]

Back in December of 2007, my Brother-in-law Steven Shanoff was diagnosed with cancer after a routine pre-operation examination for a hernia.
Deep in his groin, the Melanoma was inoperable, and he was given 90 days to live. The next three months became a time in our lives of nothing more than work and evenings and weekends spent at the hospital. During this time I shot virtually nothing, and after Steven died in February, I couldn't bring myself to photograph for a number of months.
One of the few shots I did take during that period was of a woman, likely Somalian whom I often saw going outside the hospital to smoke in the shelter of an overhang, near a heat grate, where Pigeons gathered to stay warm.
The grey, somber monotones of this shot remind me of the way the world and our lives seemed to be during that horrible time.

[Jimr1961]

This shot, while it hints at something, doesn’t tell the story. I had planned a backpacking trip to an area that was fairly difficult to get to, but I had wanted to visit for 20 years. When my partner backed out, my son wanted to go in his place. The trip was not designed with him in mind and I knew there was an area of trail that was unmaintained and reportedly a bit slippery due to the accumulation of leaves.

I knew my son could handle it physically. My only concern was that he would want to bail early because he missed his gaming. What actually happened turned my family’s life upside down for a couple of days. When we reached the unmaintained section on day two, it became increasingly slippery and my son became frightened. We were two thirds of the way down, losing light and water. We had to bivy on the steep mountainside, propping ourselves against trees to keep from sliding down the mountain. My son asked me how we were going to get out of here. He could not go back up that mountain. I told him he was not going to. We were going to go overdue. His mother was going to freak the F…. out and her life would be turned upside down, but she knew our itinerary and where we were supposed to be, she knew when to consider us overdue and who to call if it were to happen.

The next morning, we were out of water, too committed to turn around. We could see the river below and had to reach it. I was exhausted from the prior day, using everything I had to keep him in the present and moving downward, but we needed to get to water. We bushwhacked our way down to the river, then we stopped to drink and recon the area we would be trapped in for the next 7 days. The above shot was taken after we dropped our packs in my chosen campsite and went down to the river to recoup ourselves. I told him we would not be missed for 7 days, so we may as well do what we came here to do, fish and try to enjoy ourselves as much as we could even though I had made the decision to put my family through h&!!.

I wrote a 13 page essay on this event with much detail, but I’ll not dump an essay here. Needless to say, we made it out safely, via helicopter, but the whole incident overwhelms me at times.

[rachel]

That's quite an adventure Jim!

Robert, also a nice if sad story. Strange how even sad or horrific moments like these, we remember them almost with affection years later. Affection isn't the right word, but nostalgia isn't either. Hopefully you know what I mean.

[IzzieK]

Very interesting so far...I will find one to contribute...

[RBSinTo]

That's quite an adventure Jim!

Robert, also a nice if sad story. Strange how even sad or horrific moments like these, we remember them almost with affection years later. Affection isn't the right word, but nostalgia isn't either. Hopefully you know what I mean.

Rachel,
There was nothing good about this time in our lives. I have no memories of this time that are remotely nice or worth remembering. It was three months of horror as Steven's health deteriorated and his pain increased to the point where he told me just days before he died that he "Just wanted this to be over."
He was the finest person I ever knew and I miss him terribly.
Robert

[Jimr1961]

Rachel,
I'm not sure if this is what you were trying to say, but when I look back on tragic events, I feel the sadness, but I also appreciate the time I had, the memories I still have and reflect on what that person meant / means to me. What grows is also gratitude for what I have and a reminder to not wasted my life of the petty stuff.

[chauncey]

We were so poor...how poor were ya Johnny...we couldn't afford a bathtub...

[rachel]

I'm not really sure what I mean. When I think back to my dad's last days, as well as the anguish I remember the family time, all of us together supporting him and each other and I feel grateful for the time I was able to spend with him in those days. I think it's true that tragedy and sadness can bring people together and that is something positive I take from that time. I'm sorry if my clumsy comment caused offence, it wasn't meant to.

[Donald]

I've shown this picture on here before and I've told the story, but it seems proper to do so again in this thread.

On December 31st 2014, my partner and wife, Sheila, died 16 months after having been diagnosed with clear cell ovarian cancer. Her only request to me was that I scatter her ashes off the west coast of Scotland on the waters she loved so much through her sailing trips and as the passageway to the wonderful western isles of Scotland.

In May of this year (2015) and with the kind help of a local man called Robbie MacKenzie (no relation), I was able to go out onto the water just off Stoerhead Lighthouse in Assynt, an area in the north-west of the country.

The next day I captured this at the lighthouse, looking out to the place at which, 24 hours earlier, I had scattered her ashes.

I have called this image 'Her Final Destination' and is, in a way, my memorial to her, given that she didn't want any plaques or suchlike to be erected.

[RBSinTo]

I've shown this picture on here before and I've told the story, but it seems proper to do so again in this thread.

On December 31st 2014, my partner and wife, Sheila, died 16 months after having been diagnosed with clear cell ovarian cancer. Her only request to me was that I scatter her ashes off the west coast of Scotland on the waters she loved so much through her sailing trips and as the passageway to the wonderful western isles of Scotland.

In May of this year (2015) and with the kind help of a local man called Robbie MacKenzie (no relation), I was able to go out onto the water just off Stoerhead Lighthouse in Assynt, an area in the north-west of the country.

The next day I captured this at the lighthouse, looking out to the place at which, 24 hours earlier, I had scattered her ashes.

I have called this image 'Her Final Destination' and is, in a way, my memorial to her, given that she didn't want any plaques or suchlike to be erected.

Donald,
I am sorry for your loss.
Robert

[Donald]

Donald,
I am sorry for your loss.
Robert

As I am for yours. It was your very touching story and the image that you posted that prompted me to think it would be okay to post this image into the thread. I can empathise with the feelings and emotions that came across very strongly to me in what you wrote.

[Donald]

That is one helluva story. I'm very glad that you're here to share it with us, Jim. I hope everyone in your family was okay after the adventure.

[Kris V]

This photo was taken in 2004.
My youngest granddaughter was diagnosed wit Non-Hodgkins lymphoma when she was 9.
Chemotherapy put her to the point where her immune system was completely down, and her oncologist recommended keeping her out of school to minimize chances of infection. Treatment lasted close to2 grueling years.
Her teacher volunteered to come to her house to home school her. This woman did an absolute wonderful job during 4th and 5th grade - when she could go back to school in 6th grade, she was not behind the kids of her class.
She is still completely cancer free and is a junior in college, majoring in business administration.
A scare that ended in a happy ending.

[RBSinTo]

I'm not really sure what I mean. When I think back to my dad's last days, as well as the anguish I remember the family time, all of us together supporting him and each other and I feel grateful for the time I was able to spend with him in those days. I think it's true that tragedy and sadness can bring people together and that is something positive I take from that time. I'm sorry if my clumsy comment caused offence, it wasn't meant to.

Rachel,
I know it wasn't and no offense was taken. I understand what you were trying to say, based in part on your experience with your Dad, and I do have good memories of Steven because he was married to my Wife's Sister for many, many years, and we spent a lot of time together.
But I really have none from the time that we learned of his cancer, until his death less than 90 days later. That was simply a black time in our lives.

[jonjdoe]

Back in December of 2007, my Brother-in-law Steven Shanoff was diagnosed with cancer......

Your story is so painfully close to mine that I can't even bring myself to upload the picture. It is an excruciating shot of my brother on his death bed, from cancer the last shot I could take for months. Thanks for the opportunity to put a few words in writing.....
John