Are you suffering for your art? I sometimes think I must be mad, doing what I do. I wander around town in the middle of the night, alone, to photograph empty streets. I risk strangers’ wrath by
spying on people through the lens trying street photography. Not to mention the general ridicule you get for taking pictures of seemingly uninteresting bits and pieces.
And then there are general health risks. There is, for instance, the fact that I carry a heavy bag with me, no matter where I go. At this point, I am fully lopsided, always leaning slightly to the right, where my camera bag hangs. Plus, I hunch forward in this particular way that photographers have from looking through their viewfinder. I think, marky Mark is actually responsible for my current back problems, too. (On the plus side, photographers are somehow considered “cool”, as I have increasingly noticed on recent outings. I have never had so many people start up unsolicited conversations with me, ever.)
Nonetheless, I suffer gladly. In my typical, stoic German way, I believe that if it is to be good, you have to suffer for it. So yesterday I pushed myself up a mountain despite severe back pains. I could hardly walk or even sit or stand. In fact, I doddled up Croghanmoira, being swiftly overtaken by a number of lively pensioners, daintily waving their zimmer frames at me in passing. Heck, I was even offered a walking stick by a Septuagenarian, seeing that I was so doddery! Hmph. But hey, I did not go up there for the walk, for the hike or even the promise of a fried sausage at the top (this was a birthday walk with BBQ for a rellie). I went up there for the promise of a view which I could photograph.
And so I did. I was up the mountain almost last. I only got half a sausage. The wind was so strong at the top, I was nearly blown over and could not hold marky Mark steadily. But I got a magnificent view of the Wicklow Mountain panorama.
|*graaah* I have a spot. On my lens!|
By the way, thank you boys! Mountain Rescue rocks!