What do you see when you look at this black and white photography of an old Ford Model T pickup truck in the deserts of Nevada?
I really don’t know what people see in my photography. Art is subjective. It’s a connection between the creator and the viewer but who is to say we are seeing the same thing?
“There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer.” – Ansel Adams
I can tell you what I see in this black and white photograph of an antique Ford Model T water truck pulled up to a water tower and left to age in place under the hot desert sun in Eldorado Canyon, Nevada.
This photograph of an old Ford truck baking in 115 degree weather for decades with it’s rubber tires exploding from the elements and metal reaching frying pan temperatures, can be seen as a relic of the past, a image of man’s futility against mother nature, a symbol of the greed that lead men into the lawless, harsh environments in search of gold, or many be even as an comment on the future of many kind an our brief life on earth compared to the eons that shaped the earth’s landscape.
What Do I See?
When I look at this black and white photograph I see the amazing texture and tonal range that makes black and white photography so special.
I see the choices made in developing this photograph in post processing.
I see the delight of finding this image among the hundreds of photographs I took that day in the old mining ghost town in the deserts of Nevada in the Southwest of America.
I see the planning it took to get to this spot to photograph this subject. The trip planning. The flight from Manchester, New Hampshire to Las Vegas, Nevada. The early morning breakfast, the car rental, the drive, the getting lost in the suburbs of Las Vegas, the lonely stretch of deserted highway.
I see the weeks of thinking about which lenses to pack. The tripod. Hauling my equipment to the airport. Dealing with the extra scrutiny of the TSA at the security screening. Making sure my batteries were charged. Fretting about filters.
I see the 115 degree heat with a slight breeze at 9 am in the morning. I see the water bottle I brought quickly disappearing. I see two trips to the lobby of the Eldorado Mining Tour for 16 ounce Gator-aids and a bit of a rest in their easy chair in the air-conditioning. I see myself growing faith under the intense sun with my sunhat and long sleeve sun shirt.
I see the sharp cactus needles near my elbow and the rattlesnake hiding places near my feet.
I see the amazing detail of the old rubber threads giving way to the steel belting underneath. I see the decades of abuse suffered by the radiator as it struggled to cool the engine in some of the harshest conditions on earth. I see the missing windshield – who needs a windshield when you need every ounce of moving air across your baking body?
That’s what I see, as I was there, I experienced the time leading up to the photograph, the time after the photograph – the shutter might have only snapped for a split second but the experience of the photograph lasted over a time frame of months. Now, what do you see?