An oldie but goodie, shot 37 years ago, with a poignant story behind it. A significant moment that has little to do with the image's content, and more so with the confidence it brought.
At 17, I discovered the first parts of how my artist mind worked, partially from reading the book "Mountain Light" by Galen Rowell. Having grown up in my home town, Galen was an incredible outdoor photographer, a local celebrity of sorts as a National Geographic shooter as well for his prowess on mountain expeditions around the globe. He lead an amazing life and was living my dream.
Images of Galen's Mountain Light book, and of him climbing in Yosemite, pulled from the web. I do not own the copyrights to these images.
After admiring his work for a couple of year, in 1987 I signed up for one of his East Bay workshops in the San Francisco Bay Area at the age of 19. When the day came, I was the youngest by far in his workshop, my only hopes to somehow show Galen I had an eye for photography. To impress one of my heroes.
The first day, after he lectured a few hours, we set off into the Berkeley hills on assignment. The plan was to capture sunset in Tilden Park, provide our rolls of film to Galen's staff for processing, to then review and edit our images the following morning. We were asked to share five photos to be critiqued, the first being what Galen called "personal vision".
Once all the slides were loaded into the projector, Galen began to share each student's work. He asked us to comment first on each person's "personal vision", then chimed in to share his thoughts. The goal was to figure out what the photographer was aiming for, what message they were attempting to convey. As each student’s first image shone on screen, most guessed incorrectly about the photographer’s inspiration. This gave Galen the opportunity to explain why, whether it was the lack of composition or exposure, if the light wasn’t right, or if the subject matter wasn’t connecting with the audience.
As I sat there nervously waiting for my slides to receive their turn, I soaked up everything he spoke about. I began to second guess if my “personal vision” shot was the best one, or if I should’ve chosen another. Then came the familiarity of my photo as it popped onto the screen.
This shot.
Before anyone could speak, Galen blurted out “Wow, now that’s personal vision!” He excitedly began to talk about the structure of the scene, yet I can’t recall any of the words he shared. I was simply melting in my seat, elated my image had connected with him. After catching himself breaking his own rule not to speak first, he turned to ask whose image this belonged to. I bashfully raised my hand noticing the looks from participants twice my age or older. Yet, the true moment of epiphany was that his words were an acknowledgment I might just be able to do this for a living. I may have what it takes to become a photographer, to have a life like his, as long as I put in the effort, the years, the blood, sweat and tears.
Today, looking back on a photographic career I’m very honored to have, I can honestly say this moment was a personal revelation of my artistic path. I'm much prouder of other images I've produced since, yet this was a part of my beginning.
Sometimes a person can share a few kind words, helping another create a life they long for. This was what Galen’s words did for me. Sadly he and his wife Barbara perished in a plane accident in 2002, however his legacy, his images, his words live on.
© Sean Arbabi | seanarbabi.com (all rights reserved worldwide) with exception of the Mountain Light book and photograph of Galen Rowell in Yosemite.
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