Photography and the Relentlessness of Time

Time marches on. There’s no way to stop it. You can’t even slow it down. For as long as there has been mankind, we have struggled to conceptualize time. We’ve been attempting to measure it for eons. From the earliest sundials, to stonehenge, to Breguet and even Big Ben.

Scientists tell us that time was created in the Big Bang. Theologians tell us that our spirit is eternal, that although we have a beginning, once born, our spirit has no end. Nature itself tells of the passing of time. Springtime brings the birth of flowers and baby animals. And it’s no coincidence that Christmas and New Years are only days apart. The birth of the “son” is co-opted from the birth of the “sun” … from pagan mythology signifying the birth of a new year.

Of all the tools ever created only one tool actually freezes time. The camera.

Ten thousand years from now people will look back at the birth of the camera as the moment when humanity could truly document our own existence. We are at this very moment at the event horizon, where digital photos and video are beginning to document nearly every event that occurs in humanity. From badge cams to security cams to Onlyfans, everything humans do is now seen through the lens. Like it or not, for better and for worse.

Those who endeavor to operate the camera at the highest of levels are legends. You know them by name. Henri Cartier-Bresson, Ansel Adams, Richard Avedon, Michael Kenna. Their photographs are both timeless and anachronistic. Extemporaneous and calculated.

I’ve spent decades in the photography industry and I’ve either met or become close friends with nearly every household-name professional photographer alive today. From Mark Seliger to Steve McCurry to Joel Tjintjelaar to Hengki Koentjoro to Nick Ut, to one of my dearest friends David Brookover, all of the top photographers I know share one thing in common … they’re better than your average man (or woman).

To be a great photographer you have to combine technical virtuosity and artistic self-assuredness with a humble curiosity about the world around you. You have to eschew sensationalized news, and politics, and “isms” like racism or sexism to focus your lens on what is truly important … the capturing of time.

To be a great photographer, first you have to be a great person.

This week the world unexpectedly lost one of those great people when, at the age of 71, Kevin Raber passed away after experiencing a series of strokes occurring over a 48 hour period.

In the not too distant past, the words “photography industry” really meant a brotherhood and sisterhood of photographers and industry professionals who convened on a quarterly basis somewhere around the globe. The Photography Show in Birmingham, England. WPPI, NAB and CES in Las Vegas. PhotoPlus in New York City. And of course, the granddaddy of all photography trade shows, Photokina in Koln, Germany. Depending on your marketing budget, twice, thrice or four times a year you could join this traveling circus as it would take over a city far far away from home.  Old friends would reunite. Drinks would be had. Technology secrets would be shared. Projects were born.

During Photokina, which happened biennially, there were half a dozen bars in Koln Germany where you could walk in, 6000 miles from home, and know with absolute certainty that a dozen or more of your closest friends, colleagues and heroes would be there to greet you.

Social media has made redundant the trade show, so the community isn’t what it used to be. But “back in the day” there were a few extra special people amongst the special people of our industry. Names like Steve Heiner at Nikon. Rich Schleuning at Zeiss. Jim Wagner at Leica. And of course Michael Reichmann and Kevin Raber of Luminous Landscape.

In my decades of circling the globe I grew to know and love Kevin Raber as a mentor and friend. Kevin loved photography so much that when he spoke, his enthusiasm always bordered on exuberance. His eyes would beam out from behind heavily rimmed glasses, his toothy grin chomping away at the next sentence, arms flailing in the air as he made his next point. Kevin was effusive about photography until his very last days. I spoke with his cameraman yesterday and just last week they were planning new media projects.

Kevin cared about photography, but more than anything he cared about you.

In July of 2019 I was trekking across the country with my dad and my puppy. We started our day at Frank Lloyd’s FallingWater in Pennsylvania and ended up at Kevin’s gorgeous mid-century house in Indianapolis, Indiana. Wine Country Camera was at its peak and Kevin wanted to pick my brains about the state of the art in manufacturing photo filters. I was sicker than a dog. My immune system was trying its damnedest to kill me, and Kevin was wearing a back brace for a severe case of sciatica. We both pretended to be healthy long enough to capture a wonderful interview, talking about my specialty … filters. It was the highlight of my cross country trip.

Mafia member Rand Scott Adams was the first to break the news to me about Kevin’s passing. Within 30 seconds my phone was ringing. It was Ted Forbes from Art of Photography. I gathered up my phone and dashed out the door at work, tears streaming down my face, I could hardly talk. I was crestfallen. Sadness beyond words. But Ted, bless him, steered the conversation toward remembering the best times we’d had with Kevin. Kevin was universally loved. He was a mentor, a workshop leader, an author, and a terrific photographer. Toward the end of the conversation we both expressed a sentiment that we wished we could have spent more time with Kevin.

The passing of time, and the passing of friends is part of life. Lucky is the man who lives long enough to see all of his friends die. Time changes everything. Even the popular spots we love to photograph change over time. My favorite spot for aspen trees now has a building in front of it. My favorite tree in Point Reyes now has a lightpost blocking it. The shipwreck in Inverness has been reduced to a pile of boards.

But, for every legend that dies, another is born. The future will always prevail.

The only guarantee in life is that there is no guarantee in life. If I can proffer up one piece of advice, it is this … carpe diem. Because you just never know.

Until next Sunday, with a hole in my heart … stay focused.