Sometimes, I ignore what I’ve learned and regress to just snapping pictures. They say the definition of insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting different results. I’m not insane. I just sometimes decide the awful results I know I’ll get are OK.
Sometimes, I just want to take snap shots.
That said, there is something fundamentally wrong about pulling out a Canon 5D Mark III with a 24-17mm f/2.8 lens on it and shooting from the passenger side of a shuttle van through the windows while moving at speeds up to 55 MPH. I believe it violates the 11th commandment: Thou Shalt Not Waste a Really Great Camera by Using it Poorly!
It’s times like these I wish I had one of those little compact point-and-shoots that you can pull out of your pocket and look like a typical tourist.
On the flip side, I hauled 17 pounds of photography equipment with me through 3 airports to get this far and I sure as heck was not going to fail to use my camera. Unfortunately, when I look at these images, I can’t say I’m glad I did.
What does one do with crappy vacation photos that are too ugly to use for anything but too evocative of memories to get rid of? If you’re like me, you probably have thousands of pictures that you can no longer identify what the subject of the photo was supposed to be or the subject is obvious but completely blurred or has a street sign coming out of its head or is underexposed, but it’s the only photo you got of that really great subject, so you hang onto it for dear life.
Sometimes, it’s better just to delete.
I’ve written before about the joy of an uncluttered life. And how that includes an uncluttered hard drive. So, this is my pledge: I’m deleting all of these photos. Well, I might keep the Psychic Gallery one. And the one of the ski runs. And maybe the church. Why is it so hard just to hit the delete key?
But, I digress.
Continuing my travel story from two days ago, having safely arrived at the Rutland, Vermont airport, we were greeted by our driver, Terry, from Gramps Shuttle. (I’m pretty sure there’s a joke in there somewhere.) He knew our names, he greeted us like friends, we laughed all the way to the hotel.
Along the way, I shot anything and everything that was even semi-interesting. The sign for a Psychic Gallery really threw me. I pictured an art gallery that displayed psychic events instead of art. Or perhaps performance art installations involving levitation or telekinesis. Or maybe just a collection of fortunes from Chinese fortune cookies. Terry enjoyed contemplating what it was, but he didn’t offer to stop to find out.
It was just as well–it would only have resulted in more bad pictures.