It is funny how so often I miss the shots that seem obvious later.
Lugging a camera up Mt Keira, with every intention of remaining open to whatever comes along, things happen and I fail to recognise them. For the second time in two days, I encounter two women in Islamic dress who have walked just at sunset through the road barriers up towards Byarong Park. They seem alarmed at my presence so I deliberately walk swiftly past them, doing everything to appear as non-threatening as possible. In the process, of course, I miss the shot of them holding up their mobile phones to record the sunset above Mt Kembla – a completely different vision of the Illawarra encounter; representing a complex, contemporary relation to the romantic wilderness scene.
Just prior to missing that image I had missed another. Walking along dark bush trails I was surprised to hear the sudden and very loud sound of a roaring engine and squealing rubber. The protracted burnout stopped just before I got back to the road. Instead of black circles, I discovered a furrowed set of a parallel black lines ruuning for several hundred metres down the road. The whole area stank of burning rubber and the white road markings were literally obliterated in places by the thick black tyre marks. Disturbed by this careless stupidity, I didn’t even consider photographing the scene. Once again I missed an opportunity, failing to see what was directly in front of me.
It would seem that I have trouble recognising an image unless it resonates with a space of reflection. Immediacy, all too often, escapes me.
To be honest, if I wander up there again tonight it will be with the faint hope of making amends, of gaining another opportunity to photograph the Islamic women and the messed up road. In the process, no doubt, I will risk being distracted from whatever it is that actually happens this evening.