A life with a view

by Deborah Robinson (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find USA

Joining a tour group to travel across the Northwest of America mixed excitement and anxiety in equal measure. Strangers are thrown together seeking to find common ground which can easily lead to superficial judgements and inaccurate opinions. Days burning miles in a tour bus, shopping for food, pitching camps and hiking mountains provide the opportunity for a more rewarding view. On that first day as the bus left Seatle, I sat next to Marcie, an American working in Kuwait as a PE teacher. She hated the dust. Her cropped hair, checked shirt and beige chinos easily inferred the manor of a tomboy. She casually expressed frustrations at the restrictions of life in Kuwait, but it seemed preferable to life with her family in the US. At this point, I foolishly thought we had a connection and eagerly moved the conversation to other topics. When I used the word ‘Christian’ to describe my religion, she visibly stiffened, retreated and became silent. We did not speak again for three days.h It was not until leaving Jackson, Wyoming that our first awkward conversation transformed into dialogue. Jackson is the gateway to the Teton and Yellowstone National Parks. A town framed by snow-tipped peaks, and lush plains. Once the home of various Native American Tribes and later the domain of mountain men – trappers and hunters, responsible for the names given to many of the local areas. In 1871, William Henry Jackson arrived with his camera and his photographs were, in part, used to convince Congress to protect the area and turn it into a national park. I pondered for a while what images Jackson presented to his government. Did they capture such a view that moved the soul of the men of congress to see the true character of the land? I had spent the day wandering the plethora of photographic galleries arranged around the main town. Viewing many images with stunning golden light, breathtaking views and carefully crafted proportions. Yet after a whole day of absorbing pristine, crisp colour images, I was left cold. I wondered if these images had been presented to the men of congress they would have been less powerfully moved? Finally, in a small book shop, I found the work of a photographer called Kathe Le Sage. Her images were muted, simple and inviting. They offered more depth than just a perfectly lit view of the land. These images were raw and held nothing back from the imperfections and challenges of life in this wild place or indeed the cultures that had helped to shape it. They told stories, real stories. “Is photography something you just do, or can you learn how to take pictures?” Marcie had asked as we met walking out of town and back to the bus. It was a question with an invitation. An invitation to reframe a perspective and take an alternative, raw view. “You can learn the techniques,” I replied, “then you have to develop your style.” I showed her the book by Kathe Le Sage, that I had bought. “These are the type of images I aspire to photograph.” From that moment a different conversation began to develop. We talked long and hard, reframing the view we had snapped of each other on the first day. We skipped from art to music, where we found greater commonality in recording artists like Ben Harper, Ray La Montagne, Damien Rice. Our Mp3 players were furiously exchanged. She introduced me to American Folk music; I gave her Dougie MacLean, a Scottish folk musician. From there we moved to Sci-fi and the brilliance of a TV show called, Battlestar Galactica. We discussed the bravery of the producers to only make four seasons of the show. Then, we discovered we were fans of a cult TV show ‘Firefly’ The 400 miles through Idaho and on to Lake Tahoe flew by. ‘I never pegged you as a sci-fi nut.’ She said as we crawled out of the van. ‘Yea, I’m a closet Trekkie really!’ I replied, with a grin. After two days we had an image of each other’s lives, with a variety of shades, tones and textures rather than a commonly framed viewed.