There are some compositions that owe their success to nothing more than capturing the “decisive moment,” a phrase coined years ago by the famed French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson. Still active in his nineties and spending his time doing oil painting, Bresson seemed perplexed by his fame, implying that perhaps photography was not art but simply the documentation of the world around us. I believe that if a picture I take is not possible to capture with any other medium, then it is at least uniquely achieved. But the art, as far as I am concerned, is in how we arrange the elements in the frame. I do not know of any other medium that allows for the creation of “art” so quickly. It is in many of these decisive moments where the photograph goes from a record to a piece of art.
How is the decisive moment defined? For me and many others, it is that very brief fraction of time—a millisecond—when everything comes together in perfect synchronicity: the light, the lens choice, the point of view, the subject, the aperture, the shutter speed and, as is often the case, a healthy dose of luck. Decisive moments are not limited to an overt action, such as the now-famous image taken by Cartier-Bresson of the figure with an umbrella jumping over a mud puddle. In fact, you could be shooting a portrait when your subject makes a look you recognize as that look and at exactly that moment you trip the shutter, forever preserving that decisive moment. Whether it be the hurried action of a man jumping over a mud puddle with his umbrella, the subtle pursing of a model’s lips, or a slight shift in the photographer’s point of view, these actions are fleeting, yet when captured, each is what I see as a Kodak moment—a picture worth a thousand words.
I have seen, and have missed seeing, my share of decisive moments. Like the big fish that got away, those images remain in my mind as some of the best work I can never show. Am I just unlucky? Of course not! I have been lucky enough to photograph a number of decisive moments, too. I know of no successful artist who has put his or her camera or brush down and said, “I now have enough.” Speaking for myself, it is the search for, the potential for, and the surprise of the decisive moment that drives me still.
I had heard nothing but glowing reviews about the island of Santorini, Greece, so I finally put the spot on my workshop schedule in 2006. Within minutes of arriving, I began to question what all the glowing reviews could have possibly been about, since I didn’t see all that much. But at my hotel, 30 minutes later, it all became clear. You’ve got to love these cliffside towns with their narrow alleyways and the locals using donkeys to carry goods up and down the steep cliffs. And, of course, where would these islands be without their cats? One of my favorite books, Cats in the Sun, showcases beautiful photography from the Greek islands, including Santorini. I had hoped to come away from Santorini with several outstanding cat shots, but by the last day of the workshop, it didn’t seem as if it would happen—until, that is, this black cat crossed my path.
I realize that, for some, a black cat crossing your path is a sign of misfortune to come, but for me it proved most fortunate. I followed this cat for 5 minutes until he finally found a resting place at the top of some colorful steps. I moved into a position that allowed me to shoot down on the stairs from a diagonal point of view. All that remained was to see the cat take off, running down the steps, but he seemed rather content and was soon lying down, ready for a nap. Luckily for me, a large barking dog started coming our way and that was all it took to get this cat moving. Handholding my camera and 17–55mm lens, and with the ISO set to 200 and my shutter speed at 1/500 sec., I was ready, since I had already adjusted the aperture in anticipation of the shot. Needless to say I got the shot, complete with the cat in midstride.
Nikon D300S with 17–55mm lens at 17mm, f/8 for 1/500 sec., ISO 200