-DC patrol, the shadows of two Dolphin helicopters flying formation over the Potomac.For my friends who enjoy open theological dialogue…
Those of us who practice the art and science of flying take for granted the progression that we all inherently, albeit painfully, grow through. I speak for many when I say that there aren’t too many things more humbling than learning how to hover. It’s been almost a decade since I first learned how to fly helos, but the memory is indelible. Somewhere between the awe, bewilderment, terror and faith that the rotor would stay at 100%, we baby-stepped our way into something that resembled competent aviators. I emphasize resembled quite loosely!
Baby stepping is what it took: First the pedals; “here’s what the left does and here’s what the right does”. Then the collective; “lift it smoothly and watch it climb, but don’t forget about the pedals because that collective also affects the overall torque in the main rotor system- increasing the need for more pedal”. Lastly the cyclic, the stick between your knees that pushes you fore and aft, left and right. Each control is uniquely different from the rest but directly affects the inputs of the other. You can’t change one without another! It’s one thing to elaborate on the academics, but there’s no genuine understanding without physically getting/growing through those baby steps.
So step by baby step we studied and flew, and studied and flew. We dedicated the bulk of our lives for a year and a half to institutional code and formulaic exactitude. Underneath the tutelage of our Ft. Rucker instructor pilots we were the ultimate legalists, pending review by our “Sanhedrin”. You see, in the beginning, it’s formula. The curriculum is laid out- black and white. The delineation for success and failure is quite clear and we knew precisely the end state we desired.
Progression is human, and it’s ubiquitous. Those of us who practice the art and science of photography also take for granted the progression we grow through along the road to becoming something that resembles competent visual artists.
In photo school I had a passionate agenda that eclipsed religious zeal. Any rulebook I could get my hands on was game. I fondly remember some of the beginners’ guides I would read, such as the Kodak book on “How to take good pictures” or Ansel’s “The Negative.” Such texts would thoughtfully lay out all of the most common “composition” techniques like using “S” curves in the foreground, using the rule of thirds, increasing your depth of field by stopping down and increase it further by using a wide angle lens. And what about the zone system? While making photographs, my mind would literally churn through the technical prerequisites: “Remember though that if you change over to a more telephoto lens the smallest available aperture will change. Reciprocity and reciprocity failure, incident angles, specular reflections, and pushing/pulling your film, fill-flash ratios and the inverse square rule.” Indeed, Brooks Institute was one of the most technically oriented photo schools available and I was, then as well, an astute disciple.
Back at Brooks it was a lock-step curricula, repetitious, prescribed, and rigorous. One teacher told me, quite accurately, that you could “smell a Brooks portfolio coming a mile away.” I knew he was right too, because we were so often locked-on to technical methodology that it easily bred a certain sameness. Photo school, like my flight school experience several years later, was formulaic, with institutional standards to be kept, and well defined “gates” to pass.
Looking back, it’s plainly appealing to muse over the baby steps. So many stories have been told about learning to fly to make mine passé. But what if, now, after establishing myself as an aviator for almost a decade, I still struggled with hovering? It’s downright jovial to witness the hover learning process as fledgling pilots jerked those Jet Rangers all over the stagefield, but it’s only really funny for about a week, because everyone is expected to “get it” and move on with doing solos, learning instruments, getting an advanced airframe and so on and so forth. Stopping the progression is pathetic and sad, shameful even.
Now I’ve been fairly serious about making photographs for about two decades. If I were still fixated on the basic elements of reciprocity, exposure and just focusing the darn camera… you get my reasoning.
Our early spiritual baby steps are endearing to consider as well. Within the institution that I grew up in we hammered those doctrinal nails into our personal crosses of discipline with assuredness and piety. Ok, not so much with the piety… if you were like me and actually wanted to be Dudley Do-right as a teenager though, you’d understand!
I’m reminded as I watch my two little ones pray from time to time, of a faith that I sometimes really miss. That absolute unquestioning adherence to what you just knew that you knew that you knew, back when there wasn’t the onslaught of conflicting information to even the simplest of assumptions, just the straight and narrow progression. Perhaps the dearth of ethical gray area helped retain a world that seemed so right, so constant at the time.
Indeed I miss it, and equally so I miss belonging to the semi-exclusive institution that laid everything out so well for me back then. Step by baby step we’d study with come and go zeal, dedicating core aspects of our lives to institutional code and formulaic structure. Under guidance and tutelage of our church-school teachers we worked to internalize the formula, if not actively, then most certainly in a passive way. The delineation for success and failure was quite clear and we knew precisely the end state we desired.
---
These days when I’m photographing there are actually very few rules that I’m thinking about. People ask me quite frequently “What is it you look for in finding a good picture?” and quite honestly I come up empty handed. The absurd irony is that I probably could have discussed with great authority, back in college, how to compose, how to expose, how to “see.” These days I have a hard time giving an honest answer because it’s too complex, as I honestly just kind of “feel” an image somewhat. Sometimes they just feel like they work. Sure, the methodology is still there, it’s just latent. Nevertheless, I often feel as if I’m still standing at the starting point, looking up at this never ending uphill climb to become better at it.
I haven’t thought much about hovering in a long time either. I dedicate a bit more brain power to it when we practice turning off the Automatic Flight Control System in the Dolphin, but even then it really is a “nothing burger”. All of those basics, those baby-steps that I learned a decade ago now, are fully expected of me pretty much without error. So now that the “feel” of flying is pretty much programmed into my muscle memory, it’s onto more graduate level stuff. For what we do within the Coast Guard context, well, the challenging stuff is hovering offshore with a swimmer dangling below you, looking offshore at the vast horizonless void of night- may as well be outer-freaking space. It’s guessing the closure rate of an oncoming aircraft who’s violating DC airspace, and not confusing their position lights with the multitude of ground lights that wash out the green ambience of the night vision goggles. Other thoughts compete for attention, such as: “How does our crew of four really feel about what we’re doing? Are they speaking their mind?” “Did JFK tower really intend for me to cross the approach path of the oncoming 747 or did they misunderstand my last request?” “Am I going to fly through the wake turbulence of that Airbus?” “Is that too much of a crosswind to accept for this confined approach?” “Does the potential benefit of this mission justify continuing into this messed-up weather?”
With flying, I’ve learned and experienced so much; but as before it’s as if I’ve just begun a never-ending max-performance climb. The infinite amount of variables that exists not just in flying, but in every area of life, gives me pause to wonder just what on earth I can be completely certain about. Seems so prideful to consider oneself certain about many of the things we do.
It’s cute when my boys ask a deeply complex and relevant question about creation, or God, the idea of “the flood”, how they were born, how car engines work, why we’re at war in Iraq, or why the cats seem to run outside just long enough to eat grass and then throw it up once they get inside. I have to boil down the facts into something fathomable for them. For which they take in bite-sized kid pieces and make a resolute judgment of certainty on it, banishing further consideration until of course they inevitably grow older and more capable of perceiving intrinsic complexities. It seems perfectly right for children though doesn’t it?
Those of us who practice the art and science of flying take for granted the progression that we all inherently, albeit painfully, grow through. I speak for many when I say that there aren’t too many things more humbling than learning how to hover. It’s been almost a decade since I first learned how to fly helos, but the memory is indelible. Somewhere between the awe, bewilderment, terror and faith that the rotor would stay at 100%, we baby-stepped our way into something that resembled competent aviators. I emphasize resembled quite loosely!
Baby stepping is what it took: First the pedals; “here’s what the left does and here’s what the right does”. Then the collective; “lift it smoothly and watch it climb, but don’t forget about the pedals because that collective also affects the overall torque in the main rotor system- increasing the need for more pedal”. Lastly the cyclic, the stick between your knees that pushes you fore and aft, left and right. Each control is uniquely different from the rest but directly affects the inputs of the other. You can’t change one without another! It’s one thing to elaborate on the academics, but there’s no genuine understanding without physically getting/growing through those baby steps.
So step by baby step we studied and flew, and studied and flew. We dedicated the bulk of our lives for a year and a half to institutional code and formulaic exactitude. Underneath the tutelage of our Ft. Rucker instructor pilots we were the ultimate legalists, pending review by our “Sanhedrin”. You see, in the beginning, it’s formula. The curriculum is laid out- black and white. The delineation for success and failure is quite clear and we knew precisely the end state we desired.
Progression is human, and it’s ubiquitous. Those of us who practice the art and science of photography also take for granted the progression we grow through along the road to becoming something that resembles competent visual artists.
In photo school I had a passionate agenda that eclipsed religious zeal. Any rulebook I could get my hands on was game. I fondly remember some of the beginners’ guides I would read, such as the Kodak book on “How to take good pictures” or Ansel’s “The Negative.” Such texts would thoughtfully lay out all of the most common “composition” techniques like using “S” curves in the foreground, using the rule of thirds, increasing your depth of field by stopping down and increase it further by using a wide angle lens. And what about the zone system? While making photographs, my mind would literally churn through the technical prerequisites: “Remember though that if you change over to a more telephoto lens the smallest available aperture will change. Reciprocity and reciprocity failure, incident angles, specular reflections, and pushing/pulling your film, fill-flash ratios and the inverse square rule.” Indeed, Brooks Institute was one of the most technically oriented photo schools available and I was, then as well, an astute disciple.
Back at Brooks it was a lock-step curricula, repetitious, prescribed, and rigorous. One teacher told me, quite accurately, that you could “smell a Brooks portfolio coming a mile away.” I knew he was right too, because we were so often locked-on to technical methodology that it easily bred a certain sameness. Photo school, like my flight school experience several years later, was formulaic, with institutional standards to be kept, and well defined “gates” to pass.
Looking back, it’s plainly appealing to muse over the baby steps. So many stories have been told about learning to fly to make mine passé. But what if, now, after establishing myself as an aviator for almost a decade, I still struggled with hovering? It’s downright jovial to witness the hover learning process as fledgling pilots jerked those Jet Rangers all over the stagefield, but it’s only really funny for about a week, because everyone is expected to “get it” and move on with doing solos, learning instruments, getting an advanced airframe and so on and so forth. Stopping the progression is pathetic and sad, shameful even.
Now I’ve been fairly serious about making photographs for about two decades. If I were still fixated on the basic elements of reciprocity, exposure and just focusing the darn camera… you get my reasoning.
Our early spiritual baby steps are endearing to consider as well. Within the institution that I grew up in we hammered those doctrinal nails into our personal crosses of discipline with assuredness and piety. Ok, not so much with the piety… if you were like me and actually wanted to be Dudley Do-right as a teenager though, you’d understand!
I’m reminded as I watch my two little ones pray from time to time, of a faith that I sometimes really miss. That absolute unquestioning adherence to what you just knew that you knew that you knew, back when there wasn’t the onslaught of conflicting information to even the simplest of assumptions, just the straight and narrow progression. Perhaps the dearth of ethical gray area helped retain a world that seemed so right, so constant at the time.
Indeed I miss it, and equally so I miss belonging to the semi-exclusive institution that laid everything out so well for me back then. Step by baby step we’d study with come and go zeal, dedicating core aspects of our lives to institutional code and formulaic structure. Under guidance and tutelage of our church-school teachers we worked to internalize the formula, if not actively, then most certainly in a passive way. The delineation for success and failure was quite clear and we knew precisely the end state we desired.
---
These days when I’m photographing there are actually very few rules that I’m thinking about. People ask me quite frequently “What is it you look for in finding a good picture?” and quite honestly I come up empty handed. The absurd irony is that I probably could have discussed with great authority, back in college, how to compose, how to expose, how to “see.” These days I have a hard time giving an honest answer because it’s too complex, as I honestly just kind of “feel” an image somewhat. Sometimes they just feel like they work. Sure, the methodology is still there, it’s just latent. Nevertheless, I often feel as if I’m still standing at the starting point, looking up at this never ending uphill climb to become better at it.
I haven’t thought much about hovering in a long time either. I dedicate a bit more brain power to it when we practice turning off the Automatic Flight Control System in the Dolphin, but even then it really is a “nothing burger”. All of those basics, those baby-steps that I learned a decade ago now, are fully expected of me pretty much without error. So now that the “feel” of flying is pretty much programmed into my muscle memory, it’s onto more graduate level stuff. For what we do within the Coast Guard context, well, the challenging stuff is hovering offshore with a swimmer dangling below you, looking offshore at the vast horizonless void of night- may as well be outer-freaking space. It’s guessing the closure rate of an oncoming aircraft who’s violating DC airspace, and not confusing their position lights with the multitude of ground lights that wash out the green ambience of the night vision goggles. Other thoughts compete for attention, such as: “How does our crew of four really feel about what we’re doing? Are they speaking their mind?” “Did JFK tower really intend for me to cross the approach path of the oncoming 747 or did they misunderstand my last request?” “Am I going to fly through the wake turbulence of that Airbus?” “Is that too much of a crosswind to accept for this confined approach?” “Does the potential benefit of this mission justify continuing into this messed-up weather?”
With flying, I’ve learned and experienced so much; but as before it’s as if I’ve just begun a never-ending max-performance climb. The infinite amount of variables that exists not just in flying, but in every area of life, gives me pause to wonder just what on earth I can be completely certain about. Seems so prideful to consider oneself certain about many of the things we do.
It’s cute when my boys ask a deeply complex and relevant question about creation, or God, the idea of “the flood”, how they were born, how car engines work, why we’re at war in Iraq, or why the cats seem to run outside just long enough to eat grass and then throw it up once they get inside. I have to boil down the facts into something fathomable for them. For which they take in bite-sized kid pieces and make a resolute judgment of certainty on it, banishing further consideration until of course they inevitably grow older and more capable of perceiving intrinsic complexities. It seems perfectly right for children though doesn’t it?
-Bren and Cam, boy-steppin' the Coast Guard Cutter "Vigorous" on a cold, blustery day.How fondly I miss those days when, upon scanning the ingredients of a can of Mountain Dew, I knew with absolute certainty that it would be a “sin” to drink because it contained caffeine! Never mind the fact that it’s got a cane field of sugar and a lab’s worth of obscure additives… I knew not to drink, and it just felt nice to be certain about something.
I’ve learned so much and yet realize; I’ve just begun. So, if even the measurably finite occurrences in my life, like flying, making photographs, or watching my kids grow up, all extrapolate themselves into vastly complex variables with less and less definable progressions, then what of the most profound questions? Am I to be content with settling for the institutional formula that removes the nagging doubt for so many others… about life’s most enduring questions like the character of God? And where we go when the lights turn off for good?
No. Returning to a formulaic structure in order to piously assume clarity of life’s most profound questions, albeit comfy, is every bit as absurd as baby stepping back through nursery school, learning how to hover again, or figuring out “just what do apertures do anyway?” For someone who’s already grown through it properly, there’s no return to Cradle Roll. The mystery we’re left with is uncomfortable to be sure, but you’ll hear me humbly pledging “I just don’t know” far more often. Of all the things I miss about youth, I miss certainty the most… of that I am quite certain!
JS
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2 comments:
Wow! look at those little James shulls. They're so big now.
IS VERY GOOD..............................
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