It’s pretty amazing to me what people will sometimes say they see when they look at a photograph, whether the image is mine, or someone else’s. Take the picture above of marbles nesting in sea shells, for instance. Some viewers might say they’re reminded of bubbles in a glass of Champagne, while others--those of you who are maybe a wee bit disturbed--might see a mass of alien Munchkin faces.
After 20-some years as a photojournalist, the way I look at photographs is heavy on the literal, light on the fanciful. I shot the marbles picture near the window above our kitchen sink, where Leah has placed several knickknacks we’ve collected along the Puget Sound beaches, or in our yard, or on trips here and there. There’s an old jar of honey on the windowsill, beautiful in the way it takes on an amber glow in the morning light. There are several quirky, surf-polished stones we picked up when the tide was low down near the ferry landing. And there is a string of sandalwood beads we bought from a fast-talking Kathmandu street vendor when we visited Nepal last fall.
I look at the “marbles” picture and the visual documentarian in me can draw at least one conclusion: I can see that the sun was shining when the photograph was made (there are times of year here in the rainy Pacific Northwest when that alone would be a news flash.) If I was some kind of marine-life expert--which I’m not--I assume I could make a stunningly learned declaration about the origin of the shell, what sea creature called the shell home, and maybe I could even guess how long the shell washed around in the surf before Leah and I came along and picked it up. A viewer who is really into flower arranging could perhaps tell you that clear marbles like these are often used by gardeners who place the decorative little beauties in the bottoms of flower vases.
I hate to admit it, but I think I’m beginning to see Munchkin faces.
