I apparently spent a fair chunk of our European adventure photographing things that have already been photographed approximately eleventy billion times.
The Eiffel Tower in Paris.
Rakotzbrücke, the Devil’s Bridge in Germany.
The rather spectacular Forest Tower rising out of the trees in Denmark.
And, occasionally, my kid sitting on a pile of hay in a barn, grinning at me just before she jumped.
There is SO much more from our Europe trip I want to share. Places, people, ridiculous detours, things I noticed and things I learnt. All accompanied by an unreasonable number of photographs.
But apparently it’s September and real life has resumed. The post-travel to-do list is somewhat less interested in my storytelling ambitions. 😂
So this is absolutely not the grand European-trip wrap-up. It’s just one little thread I’ve noticed running through some of the photographs and stories I’ve shared so far.
I’m interested in the story around the thing
Rakotzbrücke caught my attention long before we actually stood in front of it. Also known as the Devil’s Bridge, it was built between 1866 and 1875 as part of a romantic landscape in Kromlau, Germany. It wasn’t designed as an ordinary bridge. When the water beneath it is still, the arch and its reflection create a near-perfect circle.
Yes, the bridge itself is spectacular.
But I think what fascinated me most was that somebody had imagined that view more than 150 years before I stood there with my camera. That’s the sort of detail that makes me want to photograph something.
Not just what it looks like, but why it’s there.
Looking up in a Danish forest
The Forest Tower in Denmark was another one.
It would have been very easy to treat the tower itself as the destination, climb to the top, admire the view, take the obligatory photograph and head back down. But the experience starts well before you reach the top.
The walk through the forest towards it. The first glimpses of the structure through the trees. The way its shape changes depending on where you’re standing. Looking down into the forest as you slowly climb above it.
The tower was impressive. The experience of getting there was the story.
And then there was the hay
That photograph wasn’t really about the hay at all.
It was the second before the jump.
That ridiculous grin when she already knew exactly what she was about to do.
One tiny moment in the middle of a very big family adventure through Europe.
And those are often the photographs that become the most important to me.
Not necessarily the landmark or the photograph that proves we were here, but the expressions, interactions and little bits in between that tell me what being there actually felt like.
Photographing the Eiffel Tower differently
And then Paris. The Eiffel Tower must be one of the most photographed landmarks on earth.
There is absolutely no shortage of beautiful photographs of it. And yet I still found myself wandering around underneath it at night, looking for the angle, the people, the light and the little pieces happening around it that made it feel like our night there.
I wasn’t particularly interested in recreating the perfect postcard photograph of Paris. I wanted our version.
Which is probably a fairly good explanation of how my brain works as a documentary photographer.
Documentary photography is about noticing
I’m rarely looking for the technically perfect version of something. I’m looking for the bit that makes me curious.
The person doing something nobody else noticed. The ridiculous moment happening just outside the “important” one.The anticipation before the jump rather than just the jump itself.
The way a place actually feels rather than how it’s supposed to look. It’s the same thing I’m looking for when I photograph families at home in Melbourne, a wedding, a small business or my own family travelling through Europe.
The subject changes.
The way I look for the story doesn’t.
Turns out I don’t really switch that part of my brain off when I’m not working.
I just take it on holidays with me.
There is much, MUCH more from our ridiculous European adventure still to come.
Possibly at the same speed I’m currently unpacking it. 😂
