The Indecisive Moment

'The Decisive Moment'

This concept has been the bane of my existence since it was first brought to my attention in 2004. A French Photographer named Henri Cartier-Bresson coined the term back in the 20th century.

"The simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event as well as the precise organization of forms which gives that event its proper expression....in photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little human detail can become a leitmotif." — Henri Cartier-Bresson[7]

With this revelation began decades of pain and anguish for photographers around the world. It’s not a notably profound statement but like most things, if it doesn’t have a name it doesn’t exist.

I (and many others I’m sure) don’t have any problem seeing these ‘perfect moments’ with our eyes. Most of the time I can even see them coming. What I find difficult is deciding to shoot. I guess that’s why it’s called the Decisive moment and not ‘the perfect moment’ or ‘the most interesting moment’, because it’s just as much about who’s behind the camera as it is what’s in front of the camera. I could sit on a bench with you anywhere in the world and point out countless moments all day long but it’s worth nothing without the photograph to seal it in time. It’s like a painter who can see the most stunning picture in their heads but couldn’t paint you an orange if asked.

Sure, three times out of ten I might manage to capture the better half of a decisive moment and sometimes even the whole thing but I still have a long way to go. Practice brings pain and perfection and so on.

Still there is a certain grim satisfaction in noticing every moment you’ve just missed. Maybe I could coin the term ‘the indecisive moment’.

It’s not unlike interaction with people really. Everyone remembers missed opportunities to seize the moment. Tell someone how you really feel, or strike up conversation with the intriguing stranger on the bus who tilted their head and smiled in a certain way. My personal favourite is watching your friend light the wrong side of a cigarette. You see it coming and in your head you’re already warning them. Yet the moment comes and goes and it’s not until they’ve taken the first puff of burning plastic before you manage to actually take action.

I wrote the majority of this article over a year ago and i'm delighted to say i feel confident i am close to 'seeing the light'. I think i've stumbled into the door, i just need to find the damn knob...

pics and words by Ruwan De Silva

Purple Rain

Why shouldn’t a photograph have the same ground shattering effect on me as the song Purple Rain by Prince does every time I hear it?.

Music surges through my body and consumes me. It’s a playful infant and a sergeant in arms. A single Molecule of snow and the entirety of our raging sun. when I hear and feel music I see colours and shapes dancing around underneath my eye lids. Worms of my own imagination.

Call me a dreamer but I believe if sound can be seen, then vision can be heard. Show me a photo and an orchestra bursts into my head uninvited. Show me a drawing which invites Hendrix, screaming into my living room. I walk into a gallery filled with love, pain, humour, happiness and sorrow. David Bowie’s eclectic voice spills off the wall, next to angelic Byork mixed with Charlie Parker and a tease of Bach in the distance. Each image drawing tunes from the viewer’s basement and amplifying them back. The gallery room is quiet only for the blind. For those who can see, it’s a chorus of the Aces.

You may disagree. You may doubt the potential of the photograph. That’s okay but I ask you, if it’s impossible then why bother? Why do we waste our time. Drop your cameras and pick up an instrument. Open you throats and sing for crying out load.

If you’ve never experienced the feeling of pouring out your soul on a stage or loosing yourself on a page, dance floor, or race track. Losing time and place for even a moment. I recommend you try it. Because until you know this moment. Until you’ve met this stranger. You won’t know what to aim for in photography. Or any form of expression. Expression has no time. No place. True expression leaves behind only a blank memory and a feeling. It’s a drug.

Expression is a drunk party host. She stumbles around with excitement for all the attention. Her friends have gathered for a celebration!. If you find this party and manage to gain her attention it’s usually fleeting. Always worth it none the less.

I eagerly anticipate the rare moments when written words on a page can play me a chorus and awaken emotions which the likes of Sigur Ros, john coltrane and Pink Floyd have had the privilege to touch and hold court to. Private Sleepless dawn sessions between my deepest dormant secrets and a carefully placed A# 7th.

To this day only music has penetrated the walls to my secrets. Seeping in unsuspectingly and leaving no evidence of it’s presence. Just a feeling. Similar to the feeling you get in your gut when you return home after a vacation and something seems out of place.

I’m waiting. I’m ready. I challenge you. The gates of Mordor are up and I’m holding my breath while I await your barrage.