Through the Lens

In addition to my responsibilities in the Grants Office, I'm occasionally invited to photograph events on campus for the staff in Public Affairs. I covered two athletic events– women's basketball and men's hockey– at the end of February; yesterday, I was one of several campus photographers working at an awards luncheon for Holy Cross staff– basically anyone who isn't a professor, student, or head of an administrative department. By my estimation, nearly 300 people attended the function, which included a series of awards for 5-year increments of service, as well as distinguished recognitions of several employees for their devotion, dedication, and other highly esteemed qualities.

O'Kane Hall
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

I've never been completely comfortable photographing people, especially those whom I do not personally know. "Random" shots, no matter how carefully composed, still strike me as impersonal, despite their ability to portray the tender human interplay of a given moment. I witnessed several yesterday: colleagues leaning across a table to chat, a tradesman from the physical plant gently resting a hand on his young son's head, the smiles exchanged between award recipients and the College's president as they shook hands. Yet the very moments that I captured in these photographs– images that will hopefully charm viewers of the website and readers of the publications where they may appear– escaped my gaze in the instant when they occurred, driven from my consciousness by the act of peering through a lens.

Fenwick Hall
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

A wise Jesuit with whom I shared my developing interest in photography once cautioned me, "Don't hide behind the lens, nor miss what the camera helps you to see." I heard his words constantly as I moved about the ballroom yesterday, striving to be appropriately friendly and engaging while also sufficiently innocuous so as not to unduly influence the people whom I photographed. A certain level of focus on movement, lighting conditions, background, and other compositional elements noticeably shifted the character and depth of my presence in the room. Only in reviewing my images– and culling some truly awful ones– did I feel a fuller sense of appreciation for the events that I witnessed, the people whom I met, and the sense of community that I experienced during the luncheon. This insight continues to challenge me– whether or not I have a camera in hand– to be fully present to the variety of situations and people I encounter in my daily rounds, and to see not only through the fine photographic equipment with which I'm increasingly entrusted, but also through the senses with which I'm so lavishly blessed.