Photo Journalist

I came near to maiming someone last night.
I went to our school's annual Christmas concert. The church was beautifully decorated and people seemed energized and excited as they filled the pews. I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of music and the wide variety of styles presented: chamber music all the way to steel drums. Just wonderful. The hair on my arms must have been tired from standing up at exhilarating musical moments. It was grand.
And it all happened in spite of the photographer who continually walked among the performers and stood in my visual path, down near the front of the church. I have to say that I've never seen anyone so blatant or intrusive taking photos during any event.
During the first number, I noticed this young man dressed in black shirt and pants, standing up in front of the front row of people, taking pictures of the orchestra. Assuming that he was taking photos for the yearbook or the school calendar, I didn't think much of it. That is, until I watched him walk up onto the stage in front of the performers, to take what he probably thought was a surreptitious place behind the percussion section. He moved about between the choir and the orchestra, taking shots of people singing, playing instruments, and the conductor waving his arms. Then, in full view of the audience, he rested his camera on the grand piano, pointed it at the audience, and started snapping pictures of us! I brushed it off, thinking that this was his final effort, and that he would now fade and be gone. He did go out the side door on the platform then.
A few minutes later, up he popped in the baptismal tank behind the choir and orchestra. He snapped several pictures as he stood straight up, then thought better of it and crouched down behind a pointsetta plant. I watched the black lenses of his camera move about through the pointsetta leaves and blossoms. He spent several minutes there before he stood up again, where he was was silhouetted against the red backdrop for the giant wreath with hundreds of tiny lights on it, hanging over the baptismal tank. He must have found this vantage point particularly good, because he took a number of photos of the conductor who appeared to be giving his all during an exciting piece. Finally, responding to my silent pleas, Mr. Photographer left the baptismal area and I began to finally focus on the music itself.
As another group started to sing, here he came again, standing upright, right in front of us, obscuring our view. He walked back and forth for the next several selections, taking pictures of all sorts of things. Then back up onto the stage he went, where he moved amongst the instruments again. At one point when he stood against the chimes, I wished with all my heart that he'd lean on them and knock them over: a carillon experience that would finally underscore how out of place he was. But that was not to be.
Down to the main floor, in the aisle next to the front row. Now he was talking and laughing with a woman who wanted to see what he was doing. I thought seriously about creeping up to him and demanding that he sit down and stop distracting everyone, citing faculty status and perhaps sheer physical force, if necessary. People around me were whispering and looking at him. There might have been applause garnered for such a brave action on my part. But I just couldn't make myself get out of my chair and walk the 10 rows down to where he knelt, playing with the many lenses and holding the camera up to the light to determine something about it.
For some reason, every time the music became intense, loud, or particularly moving, Mr. Photographer took pictures at a faster rate. Perhaps there is something that can be captured in the face of a musician that can't be seen unless he or she is playing loudly, but I wondered how many of these shots he really needed to have, because his actions were continuous and uninterrupted throughout the entire concert. Was this photo journalism? Or just a rookie who hadn't been instructed in how to take pictures at an event?
My seat mate was squirming about and starting to roll her eyes when the photographer walked up onto the stage again. "I just can't believe that guy!" she whispered. Her facial expression was nothing in comparison to what happened when he stood directly in front of the performers in a steel drum ensemble. He in front of one of them, unabashedly snapping picture after picture. I think by that time, whatever jitters he may have ever had about taking photos in front of a huge audience, were well nigh obliterated.

So the evening ended. I truly loved the music. I tried to blot out this guy's annoying presence so I could let my soul soar with the music. And I did soar, mostly with my eyes shut so I wouldn't be distracted.

This seems to be a rule about life on this planet. There is often a fly in the ointment when we have good things. I suppose that the question to be asked is whether we focus on the good parts: the beautiful, soul-expanding, heartwarming good in things. Or, on the irritating, niggling frustrations that almost always accompany such loveliness?
Oh for grace to know when to shut the eyes of my soul so nothing will obscure the beautiful.