President's
Letter
by Nash Baker
If we
practice long enough, photographers tend to learn lots of skills not
necessarily related to photography. Speaking for myself, I've accumulated
enough experience that I could deal with a board of directors or a
barnyard full of chickens with equal finesse. The variety of experiences
is what I enjoy about this business.
September
11 changed everything. It took four hell-bent planes to make only
our most basic needs--family, shelter, love--seem significant. All
of a sudden, the problems of our industry, and our battles over rights
and standards, started looking downright petty.
In the
days following the attack, as I tried getting back to business as
usual, I would catch myself daydreaming about the worlds I had photographed
but never lived. I fantasized about selling most of my stuff, packing
up what was left, and finding a good used Airstream and get out of
town. Maybe somewhere in New Zealand, where I could grow apples or
kiwis or something.
But no.
Such an easy escape out of reality is not a possibility for most of
us. Life is for the living, someone said. This is a time to digest
our thoughts and grow emotionally and professionally. A time for self-discovery.
A time to reawaken our creative impulses.
The terrorist
attack forced us, for a time, to suspend our plans and reconsider
the nature of our relation to the world around. The role of the commercial
artist/creator in society has always been somewhat vague and our value
debated. After all, what we provide has no nutritional value, keeps
no one warm, and probably won't survive for posterity.
Yet,
in the day-to-day routine of our lives--the trips to the lab, the
scouting for locations, the arranging and rearranging of a still life--there
is meaning and beauty. Photography, like America, is pluralistic,
expressing the hopes and fears, ideals and sins of a country rich
in diversity. Photography exposes and educates. It uplifts and inspires.
It breeds tolerance. This is our contribution. And, yes, it is worthwhile.
