I was out trail running the other day, and my foot got
caught up on a rock or root or something.
That’s part of trail running, and my body automatically went into a trying-
to-recover mode.
One step to try
and right things, then another…but no nice this time. I was going down.
At that point, my brain went into another automatic mode: falling down
mode. My body loosened, braced for
impact, and I did a somersault as I hit the ground. I was a little scraped up, but more than able to finish the
run home.
And while running home, my thoughts wandered to a recent
photo shoot, and how one of the locations (there were several) just wasn’t
working. The part of me that
had visualized high hopes for it wanted to stay and Make It Work. You can’t just give up, right? Especially when it’s such an awesome
location. So I took some more
shots, reviewed them, made some changes, took some more…but no dice. The editor in me didn’t like what it
was seeing. Finally I called
it quits for there and moved on to an alternate.
In sports, knowing how and when to just give up and fall is often the
difference between some lacerations and bruises, and a full-on trip to the
ER. And instinctively knowing when comes from experience.
And the same kind of thing applies to location
photography. You can’t give up on a location too
soon and fall down all the time.
But you can’t not give up all the time, either. It’s a fine balance, and one
that’s ruled by gut feelings.
I usually have a backup location close-by, in case one isn’t
working or poses a risk of getting kicked out. And as it turns out, sometimes it’s the back-up that ends up
being the best of the bunch.
Produced shoots involve an enormous amount of planning, and it’s hard to
throw some of it away in a matter of seconds and go to Plan B. But being able to call the time of
death for a location accurately and efficiently can mean the difference between
success and the death that attaches to mediocrity.
