GBP

It’s January 9, 2019.

“Here” at 10:00 a.m. on the dot.

I fumble my camera and lenses into my book bag and walk outside to a mustached man tying his hood down with a couple of rubber cords. He favors a seasoned mechanic, but fortunately enough, it was just ol’ Randy Strong. The name says it all.

These days I’m the earliest bird of them all, and seeing Randy gave me the extra charge I needed to set out and enjoy the day that lied ahead. It had been a while since we last hit Augusta’s rugged roads in search of some inspiration. “Get to clickin’, our brains so forcefully instructed us. It was our calling to capture the city as we saw fit, and it doesn’t hurt to play catch up with a good friend while doing so, exciting new happenings - back and forth, back and forth we would go.

I’m telling you, I felt it as soon as I’d stepped outside. The sun was out, and the breeze was piercing yet refreshing. It was meant to be a good one. Some days were just like that, and my mind responded as it did to everything else. I could preemptively sense the awe and joy that He laid out for us to stumble upon. There was no way anything other than fun was meant to be had.

Randy’s gray and orange speaker - dangling from the neck of his rearview mirror - hymns the soundtrack of our day as we ride in search of a church or cathedral in the downtown area. I’d been mentioning to him that I felt compelled to shoot inside any one of the Lord’s many houses we have here in Augusta, GA, preferably some place with traditional, fluorescent mosaics filtering the sun’s rays into the sanctuary for us to capture. The idea had been calling out to me for weeks now.

“And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” - Matthew 19:24

Funny enough…we couldn’t get inside.

The doors were locked, and I couldn’t blame them at around 10:45 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. A Richmond County school bus parked out front was a sign that the building was probably more than occupied, so we kept our heads high and did what photographers as thirsty for photos as we were tend to do: we simply shot something else.

Not even a couple days prior I was telling Randy how eager I was to start taking photography seriously as a craft. A lot of what I’m able to do with photography is just a culmination of other skillsets or things I’ve picked up along the way. The capacity of your brain to perform in a domain that you’re not vastly familiar with is not to be ignored, but just because I’ve been deemed to have a precise eye or an interesting visual perspective by other creatives - who, in my opinion, have precise and interesting visual perspectives - doesn't necessarily mean I understand the craft.

Days like today are dedicated to shooting a “truly” symmetrical photo or soaking in tidbits from Randy on keeping people guessing how in the world you managed to get that shot.

Randy never gives himself enough credit, but he’s a great photographer, and sometimes an even greater subject. It’s almost as if he knows exactly how to pose based on my style of photography. We have an uncanny chemistry. I don’t like shooting with a lot of people, but I’ll mark a day with Randy in my planner in a heartbeat. He’s a genuine supporter of my creativity, and we’re always pushing each other to get better, but more importantly to just have fun with it.

I didn’t appreciate Augusta as kid, but now I find so much beauty in it, especially since photography gives me a reason to get out and actually see the city. Everywhere I look there’s a memory of something I experienced in my earlier years, but maybe it took me getting some years under my belt to have something to appreciate. From the historical landmarks downtown on Reynolds St to the Riverwalk’s brick pathway, each piece of metal, dirt, and grass that comprises the city of Augusta makes it a grand first stepping stone to whatever else is out there for anyone who grew up here.

Out of all the places to grow up, why here? Why’s it important for my story to meet some of my closest friends and to be so deeply rooted in the south? To be born of Angie and Vernon II? Why has Prince Greene been cutting hair in my family for three generations (three generations of Vernon, I might add)? It’s impossible to know in foresight, I guess.

There may not be any definitive meaning in any of this, but I could certainly find some, because that’s what humans are good for: attributing value to singular, independent concepts that are - in some estimation - innately devoid of meaning. I wouldn’t have been out shooting with Randy on this day if I hadn’t been planted here, and maybe that’s a good enough reason.

Sometimes it’s so difficult to live in the present. Ideas are constantly bouncing around in my head, and thinking outweighs focusing 100% of my brain capacity on talking and experiencing things nine times out of ten, but whether it’s myself, another person, or some occurrence, it’s refreshing to be brought back to reality so to speak (whatever that means).

After all this thinking while shooting, talking, and listening to Randy, he prompts me to look up at the ceiling of this building, and these lights caught my attention way in the outfield.

There’s a chance I won’t get many more like this with Randy, but for good reason. Without disclosing his business, I’ll just say he’s moving away in order to truly live. I can only hope to follow his example. It’s so easy to latch on to what you know for fear of experiencing what you don’t know. The uncertainty of the unknown is a monster if you perceive it that way, but if you don’t then you make plans to elevate your life in a way that you’ll be thankful for in the long run, like Randy.