Storm Light

Making photographs is, among a variety of things, a means to memorialize certain events; events that we personally deem worthy and will want to recall at some time in the future.  Photographs can also help show others what was happening at the event.  The photograph won’t quite capture the event as completely as we remember it but it will conjure up thoughts.  A photograph of you surfing for the first time won’t instill how tactile the event was; how the swell elevated you atop the board or how the cold water of the ocean felt against your skin or how it tasted or smelled – there is no saltwater infused air or odd gulp of briny water inherent in the photo. But it will help with the recall for those sensory perceptions later on; it will remind you of those things.

Photographs of severe thunderstorms, given a variety of factors coming together, can instill some semblance of awe when viewed out of context but there is nothing quite like standing beneath one when it rolls by.  The pull of a severe storm’s presence, and the smell and sound of air rushing around it are unforgettable. For photography, the shifting light alone is a good reason for hanging out with them.  Severe storms will either draw you in for want of more or scare the crap out of you – possibly both – but, without a doubt, the things they can do to light is amazing. The first time I was caught off guard by a big storm, while out shooting rural landscapes, it turned daytime to night and, upon its approach, shifted the colour of light around it incredibly.  It also shook the crap out of my car when I hustled back to avoid the downpour. I was hooked by that storm and have been chasing that light ever since.