What goes into a photo? Light, camera, action

No roosters were harmed during the making of this photo.

Let me assure you, 12-year-old Isaac Nelson meant no malicious intent to Zircron the rooster as he walked by with the toy gun he had bought earlier that day. In fact, he did not even pause at the rooster's cage. The look we see is but a simple glance as he rounded the corner, the gun to his shoulder as it had been for the duration of his walk around the poultry barn at the Evergreen State Fair.

The picture above is not intended as a statement about, well, anything.

Simply, it is what it is. But it does serve as a useful illustration and opportunity for me to explain what I have been working on for the past week at the fair, taking the pictures and writing the stories that have appeared on this page every day.

When I arrive at the fair with my camera, I am on what newspaper photojournalists call a "feature hunt." A blank space in the newspaper sits waiting for whatever content I want to fill it with. Over the past week I've taken hundreds of photographs, searching for the perfect combinations of moment, light and composition. The only rule is that what occurs in the photograph is real, that it is a genuine moment, not staged, not acted out for the benefit of my camera.

What this takes is patience and time. People often ask me why I take such a high volume of photos of a given situation. Often it is simply to get people used to the camera being there. Eventually the clicking of the shutter fades into the background. I can become an observer of the action without being an actor in it. If I get the feeling that something I photograph was done for the benefit of the camera, I won't use that photo.

In this situation, what I initially found was the light. A ray of the setting sun shone into the barn onto the row of cages. For 15 minutes, I followed the light as it slowly moved across the row of roosters waiting for something, anything to happen. Finally the light reached the last cage in the row, splashing its shadow up against the wall. In another few minutes, the light would be completely gone.

I watched visitors walk through the countless rows of chickens, roosters and rabbits in the barn, hoping that one would walk into my little patch of light. Suddenly, in a flash, Isaac appeared turning the corner, gun to his shoulder. He didn't see me standing there. He was in his own world. I fired three shots. This is the middle of the three. In 1/250th of a second -- the duration that the shutter was open -- the camera recorded the instant. Isaac walked on.