DAISIES IN THE FIELD AND THE MEMORY OF THE WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER
Something I wrote some time ago, a bit outside of the wedding photographer work:
“The spring is here and, with it, the life celebrations begin. The babies, made at the beginning of the Autumn and starting Winter, begin to be born and the raids on the flowered fields are, now, part of the day of some people. After a gray Winter, we love the awakening of the perfumes of nature glowing everywhere invading our eyes and noses.
I remember myself very well, when I, and my family, made the move from the house in the open field, near the river of my life, and come to the little village. It was like immersing in civilization after living as a child monk in an isolated monastery. New things started to fulfilling my life. Television was the most important. Bonanza, Daniel Boone, and Speedy Gonzalez enter my life as something magical and perfect. Knowing all the car brands and models running down the streets, was the new for me, boys’ game. And, because of that, my first great humiliation, in the civilized sidewalk of the Main Street, was just born. With my naivete, as a newcomer and not used to the boy’s competitions, I start reading the brand of a car exactly as I was used to doing with the Portuguese language. Big mistake. Big loud laughter from the group made me the need to find the bigger hole in the street and disappear forever and back to my house in the field, left behind. I was the ignorant red neck surrounded by the cream of enlightened boys of the, almost, one-street town. But instead of starting to live as the humiliated one, I learn, in a small amount of time, all the brands, models, and colors of the cars in town but, also, all the cars that flow in the road, near. After some time I even knew them by the sound of the motor.
However, everything tends to have the opposite in a way to balance life. Coming back to the title of the post, I was enthroned in the kid’s spring ritual of the place. Going the flower fields, especially with white and orange daisies, and, with the flowers, build necklaces in the hillsides where they grow up in monumental quantities.
And there we go. Boys and girls, each one with a line and a needle, loan to the mothers, and it was a marvel in spring day, watching all that group of girls doing the most beautiful necklaces and the boys competing to do big ones, as it should be. When the job is over it was a joy to swing down the hill and move to the village, dressed with those necklaces with faces and eyes with joy as if something transcendent had happened in that sunny morning in the hill, near the village water well. Only mothers did not like so much that thrilling morning adventure, because all the cleaning service, belong to them and they had the worst part of the day, cleaning all those flowers, stolen to Mother Nature, which, slowly, were left on the streets. As in all rituals, when over, the interest is…over.
I remembered that because I saw some wedding photos from the north of Europe, especially in Ireland, when, to the wedding ritual, the bride had a beautiful flower headdress remembering the old cultural rituals and doing charming wedding photography.
Once more, I bring, to me, the connection of all those celebrations and my path to be a wedding photographer. All of these are celebrations that deserve to be frizzed at the moment, as it is a wedding day. And because eternity it is a long time, this must be done very carefully in one photo or in the memory by someone who does it well.”