My love of pictures, and the story of one man

Many people who know me, well some of the people that know me best know that there is more love in my life than property management… I am pretty sure that is one relationship that I fell out of love with.

There are two other passions I have. Social Anthropology and Photo Journalism. The idea of spending my life studying other cultures and how they interact with each other. What roll religion plays, and countless other categories would tickle me pink. It would be fun, that is all.

The next one is photo Journalism. To try and capture forever on film the history that is being made every single sec of the day. To capture it and do it well would be… I would love to earn awards for my photos. I am not simply interested in applying for photo contest and winning 50 buck. Or having my photos in people’s houses. I would love to make the cover of Time magazine, or other nation publication.

Anyhow, I remembered a photo I once saw, and decided to look for it. I thought it was a comic photo, and was completely shocked to find that it was an actual photograph. Not just any, but a Pulitzer prize winning photo.

I later found out, that the author had taken many pictures I had seen. Some of them, including his award winner, have affected my life from the moment I saw them.

What saddened me, and made me feel a moment of sadness and loss for a person I had never know his name. His pictures, have affected my life, and I did not know his name. I know that photographers are often un-recognized by the public, but I was shocked to find I had never made the connection.

He committed suicide while suffering depression. His note states that he could no longer stand to see the images in his mind when he tried to sleep. He wrote in previous letters that he was disgusted by what he saw, and the brutality of it. But he believed if he suffered with it then his pictures would reach people, who in return would be able to make the world better. His attempt, to better the lives of the people he took pictures of, knowing that many, if not most of his subjects died.

I can see how he would be depressed, and I can see why. But his life was not a failure. I hope someday that I can have someone say this about me.

Kevin Carter died 6-21-1994
This is the winner, the rest are just good.