The recent collapsing of the Azure Window in Malta finally motivated me to take my keyboard and tell you the story behind the picture above.
It has been quite some time that I wanted to tell this story. The story of a picture. But not any picture. One heavy with symbolism. A photography which belongs in a world a bit apart. The world of the last pictures of something gone.
T’was the summer of 2015. We were on a journey on the North Shore. A beautiful region of Québec at the mouth of the St Lawrence River. A pretty classic road trip. Departure from Montréal, a stop at Québec City, two nights at Grandes Bergeronnes next to Tadoussac. Here we go for a nice weekend of oxygenation. A summary in video just below:
But among the hundred of pictures taken during this trip, it’s without any doubts this lonely seaplane on a lake at sunset that is the most fascinating.
While the fascination of the watcher who doesn’t know yet the story I’m about to tell you is limited to its aesthetic; it is completely different for the photographer and the initiated watcher.
This picture had been shot on the 2nd night of our weekend. While we were en route for Tadoussac for dinner, when our attention was caught by the side of the road with this seaplane and this lake. This was the kind of moment where all the passengers of the car marvel at the beauty of a fleeting moment of a sunset, and when the detour to go to the shore is not even to be discussed.
It was then August 21st, 8.13PM.
But not even two days later…
While we were heading back to Montréal, the radio announced the crash of a seaplane of Air Saguenay. After the obvious horror and empathy for the victims, a realization came to me — a realization that this photography is probably among the last, maybe the last, existing of this aircraft.
Last visual trace of this seaplane in all its glory, innocently “immortalized” by my camera…
It’s also my guilty pleasure… This photography attracts, in an inexplicable manner, the gazes and the attention. As if an invisible force was magnetizing them, watchers stop and contemplate. And I like to come and hold a contextualizing speech…
Jp : “Do you like this picture?”
Spectator : “Yes! It’s really [insert a positive adjective like beautiful, nice, superb…]!”
Jp : “You know there’s a whole story behind this picture…”
Spectator : …
Jp : “… This plane crashed the day after this picture. It’s probably among the last pictures of this particular plane.”
Spectator : *hybrid expression of fascination and half-disgust towards this new morbid information*
And this is where you really realize the responsibility of a photographer; our pictures might be the last trace of someone, somewhere, or something. Or maybe they will be the last trace of us in this world. That’s why they must exist (and the perfectionist will say “and be perfect too”)
And this is where I also realized the broad scope of the name visual storyteller to describe a photographer. The story we’re telling is not always in the picture itself or in the moment it captured. No. It’s sometimes in a moment before or the after. In a temporality that hasn’t been frozen in the picture.
But taking a picture, and knowing it’s the last of the object you’re portraying, is a unique experience. Morbid, but profoundly aesthetic. Fascinating, but heavy with unsolved questions. It’s a peculiar feeling for a peculiar piece of art.
Almost two years after, I still don’t know how I feel about this picture and the responsibility it bears. But I feel that it deeply moves me, and will continue to do so until my last shutter click.
Pssst. If you like this picture, you can buy a print here. A quality print at a friendly price. No reasons not to treat yourself!
And you can follow me on Instagram and500px; and don’t forget to check my portfolio at jpvalery.photo.
And a special thanks to Elisa for proof-reading this lengthy piece ✌️
