Life on a Wire

by Corinne Conover | 2009

Left: Robert Capa; Right: Gorda. Photos from the exhibit at Monterssart in Spain.

I thought about several angles that I could harp on when introducing my version of Spain in only one week's time to a reader. Any reader. One was a historical factor of the Spanish Civil War and how the first female photojournalist, by the name of Gorda, tapped into the sensationalism of warfare on the battlefield of Spain in 1937. She captured this tragic time alongside her partner on and off camera, Mr. Capa. They were a dynamic duo that went into the trenches of war unarmed, only with film and a tripod.

Fast-forward roughly around two years later and Gorda was killed in the trenches while photographing her muse and/or soldier on the battlefield. The pair was picked up in many syndicated newspapers across the world when Capa first showcased a photo infamously known as "The Falling Man," the very words he shouted as the soldier was killed and he simultaneously captured it all – in one role of film, to be published in LIFE magazine. Capa had a way of always capturing his work horizontally. Gorda, on the other hand, believed in shooting all her work vertically.

When looking at people, figures, and objects, I thought: by nature, isn't it better to have a horizontal view? All lined up in full-length, stand-still, and/or side-by-side? Rather than a broader horizon of sorts with a panoramic view of a landscape, but less intricate detail?

This particular exhibit was in honor of Gorda and Mr. Capa, and how they depicted the Spanish Civil War of 1937. In Monterssart. It's a train ride and one cable car later to a beautiful landscape of high open rolling mountains, hills, cafe, museum, monastery. The museum even showcases a tiny bit of Picasso and Dali. If you choose the tour bus and guide it's 68 euros. If you choose the "I'm on my own on this one mantra," it's 20.

In retrospect, that is what drew me into this particular exhibit. It was the way Gorda told a story in one singular black and white photo that captured the moment. I wanted to do that in my own life, I thought. I wanted to be able to take a photo in Spain that could validate my experience. From every port marina to cable car, to narrow cobble stone alleyways. I took 300 photos in total. I kid you not. 300 photos. And to choose one. I wondered, Barceloneta? Port Vell? Vintage shops, back alley streets? Palm trees across the beach lined with cafes and people from all over the world? Gaudi? Picasso? Dali? A bit much to ingest in a week and finalize in one showdown of a photo. But if Gorda could do it in war, I could certainly do it on this free joyride.

And then it occurred to me, out of all the photos I took there was something missing.

My instinct to tell the truth. I was so concerned on capturing each and every sightseeing monument that I lost focus on feeling.

As I sit perched up vertically over a horizon, I don't have to speak. I am, in the here-and-now, ever-so calm, in the moment, without having to say one single word. Seated vertically to be sure...
...from top to bottom with nothing left out for good measure. And you know, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Lifeguard: the professional summation of seizing a moment

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