A Break in the Clouds

He looked right through me, and it took eight weeks to look back.

I had just started my Euro trip with two of my best friends, before we would part ways in England and I would continue solo. Having graduated university a year earlier, I was ready to take the jump, but nervous about my ambitious plan. No one knew that part; I would never have admitted it out loud anyways because it giving fear airplay makes it real.

My camera bag weighed the same as I did as a toddler, but it didn’t matter, I knew I wanted to capture Europe on film, and did so on a 1976 Pentax. I had a mass amount of film with me, with different cameras dedicated to black and white or colour film. The Pentax always carried black and white because I knew how the light meter worked in the extremes of winter light, having been at school in Montreal, I felt well prepared.

We experienced the polar dissonance immediately, 10:30am and the sun had not yet risen. I did not even think about this before I left, and felt my heart sink when I realized my photo opportunities would be limited due to the minimal daylight. There is absolutely nothing wrong with iPhone photography or digital work, I shoot on an Olympus as well, but there is a textual resonance with film that is impossible to replicate. Film captures the light, and casts the shadow dynamics onto the celluloid; it is a physical reminder of what was. Similar to memory, as if pulling a single hair from a brush, it behaves on its own, until it curls unexpectedly when it hangs alone in the air. As opposed to an image being filtered and refracted by layers of digital sensors, there is an innate sensitivity within itself. A belief, I believe, extends to the intuitive nature of all animals, specifically horses.

It was a brisk morning when we set out for the Golden Circle Tour, and as we took turns taking each other’s photos amidst the drama of the landscape: exploding geysers, rolling hills, bright sunshine, hurling winds and dark cloud cover became the competition. We were told, “if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.” Throughout the entire day, we would race against the clouds to explore each stop and get our photos. Until suddenly everything would change and it would start to rain, or snow, or do that sideways combination of both, where we’d all scatter and run back to the tour bus. I remember keeping my winter coat zipper slightly open so I could shove my cameras inside and save them from any water damage before too much weather came down.

As the day started to come to a close, our tour guide saw a small group of horses along the highway, and we pulled over to get a closer look. The three of them were causally grazing, white, and burnt red in colour. They let us come close, and we took as many photos as we could with them, until the skies changed and became black in colour. Another race had begun. I remember pushing my smaller camera down into my coat, and struggling with my glasses. Everything was blurred thanks to the dramatics of the weather. Thanks to a risky combination of instinct and sheer luck, I was able to get the various settings on my Pentax in place. I held the camera at eye level when he looked at me. Regardless of whether I got the shot or not, his gaze locked onto mine outside of the frame when I said goodbye, and I patted his head gently before I left to get back on the bus.

To be honest, I thought nothing of the photo. I knew a great photo during such stormy conditions was unlikely, and shooting on film even more so. The bus pulled back onto the highway, as we all watched the horses continue to graze in the midst of the storm. Sometimes you don’t need to take photos of the moments you remember most vividly. Their ease and grace in that moment would be impossible to properly capture.

This picture almost didn't make it to light, when I was stopped during Icelandic customs to board mu flight to London. Though I realized the security person was not necessarily used to an older style of camera, security became especially wary of me when I did not open the back of my Pentax. My friends looked on, unsure why I was being stopped, but thankfully the journey continued when I realized they did not know it was film, and was able to show rolls I had not used yet. Otherwise, I would have had to open the camera, and expose the infant images to light, which would have left me in the dark on this image.

Eight weeks later, it was as if I was reliving my trip all over again. And although I spoiled a roll or two making my way through France and Poland, I was able to capture the moment this horse looked right down my lens. Now it is a vivid memory I can hold in my hands, and his knowing stare watches over me still in my own home as a giant print on my wall. I like to think that it was his way of saying to me that I could continue on my travels without fear. While the photo was his way of offering me a blessing, but also a reminder: “if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.” I am forever grateful for that break in the clouds where I was able to capture this moment on film.