No Regrets, No Masters
I guess it was bound to happen. (Dickey Chapelle)
If I had my life to live over, and supposing I could at least intuit the wisdom gleaned in this life and apply those lessons learnt to my do-over life, I would be a combat photographer, even if it meant my life would be far shorter. Without a doubt or hesitation I’d be in some forsaken and awful place or another taking photographs of one grand catastrophe after the next.
You might wonder what it is I could possibly see in such a pursuit. Do I enjoy human misery and bloodshed? Certainly not. I can’t even handle sad movies. I get all choked up and miserable with empathy. And yet something about war pulls at me. It’s a longing or calling come too late to be answered. Combat photographer is not a viable midlife-crisis career change. And I’m not having a mid-life crisis. And, also, I quite like my career on the whole. It’s challenging, rewarding, in high demand, and affords me no small amount of creature comforts. However, had I to do it all over again, I’d definitely be a combat photographer.
So anyway, Dickey Chapelle was a bad-ass. Her work bears witness to the inherent dignity, indignity, cruelty, and ultimate folly of the military and revolutionary endeavor. I don’t know if she’d agree with this statement, so take it with a grain of salt.