Robert Holland

the bravest little girl I know, then . . .

    What does nine years represent?  I’ve been thinking about that a lot the last week. Going to a child’s funeral will certainly get you thinking. For my daughter Natalie, nine years represents how long ago she was diagnosed with cancer. And for Zack Finestone, it represents how many years he battled cancer before finally, grudgingly, losing the fight. We met Zack and his family when Nat was first diagnosed with leukemia, during her first few weeks in the hospital. She was three, Zack was five. Zack was also much sicker. His cancer - neuroblastoma - was one of the worst. But during his relatively short life, Zachary lived. Boy did he live. Despite spending the majority of his life fighting for it, he taught everyone else not to take it - life - too lightly. And his parents Scott and Rebecca taught us all just how strong you can be when you have to. Not many among us could survive what they have for so long. It starts when your doctor refers you to a specialist saying “go now” and when you get there none of the kids in the waiting room have hair. It’s the uncomfortably long, two handed handshake from a doctor you don’t even know as he looks you in the eye and says your child has cancer. The way everyone wears gloves when working with your child to protect themselves from the chemotherapy.  Its the numbing realization that you are the statistic. And now, its the almost guilt feelings that my child has survived, while they have lost their only one. But if you really want to understand, read the blog that Zachary’s dad Scott kept for years, chronicling the battle. The January 14th entry is the toughest for me to read. Photographer Michael Price has been documenting kids with cancer. The images are wonderful. Zack is the one with the soccer ball. Nat is the fairy princess in the ruby red slippers. Always the ruby red slippers. Scott Finestone survived by writing. For me is was images. Here’s the visual story of that first day nine years ago, and the following three weeks in just a few pictures. After that, I put the camera down. Scott still writes.

   Remember Zachary. Remember living.

I was just a couple years old when this speech took place. We’ve all seen parts of it. At this exact point in our history, it’s something we should all watch. Yes, things have finally, truly changed. I hope.

     Over a year ago when my oldest child was completing college applications (and was completely stressed) I saw a common sense type article describing ways to take better control of your life. The part that had an impact on me described “controlling the controllables”. Basically, don’t stress over things you have little or no control over and concentrate on the things you do control. This is so true in photography (and applying to college I think). Things like weather, budget, fickle subjects, etc are out of my control. Sure I have to be prepared as best I can for unforeseen situations but you get the idea. So what are the controllables? Lets use this race car image as an example. I knew time and access could be an issue on this shoot. The ad agency Propeller Branding’s racing team client Primetime Race Group  had rented Road Atlanta Raceway for a day to shoot a commercial, do stills, and test cars for the upcoming race season. I could see who might get the short stick here  . . .   So, we controlled the controllables. I arranged for a camera car to work from so I could get the angles I wanted quickly. I discussed options with a retoucher before shooting. I booked extra crew. We had scout time in advance. I convinced the ad agency we needed it all. And boy did we. A car crash, hot hazy mid-day light, and drivers more into testing cars than completing shoots (can’t blame them !) meant we had one third of the time we were promised. The first image shows one of the completed, retouched shots. The second is the same image with processing only - no retouching. I like control. And my son? Just successfully completed his first year of college. Guess he’s figured it out too.

    Update: Propeller Branding is in the process of, well, disappearing. Got those nasty creditor papers from a bankruptcy court the other day. I’m a creditor! Cool. Wait a minute . . . .