This article ran as my editor’s note in The Ski Journal. If you like it, you should subscribe.
This past November, I went to my wife’s university graduation. Before arriving, I was dreading the pomp and pretense of Academia; the goofy outfits, the lengthy ceremony, the crowds of proud parents and graduates with that anxious “What-the-hell-do-I-do-now?” look. What I found, however, was a charming and inspiring ceremony that was downright enjoyable. And most of it had to do with the Chancellor’s speech.
A self-described builder by trade, the Chancellor stood to address the graduates with a speech that drew parallels between architecture and life. Through eloquent and passionate passages, he urged students to go forward from their graduation with optimism and energy; to enjoy life and live it well. It was pretty standard graduation stuff. But speaking to life’s ambition in metaphorically-rich language, he remarked, “Aesthetics matter—don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Build a beautiful life.”
Later that week, as I stood in the opening day lineup at Whistler, I looked over the crowd of smiling skiers waiting for the lifts to turn and deliver us to deep Pacific Northwest snow and early season land-mines. Energized by the vibe, I began to reminisce on how I got here, not just in a physical or geographical sense, but in a metaphorical one—how did I become a skier? I realized the answer was a cocktail of many qualities—love of nature, thirst for adventure, the social draw, wanderlust—but the impetus to discovering my downhill destiny was undeniably ski photography. And it has, in one way or another, provided the building blocks of my life ever since.
Despite a few family ski trips and school outings, the tipping point to my birth as a skier happened late in the anxious years of teenagehood. It came in the form of glossy ski mags and the photography that jumped from the pages. I was a confused high-school graduate (who isn’t?) with no direction and a job I despised. Late one night during my first post-secondary summer I stumbled across a newsstand generously and prominently stocked with ski magazines. As soon as I picked one up my fate was sealed.
The images of powder and mountains and ski towns kicked off a series of decisions that ultimately led me here. And here, sitting in my living room writing about skiing after yet another day of skiing, is pretty damn good. I am grateful for all I have, and for those first photographs that pushed me in this direction.
So I’d like to dedicate this issue to the small, beautiful moments preserved by cameras everywhere. Whether images are captured by professionals on bulky SLRs or by your buddy and his beat-up cell phone, let’s remember why we stop in the middle of powder runs and on sun-soaked peaks to gather them. It’s because each of these tiny moments are the same ones that construct the larger days, months and winters that make up our unexplainably wonderful existence. They help us build this beautiful life. And that’s reason enough to capture and savor them for as long as possible.
Happy snapping.