A Thousand Words

For those of you who don’t know, photography is one of my hobbies that I am most passionate about. As I’m sitting here, looking through pictures that I’ve taken over the years, I started thinking about why I love photography.
There are so many different perspectives to photography because it spans across multiple departments. It’s an art in that you can express your thoughts, feelings, and opinions through one picture. There is math involved with the aperture, shutter speed, and ISO used in the actual process of photography. Psychology is used in the thought process behind what is being photographed, how it is being photographed, what the motive is, and what the intended outcome is. Even science takes a part in photography because of how a camera uses multiple mirrors behind the lens to create reflections and capture the picture. Then, technology takes that information and transforms it into a code that can be read by multiple devices, allowing it to be seen anywhere.
The thing about photography that intrigues me the most is the story behind the picture. There are two perspectives to this: The story behind the picture itself, and then the story behind the subject in the picture.

In the summer of 2013, I toured across Europe for 10 days. I traveled across Germany, Switzerland, Lichtenstein, Austria, and the Czech Republic. During all of that time and out of all of the things I saw, nothing impacted me more than what I captured in this picture.

Halfway through the trip, the group I was with stopped at the Dachau Memorial, the former, German Nazi concentration and extermination camp. We toured the area and and listened to the stories behind the different sectors of the camp, taking in all of the awful information. We walked through the gas chambers, where prisoners were convinced that they were going to be showered off, then held their arms up to be packed in as closely and tightly as possible. After this, we visited the crematoria, where the bodies were transported to be burned. We saw the bed chambers, where the prisoners slept on the stacked, wooden boxes, each about 5’ wide to fit at least 3 people. Then we saw the prison cells, where I took this picture.
Inside one of the barred, bed-less cells "Home Sweet Home" was etched into the paint on the wall. The man that was kept in there was no different than anyone else. He was captured with thousands of others and stuffed onto a cattle car, so tightly that he didn't have to stand because the pressure of the other bodies held him up. He arrived at the largest concentration camp and walked through the gates that say "Work sets you free." He was then forced to work until he was no longer well enough to do so, due to starvation, sickness, or exhaustion. The man lived every day, not knowing which would be his last, but knowing that the stench that hung in the air was the smell of burning, rotting flesh. These are only some of the horrors that he would have had to suffer through, but imagining the worst couldn't compare to what he endured. He was dreaming of "Home Sweet Home” in spite of all the horrors he experienced.
For me, this picture is a story of hope. That even someone who has been through the worst can still find peace. Today, people who have so much to be grateful for believe that they suffer. Maybe if they understood what real suffering is, and what its like to be optimistic and find peace in those situations, they would be more appreciative.