Joe Greer - The Lay of the Land: A Self-Taught Photographers Journey to Find Faith, Love, and Happiness

for my mother

to madison and hannah

CLICK.

I t takes less than a second to line up the shot and press the shutter. By this point the act is so reflexive, its like muscle memorybut each time I do it, the moment feels sacred.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that I would become a photographer. Seriously, making pictures for a living? Its a crazy thing to be able to follow your passion, and thats what photography is for memore than a paycheck, a way to provide for my family. It is a way of life. Photography has become the way that I communicate. The way I go about telling a story is in large part by shooting intimate moments that I hope will stand the test of time. Photography is so much more than point and shoot or uploading to Instagram, or using X number of hashtags. Its another chance to see the world unfolding before me, to find a way to capture that magic.

Photography can act as a time capsule, allowing you to revisit some of the most beautiful moments of your life. Ill never forget the first picture I saw of my wife, Madisonbefore she was my wife, before Id even met herand immediately felt the first pangs of love. Ill never forget the first pictures I took of our land in Tennessee, where well build our home and start a family, because those pictures represent all of the moments that brought me to where I am today.

If youd told the college kid who had just started snapping photographs on his iPhone that he would one day be sharing his journey online and traveling the world making photoswell, he would have laughed in your face. Not with unkindness, but in pure disbelief. I never expected to have any kind of online following, or to be able to make a passion into my profession.

When I started, shooting landscapes was just for funa good way to get me to forget the difficulties I was experiencing, and the trauma I was working really hard to overcome. Making photographs gave me a break from that, and it also instilled a sense of hope. Because the way I learned to tell my story was originally through landscape and travel photography, that is what youll see in this book.

My past is complex, and the older I get the more I embrace all of its hard and messy truths. I find myself becoming more nostalgic as the days add up, constantly reflecting on all the unexpected and unlikely moments that perfectly aligned for me to be where I am in my life. Even the worst of my heartbreak and tragedy directly affected, and continue to have its effect on, my work. The way I see when I am behind the camera, the ways I see other people. Its those experiencesthe good, the bad, and the uglythat taught me to constantly recalibrate. Towhen the going gets toughjust take a deep breath and, before doing anything else, reassess. Look with fresh eyes at whats in front of me, and then get the lay of the land.

I like to say that I make my photos, and what I mean by that is photography is dynamic. When you get out there and shoot, youre not just taking a picture. Youre making a memory. Youre telling a story. I first heard the phrase through Joel Meyerowitz, and I immediately loved the precision of it, loved how it gave meaning to the act and seemed to slow down the process itself.

Ultimately its you, the photographer, who can bring images to life. We are at the mercy of the elements, natural light, energy of the streets, or the mood of our models when photographing. So it is up to you to find the magic and then make that moment when it presents itself.

Whether you have been following my photographic journey for years or were given this book by a friend, I am beyond thrilled to let you in a bit deeper. To share with you the ways in which I believe photography has the power to change the world, to become a vessel of healing for oneself as well as others. To show you how it has been those things for me. And it is my greatest hope that as we go through this journey together these landscape photographs I have made over the course of my career give you a sense of peace and liberty while stirring a new feeling of curiosity for this world.

I was born Joseph Matthew DeKalaita, on February 17, 1989, in Flint, Michigan, to Nikkianne DeKalaita. The only son of a single mother. No father figure, which, as I was told, was exactly how my mother wanted it.

Those early years of my life, it was just the two of usand we were close. I remember how shed chase me around the halls or in the backyard of family gatherings over the summer, totally encouraging play. My mother was obsessed with Harley-Davidson. One Christmas she got me a little electric motorcycle for kids, and let me zip around the house on it. Another time I remember going into her bedroom late at night asking if I could have a glass of soda. She yawned and said of course, and so I poured the soda, brought it into bed, and then fell asleep snuggled up beside her.

On my fourth birthday, my relatives in Michigan threw me a little party at Chuck E. Cheese. There were games and it was a ton of fun, but weirdly, my mom didnt show up. I dont remember much else about the party, or that night; I just remember not seeing her, and waiting the following morning for her to pick me up. But my mother didnt show up the way she always did.

I later found out that she had met a couple of friends for a quick happy hour drink before the birthday party. But as she and her friends were heading from one bar to another, they asked a colleague to drive to the next spot. They had had a little too much to drink and didnt feel safe driving. The guy said he was okay to drive, but he wasnthe ran a stop sign and, when he did, a passing car T-boned the passengers side. Right where my mother was sitting.

By the time I found out what had happened the following day, she was still in critical condition, fighting for her life. The guy? He escaped unscathed, and later claimed that it was my mom who had been driving. Thankfully there were witnesses there at the scene who said that shed been in the passenger seat. And a doctor could tell that the blood and injuries on the right side of my mothers body matched the blood on the right side of the cars interior.

When I was finally able to see her again, it was like meeting a different person. I knew within seconds that this wasnt the mother I had known. The crash had changed her completely. She couldnt walk, couldnt talk, and looked like she was fifteen years older. I remember going to see her at the hospital and nursing home, and in the beginning it was pretty uncomfortablelike meeting a stranger. She wasnt able to call me by my name anymore, couldnt stretch out her arms to hug me or chase me down the hallway like she used to.