At an opening for a a photographic exhibition in 2002, I was asked to say a few remarks.  Although I have become more accustomed to doing such things, it always petrifies me because I desperately hate talking about myself and my work (classic introvert).  Anyway, I labored over this for two weeks, and finally, 3 hours before I had to give the remarks, it suddenly became clear to me what to say.  The following was my 2 minute long "remarks" which was rather cathartic because it helped me put clarity to why I do what I do, which I am sure will continually change and evolve as I get older, God willing.

 

Why I Do What I Do

Early this morning my four year old, Elsa, and I, were sitting on the couch, reading Phantom of the Prairie, a childrens book about a Black Footed-ferret. The story is set in a prairie dog town and loosely follows one ferret through its first year of life, encountering a menagerie of prairie wildlife from bison to burrowing owls along the way.

When we were done reading, Elsa, who is a very contemplative child, said; Daddy, when I get grown up like you will I be able to take trips and see all the animals on the prairie?    I thought long and hard about that for a minute, and then said, I sure hope so, honey.  I hope so too, Daddy , she said.

You see,  I used to take pictures just for myself. Now I take pictures for my kids, hoping in some small way that what I do helps these nativeGreat Plains landscapes and creatures from disappearing before my daughters eyes.  What I mean is,  I want my children to be able to see and experience the neat things that I have seen in my home here in the Great Plains.  I want them to be able to someday sit on the banks of the Platte River in springtime and experience the riot of sight and sound as scores of cranes and geese descend to the river en masse against a fiery sunset. I want them to be able to kneel on the edge of a huge prairie dog town in early summer and watch burrowing owl chicks stumble over themselves trying to take flight, and swift fox kits play tag. I want them to happily get lost in a tallgrass prairie on a crisp autumn day. So, if as a photographer,  I can show you the beauty of a prairie landscape or creature, I hope you will be more likely to appreciate it. And in my own simple logic,  if you appreciate it, you will value it. And if you value it, you will be more willing to protect and preserve it.   

I am a nature photographer that spends a good share of time trying to make Pretty Pictures, because I think pretty pictures are important, particularly here on the Great Plains where most of the collective still thinks that there is nothing out here but flat lands and a monoculture of corn. Granted, the beauty here is often sublte. It doesnt knock you in the teeth like the Tetons or the Colorado Rockies or the rugged coastlines of the Pacific Northwest. But it can be every bit as grand. Here on the Plains our rolling prairies are the oceans and our magnificant cloudscapes are the mountains. Here on the Plains you have to linger. Stand for a minute on a hilltop overlooking a prairie and you will likely see nothing. But sit there for a day and life abounds.

I have found that Pretty pictures can be a trap, however. Because often times, we view them with blinders on. They give an idealized view of the landscape, often masking problems that may lie just outside the picture frame.When I am photgraphing Great Plains landscapes, I often frame out telephone lines and fences, overgrazed pastures and development. I am photographing remnants, mere shadows of what once was perhaps the greatest grassland ecosystem on the earth.

When I am photographing prairie wildlife, I often feel like I am chasing ghosts. Photographing the survivors of prairie species whose numbers have been decimated, or all but eliminated from these wide-open spaces. Even on the Platte River, where 500,000 sandhill cranes and millions of ducks and geese find critical refuge each spring, there is the underlying reality that only a fraction of the habitat remains that existed a century ago, and its future role for wildlife is left uncertain, forever dictated by the shifting winds of power and politics.  Still, I hold out great hope. I hope that someday on the Great Plains the ideas of stewardship and conservation will be as common sense and important a practice in our everyday lives as saving money for retirement. That photographs and other art will not be forced to focus on the last of the least, but celebrate the successes of wildlife and landscapes of the Great Plains on a grand scale.

And finally, I hope that someday future generations like my daughters, can look back on ours and thank us as citizens, each in our own small way, for the efforts we made to preserve and restore these treasures for them and their children. We owe it to them, we certainly owe it to the land and its native creatures, and ultimately, we owe it to ourselves.

- Michael Forsberg