I almost never look back at my own photographs. I figure I’ve already made the shot, processed it in the way I wanted to, then either posted it somewhere or…you know, didn’t post it at all. Either way, I’ve already seen the photo; why look at it again?

I don’t feel that way about the photographs of other folks. I’ll still look at photos by Eggleston (today is his birthday, by the way) or Kertész or maybe one of the Pages (Tim or Homer), for example. There’s almost always something new to be discovered or appreciated when you look at the work of the photographic Big Hats.

But this morning, as I was going about my usual morning routine (after watching Nigeria’s amazing win over Australia in the Women’s World Cup), I saw this photo on Facebook:

I thought, “Damn, that’s solid work, right there.” Then I realized it was a photo I’d shot nine years ago. It was a weird experience–seeing a photo I’d taken but looking at it like it was the work of a stranger. What made it weird was that as I looked at the photo, I could remember why I’d shot it and what sparked the desire to shoot it.

It was all about layers. The wooden bridge under my feet, the water under the bridge, the lily pads on the water, the fish under the water, the stones under the fish in the water, the reflection of the bridge on the water, my reflection on the water standing on the bridge above the water, the reflection of the trees above me on the water, the reflection of the clouds above the trees.

I remember standing on that bridge in Wisconsin and being struck with an immediate sense of absolute location, if that makes sense. I was at that particular spot on the globe on that particular day. It was sort of a Doctor Who moment–time and relative dimension in space. No other person could be in that particular spot at that particular moment. That’s true constantly, of course, but it’s pretty rare that we actually think about the reality of it.

I also recall very deliberately composing the shot in my head. I shot two frames; this one, shot rather quickly but intentionally slightly askew. The second shot was more formally composed, with the line of the bridge horizontal along the bottom of the frame. The more formal shot was…well, uninteresting. It has all the same elements as the photo above, but it’s strangely unemotional. Two photographs of the same thing, taken seconds apart, but only one of them works. That just seems sort of freaky. But normal. Freaky-normal.

I like this photograph. I like it both as a photo, and as a personal experience. Maybe it takes the distance of a few years to be able to actually see your own photos.