"Steve... This is Weir." -- A Tribute

Please excuse the lapse in postings to the blog... it has been a challenging time since Weir's passing, as we sort through matters great and small. As the time has come to press on, it seems appropriate to start with a beautiful tribute to Weir from one of his close friends, and frequent blog contributor, Steve Kossack.

"Steve... This is Weir." It was a strong, deep, and graceful voice. One that I knew for over a decade. Whether it was a live phone conversation or a voice mail, it usually started this way.

His name was Weir McBride and when he first called me, it seemed that no one that I knew, knew of him or what he did. My friends had no idea and all the many people who have read the Singh-Ray Blog over the years may not as well. He liked to remain in the background -- coordinating, editing, nurturing and cheerleading. He loved what he did. This was obvious to me from the beginning.

Weir called this image The Box Tie. And so it has been ever since! An early product of the LB Color Intensifier, He was delighted with the fact that the snow was white. "Yes," I said, "no color cast, no footprint, the true test of a quality filter."

It started all those many years ago with a phone call. He had seen a photo on a website that interested him and he knew that I may have had something to do with it. I told him that it wasn't my image, but it had been done with my filter out on loan for a few moments. Without hesitation he asked where he could see my work. He told me that our conversation had made his week. Thus began a relationship that continued to blossom until the moment of his unexpected death a few weeks ago. He was truly a friend and a member of our family so far away here in the west from his home in Ohio.

"Steve... This is Weir."
Our first communication took place shortly after my parents had died. I had spent the last several years of their lives with them. It was an uneasy time. My mother was in a convalescent home for seven years after suffering a brain hemorrhage. She was the inspiration and driving force behind my journey to learn the art of photography. My father was regimented. He taught me discipline and dedication. When they passed I was simply lost. Through the years, Weir would replace both of them in small ways, at different times. I think he knew this. As time passed sometimes he would start our conversations with the greeting "How ya doin' kid?" I liked these the best!

Weir loved this image. "It's a butt shot" I said. The LB ColorCombo really helped he said. But it's a butt shot!

Sometimes Sandra would grimace when I'd look up from the phone and simply smile at her and say "Weir." She knew that no matter if she had food ready or we were scheduled to go out it would now have to wait but she also knew how much talking to him meant to me. "I'll be there is just a few minutes" would usually turn out to be a half hour, many times much longer.

Weir thought that these shots illustrated the benefits of the recently introduced Vari-ND filter. "Yellowstone Falls was a raging torrent, and Merced Lake was a windswept mess," I said. "Not so anymore," he replied.

It worked this way. In the beginning he would call and ask "how are the filters working for you?" and then he'd listen! He'd wait until I finished a thought and then ask another question and again listen. He was interested in what I did and what I thought about what I did. It became a weekly conversation that took place most often on Fridays. I looked forward to hearing from him.

f/8 and be there. I had a camera and I was there. I showed these to Weir simply because I was in New York City and did them. He said "Let's try something different. Photography is photography." I replied, "all the rules still apply."

"Steve... This is Weir."
When the idea of the Singh-Ray blog began, he asked if I'd like to try and write. My mother was a polio victim. She accomplished most everything she aspired to in her 86 years, with the possible exception of being published. She was a voracious reader and wrote in her younger years. The idea appealed to me and I gave it a whirl. Weir liked what I did, but added that it needed a little help and asked if I'd accept his. We never looked back!

The ColorCombo. Reflection and color saturation. "Earth Tones at their finest," I told him.

The last thing I'd do after a workshop or shoot was to add a few images to my gallery and send Weir a link. For me this has always been the formal ending to an outing. The icing on the cake was the phone call that usually resulted. He ask when they were done and in the early years, if there was a filter involved in any of them. I assured him that there was a 99% chance that every frame I post will have a filter in it and that I use a 2-stop Graduated ND at noon o'clock on a sunny day to begin with and work from there, a practice I still observe today. Our formula was simple and a delight for me. Weir would pick an image and listen while I told him of my passion for the place, the moment and what I was trying to accomplish. In doing this we'd find a story line and then he'd pick another image and "down the trail" we'd go again. I soon discovered that I found this partnership far more rewarding than writing for my own website.

"Into the mystic with the Soft-Ray," I told him. It was always one of our favorites.

"Steve... This is Weir."
These conversations quickly became much more than about filters or photography or about any one topic. The wonderful element for me is that they were about everything and anything. With us it was the big picture. The world as we saw it and our place in it. He would tell me from time to time how fortunate he was and I would always reply that I thought of myself as the most fortunate person on the planet. He would let me go off on a tirade from time to time and there were moments when I would sense anger in his tone. Sure, there were times when I thought that what I did had little meaning and maybe I'd give up. Then we'd stop, and one of us would say "OK, let's talk about filters." We were friends!

It was a slam dunk. I knew anytime I could show Weir a long-lens drop-in filter shot (in this case the ColorCombo), he'd be ecstatic. This was one of my best and we discussed what we both saw in it for quite some time.

Like our friendship, Bryce Canyon was a story we were working on that never quite got finished. Another time or another place perhaps.

"Weir... This is Steve."
You said I wrote better than most. Coming from you it was the highest of compliments. It never mattered to me that a lot of what I did ended up on your editing floor. It was important to me that you read it. Maybe it was too long for a blog story but it was never too much to share with you. I'm so grateful that we had one last conversation together after your fall. You said to me at the end that you didn't know if our conversation helped you or me more and once again you stopped and listened to my answer. No matter if it was a discussion over a new idea for a filter or the inclusion of an image in a blog post, I sent you clearing horizons and in return you sent dozens of rainbows. You passed so suddenly that I'll never know if you knew how much the relationship meant to me. Although I never met you face to face or had the opportunity to shake your hand, or even know what you looked like, I felt I knew you from the inside out. There will forever be an empty place where you were. The phone is silent and lonely as I pass it now. I desperately want it to ring and once again and hear, "Steve... this is Weir."

This was from our last story together. Weir stopped me to go back to this image asking "where is this again?" The realization once again hit me that he had not been there. Only in spirit... every time.

As we were working on what turned out to be our last story together, you asked "where is this image from again?" It occurred to me again that you weren't actually with me on all the shoots over the years. It just seemed that way. I know there won't be many future sunsets or sunrises, or a time that I don't reach for a filter and feel a big hand on my shoulder and that warm voice saying "how ya doin' Kid?"

Goodbye, my friend.


Steve Kossack will be conducting workshops over the summer. To learn more, visit his website.