Doing what elephants do 20 our of 24 hours – eat the landscape.

No two elephant ears are the same. As pliable and soft as worn canvas, the leading edge of an elephant’s ear is often caught and torn on branches or by the tusks of other elephants. In Zimbabwe I once saw an elephant with a pie-shaped wedge sliced from her ear. In Kenya I watched an adolescent flare her ear like a matador holding out her cape. Backlit by sunlight, three perfectly round holes on its border reminded me of diamond studs. Nearby, a huge bull posed for my gulping camera as I shot an entire roll of film in less than two minutes. Only later, with the film developed and the prints in my hands, did I notice the edges of his ears were as scalloped as an old lace tablecloth.

Photographs are moments caught, then left behind. In this photograph, at that moment, there’s so much going on. An elephant strolls by, eating a branch from a thorn bush while he wraps a stalk of grass in his trunk. Do you see his broad toenail, his scalloped ear with its large veins? Do you see the small round pebble on the top of his head, the flecks of leaves cascading down his forehead to his trunk? Do you notice the perfect fan palm in the background, the outline of a nipple upon his chest? Or is your attention focused solely on his gleaming white tusks and your furiously beating heart?
