Morning Bus by Greg Miller

I recently bought a tee shirt, a naive outline of a rabbit with the text “I love sad songs”

There is something about the power of melancholy.

When I first saw an image from Greg Miller’s Morning Bus series I was struck by both its beauty and air of solitude.

I belong to the school of thought that believes a photographer’s intent and artistic vision is a pivotal point along the path to both viewing and contextualising what can initially be seen as a purely pleasing visual experience.

This collection of children waiting for their morning school buses is a perfect example.

The uncomfortable reality is that these images were initially created with the memory of the Sandy Hook tragedy in mind.

For those unaware, this was an incident in 2012 when a gunman forced his way into a Connecticut school and killed twenty infants and six members of staff.

Whilst almost inconceivable for most, Miller and his family lived just an hour or so from the location and it is fair to say that its impact was profound.

“A few months later, after watching children wait for the morning bus in our small community, I realized that I felt a strong connection between their innocence and the vulnerability of the Sandy Hook victims. My wife and I felt powerless as parents and citizens. As my feelings of helplessness settled in for the long haul, my camera drifted to something fatalistic: the moment when we, as parents, part ways from our children.”

Greg Miller

And so, what at first appears to be a gentle collection of studies of youngsters viewed from a distance, waiting for their morning ride to school, becomes something altogether darker, something cloaked in sadness and anxiety.

From experience it is obvious that a parent will always fear for the safety and future of their kids but at this age of innocence and purity there is a very real vulnerability that emanates from them.

These - for the most part - tiny people are frozen by the blink of a shutter, quietly standing at the end of driveways or at junctions or bus stops, dwarfed by their surroundings which only emphasis their fragility.

Maybe a metaphor for the world itself. The safety of home versus the unknown excitement and temptations of the world beyond.

The passing of time has shown that the terror of Sandy Hook has since been repeated, not only in America but around the globe.

“In order to leave her, I have to somehow believe, in spite of what I read in the morning paper, that things are going to be fine.”

Greg Miller

Publishers L’Artiere have done a beautiful job with Miller’s work.

From the book’s large format and stunning colour printing, to the the respectful treatment of the photographs, with each image being beautifully reproduced and receiving its own page, floating in an ocean of pure white, which further seems to emphasise the diminutive nature of the subjects somehow pushing them further away from protective reach. A simple, elegant and utterly effective design decision.

Yes a parent will always worry and yet at some point it becomes inevitable that the child will fly the nest, either by necessity or desire.

The world is a huge, exciting and tempting  adventure to be explored after all.

So yes, at some point, but not just yet.

“My child leads a life that begins at the end of our driveway. That spot where the school bus stops is a membrane between home and the rest of the world. Children and teenagers stand there, vulnerable and brave—trusting that they are safe.”

For fear of wear or damage, I bought two of those shirts.

If only second chances were that easy in other aspects of life.

Morning Bus is published by L’Artiere