On Thursday night, I had the pleasure of viewing a presentation by Thomas Neff consisting of photographs he took of the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. We all have heard of the tragedy, but it is an entirely different experience to see it right in front of you, uncensored and without someone sugar-coating it. It's unlike the news, which is a series of cold hard facts. It's more bare than that. It makes you feel, rather than just know. By being a photographer, Neff opened a window into these people's lives. He would see a photographic opportunity and not only end up with a great display of art, but an insight, a story to tell. Each photograph that Neff revealed was accompanied by a long background story, tales of inspiration from the people who held on and held out. But the piece that struck me the most was probably the only photograph that didn't have such an inspiring ending. It was a picture of a young couple. It was obvious by their appearance and uneasiness that they had far less wisdom than the elder "holdouts". Even so, one would have never predicted that events that followed. My interest was peaked when Neff spoke of this photograph, so I researched a little further. I discovered that, as he stated himself, the findings were "unspeakable". Knowing what happened, coupled with the memory and photo that Neff presented sent a disturbing chill down my spine. He met and took a picture of a murder. Except the fact that in the photograph, Zach wasn't a murderer yet. Or was he? Photography is weird in that way. It's hard not to assume what has always been when you know the ending. You can't help but apply the present when looking at the past. There's no way of knowing if Zach was as twisted during the photograph as he ended up being at the conclusion of his life. The only certainty is that Neff captured the couple in a moment that would never be again and allowed us to see a two people in a state that we would have never witnessed otherwise. Thus is the gift of photography.