Picture the Story
First, I'd like to mention that we are approaching the final countdown for the Great Bottle Give-away. I'm willing to mail an autographed page from my original manuscript housed in a designer bottle to one lucky recipient. All that I need is a creative idea as to where Carmen's bottle landed in the real world.
Did it become one with the sand on a distant shoreline somewhere? Was it scooped up in a fishing net? Did the tides swoop Carmen's ramblings to the mainland? Where oh where did the bottle go...oh where oh where can it be? Go to my Facebook author page for more details and please give it a spin.
Also, this week beginning on December 4th and leading to December 8, I've arranged for a discount book promotion on Amazon. From 99 cents for the first couple of days to 1.99. Perhaps this love story would be an ideal gift for the holiday season. Do you know of someone who may appreciate a downloadable copy? Send "Falling Whispers." Just go to Amazon, click "send as a gift" on the "Falling Whisper's" page and mark the recipient off your gift list!
Enough of business though, let's get on with this week's blog, shall we?
Today I want to share something rather personal, I want to discuss the great passion I hold for photography.
It all began as I clicked my first picture back in the early 1970's. In a frantic moment, I gazed out my bedroom window. Car tires were squealing, my adrenaline pumping as a whole lot of insanity began to play out before me. In an instant I made a decision, to document the events as they were presented. I took hold of my sister K's 110 camera while rushing towards the window to record an accident just as it was about to happen.
What I witnessed were two cars speeding towards each other in what appeared to be a game of chicken. Although they swerved last minute to avoid a head on collision, there was something that struck me in that moment...with a single click, a story was told...not only told, but preserved for as long as the negative and paper would allow. Although my sister K was not exactly thrilled that I had claimed a photo on her roll of film, I was hooked.
As K studied photography through a basic class in high school, I watched with great interest as her technique evolved. An entire world was unveiled to me...how an image could travel through a shutter, land invisibly onto film, undergo chemical development, and be projected from an enlarger onto paper was nothing short of a miracle. I needed to learn more, I needed to explore the many creative secrets of the entire photographic process.
Years later as I was able to take an introduction photography class, I borrowed the same camera my sister had used...an old 126 Kodak that my dad had purposed for capturing slides. Although there was nothing fancy about the plastic camera, the same basic principles applied. Light, shutter, film speed...image...wa-la!
Of course there were more affluent classmates who sported their 35mm Pentax', Cannon's and Nikon's with interchangeable lenses and filters. It was then and only then I developed what I can best describe as "lens envy."
Throughout my life I've never carried much jealousy towards other people. I've always seen everyone as comrades along the great journey of life. No matter who a person is or how much they have there is always going to be something missing...some element whether it be wealth, health or happiness...there is always going to be someone more fortunate or more talented...so I decided long ago it was best to hold appreciation for those that have more and use them as inspiration to strive for better. There is no perfect life, never-ever for the missing element is part of the human condition we all share.
Except lens envy was the one flaw that I carried. Those photographs of my classmates were nothing short of amazing. There is an entirely different perspective that one can gain access to only through lens variety. Micro, wide-angle, zoom...and the million dollar shot at least for me always seemed just beyond the horizon...if only I had a better lens. It was all part of the tools needed for properly capturing a moment, for telling a story for future generations to appreciate.
Those stories were never limited to pictures that I snapped, but in truth, there are many out there (good or bad or indifferent) that can be told from photographs others have taken.
For example, while I was working in a camera store years ago, a co-worker asked that I restore a photograph of her recently departed mother. The image was taken during the 1950's; apparent by her hair style and clothing. When I agreed, I had not studied the image too closely. As I began to retouch a copy of the picture it became apparent that the woman in the black and white photo was concealing bruises. I did my best to fix the image, to mask what I could, so that my co-worker might carry away a different reality. As I handed back the finished product, my friend began to weep...she said it was exactly the life that she had always wanted for her mother. She explained how her dad was not a good person to her mom or to any of them.
Although a painful experience, her story was "real." Life is not always "Carmen and Dora" running off into the sunset to live happily ever after. Although as it may seem how some stories are better off forgotten, the truth is, like it or not they become a part of who we are.
During the 1990's an aunt of mine passed away. Two of my immediate family members and I were remembered in her last will and testament. She had bequeathed us her household items to split and to share. Another Auntie oversaw the distribution of those items. As we began to sort through the many things my aunt had left us, I made it perfectly clear that if there were any photographs that I would be interested. Although Auntie agreed, I learned after the fact that she had located a small box of old photographs. Because the pictures were from my uncle's side of the family, Auntie decided that I would not want such "clutter" and she placed the entire box onto the brush fire she had set to clear the yard.
In an instant many stories were destroyed. Pictures, negatives....smiles, memories, hopes and dreams all transformed into the nothingness of ash. It took a long while to forgive my Auntie for making that decision. However, I used that opportunity to sit down with her and explain what photography means to me and the importance of the story.
Many years later, my mother was left a huge box of albums and loose photographs from her family. With her being the youngest and nearly the last survivor, it was logical that she hold onto the family albums to pass down. There were all sorts of amazing glimpses into the past, into our past through faces, styles and background. There were even a few tintypes at the bottom of that box. I was literally in photo heaven.
Every time I would return to my mom's for a visit, I'd ask to see that box of albums, but mom voiced discouragement. "What do you want to see that old box of pictures for, we have no idea who any of those people are?"
"It's too heavy...I'm not sure if it was placed in the living room closet or if it's in one of the bedrooms...there's not enough time this visit, maybe next time...maybe next time."
I dreamed of copying each and every image...of studying them more closely, of placing those copies in my own personal collection...of being inspired...of inventing stories from the many interesting faces of the past.
Originally my mom offered me one of the photographs for the woman from the late 1800's (obviously family) held a similar facial structure. I was thrilled!
I pushed and pushed and pushed to go through those photographs once again until mom finally admitted that not long after they arrived, she had sold the albums to someone named Diamond Sal for $50.00. She had answered an advertisement in the paper for the "picker" to go through their home and purchase their antiques or collectables. Granted it was her box of photo's to do with as she pleased but man-oh-man...the frustration. Even still I shake my head in disbelief at the tremendous loss.
For many years after, while attending flea markets and coming across old photographs for sale I have been left to wonder if any of those people are my family. I became the orphan child as my family history has been bought and sold many times over.
I still have the solitary photograph though...the image of a mystery woman offered to me from that box of albums my mom was given. I named her "Sarah," which seemed to be a good fit. She rests upon the shelf above me in my office, overseeing my everyday life, whispering stories to me as only she knows how to tell them. My muse, my friend, my past, her past...all for the great art of the story.
With just one click, you have me...with just one click we are all frozen in time. Yes I carry a love of photography, for hidden deep within every picture there is always an interesting story...to have and to hold unless of course fate, fire or person tosses those stories away.
Did it become one with the sand on a distant shoreline somewhere? Was it scooped up in a fishing net? Did the tides swoop Carmen's ramblings to the mainland? Where oh where did the bottle go...oh where oh where can it be? Go to my Facebook author page for more details and please give it a spin.
Also, this week beginning on December 4th and leading to December 8, I've arranged for a discount book promotion on Amazon. From 99 cents for the first couple of days to 1.99. Perhaps this love story would be an ideal gift for the holiday season. Do you know of someone who may appreciate a downloadable copy? Send "Falling Whispers." Just go to Amazon, click "send as a gift" on the "Falling Whisper's" page and mark the recipient off your gift list!
Enough of business though, let's get on with this week's blog, shall we?
Today I want to share something rather personal, I want to discuss the great passion I hold for photography.
It all began as I clicked my first picture back in the early 1970's. In a frantic moment, I gazed out my bedroom window. Car tires were squealing, my adrenaline pumping as a whole lot of insanity began to play out before me. In an instant I made a decision, to document the events as they were presented. I took hold of my sister K's 110 camera while rushing towards the window to record an accident just as it was about to happen.
What I witnessed were two cars speeding towards each other in what appeared to be a game of chicken. Although they swerved last minute to avoid a head on collision, there was something that struck me in that moment...with a single click, a story was told...not only told, but preserved for as long as the negative and paper would allow. Although my sister K was not exactly thrilled that I had claimed a photo on her roll of film, I was hooked.
As K studied photography through a basic class in high school, I watched with great interest as her technique evolved. An entire world was unveiled to me...how an image could travel through a shutter, land invisibly onto film, undergo chemical development, and be projected from an enlarger onto paper was nothing short of a miracle. I needed to learn more, I needed to explore the many creative secrets of the entire photographic process.
Years later as I was able to take an introduction photography class, I borrowed the same camera my sister had used...an old 126 Kodak that my dad had purposed for capturing slides. Although there was nothing fancy about the plastic camera, the same basic principles applied. Light, shutter, film speed...image...wa-la!
Of course there were more affluent classmates who sported their 35mm Pentax', Cannon's and Nikon's with interchangeable lenses and filters. It was then and only then I developed what I can best describe as "lens envy."
Throughout my life I've never carried much jealousy towards other people. I've always seen everyone as comrades along the great journey of life. No matter who a person is or how much they have there is always going to be something missing...some element whether it be wealth, health or happiness...there is always going to be someone more fortunate or more talented...so I decided long ago it was best to hold appreciation for those that have more and use them as inspiration to strive for better. There is no perfect life, never-ever for the missing element is part of the human condition we all share.
Except lens envy was the one flaw that I carried. Those photographs of my classmates were nothing short of amazing. There is an entirely different perspective that one can gain access to only through lens variety. Micro, wide-angle, zoom...and the million dollar shot at least for me always seemed just beyond the horizon...if only I had a better lens. It was all part of the tools needed for properly capturing a moment, for telling a story for future generations to appreciate.
Those stories were never limited to pictures that I snapped, but in truth, there are many out there (good or bad or indifferent) that can be told from photographs others have taken.
For example, while I was working in a camera store years ago, a co-worker asked that I restore a photograph of her recently departed mother. The image was taken during the 1950's; apparent by her hair style and clothing. When I agreed, I had not studied the image too closely. As I began to retouch a copy of the picture it became apparent that the woman in the black and white photo was concealing bruises. I did my best to fix the image, to mask what I could, so that my co-worker might carry away a different reality. As I handed back the finished product, my friend began to weep...she said it was exactly the life that she had always wanted for her mother. She explained how her dad was not a good person to her mom or to any of them.
Although a painful experience, her story was "real." Life is not always "Carmen and Dora" running off into the sunset to live happily ever after. Although as it may seem how some stories are better off forgotten, the truth is, like it or not they become a part of who we are.
During the 1990's an aunt of mine passed away. Two of my immediate family members and I were remembered in her last will and testament. She had bequeathed us her household items to split and to share. Another Auntie oversaw the distribution of those items. As we began to sort through the many things my aunt had left us, I made it perfectly clear that if there were any photographs that I would be interested. Although Auntie agreed, I learned after the fact that she had located a small box of old photographs. Because the pictures were from my uncle's side of the family, Auntie decided that I would not want such "clutter" and she placed the entire box onto the brush fire she had set to clear the yard.
In an instant many stories were destroyed. Pictures, negatives....smiles, memories, hopes and dreams all transformed into the nothingness of ash. It took a long while to forgive my Auntie for making that decision. However, I used that opportunity to sit down with her and explain what photography means to me and the importance of the story.
Many years later, my mother was left a huge box of albums and loose photographs from her family. With her being the youngest and nearly the last survivor, it was logical that she hold onto the family albums to pass down. There were all sorts of amazing glimpses into the past, into our past through faces, styles and background. There were even a few tintypes at the bottom of that box. I was literally in photo heaven.
Every time I would return to my mom's for a visit, I'd ask to see that box of albums, but mom voiced discouragement. "What do you want to see that old box of pictures for, we have no idea who any of those people are?"
"It's too heavy...I'm not sure if it was placed in the living room closet or if it's in one of the bedrooms...there's not enough time this visit, maybe next time...maybe next time."
I dreamed of copying each and every image...of studying them more closely, of placing those copies in my own personal collection...of being inspired...of inventing stories from the many interesting faces of the past.
Originally my mom offered me one of the photographs for the woman from the late 1800's (obviously family) held a similar facial structure. I was thrilled!
I pushed and pushed and pushed to go through those photographs once again until mom finally admitted that not long after they arrived, she had sold the albums to someone named Diamond Sal for $50.00. She had answered an advertisement in the paper for the "picker" to go through their home and purchase their antiques or collectables. Granted it was her box of photo's to do with as she pleased but man-oh-man...the frustration. Even still I shake my head in disbelief at the tremendous loss.
For many years after, while attending flea markets and coming across old photographs for sale I have been left to wonder if any of those people are my family. I became the orphan child as my family history has been bought and sold many times over.
I still have the solitary photograph though...the image of a mystery woman offered to me from that box of albums my mom was given. I named her "Sarah," which seemed to be a good fit. She rests upon the shelf above me in my office, overseeing my everyday life, whispering stories to me as only she knows how to tell them. My muse, my friend, my past, her past...all for the great art of the story.
With just one click, you have me...with just one click we are all frozen in time. Yes I carry a love of photography, for hidden deep within every picture there is always an interesting story...to have and to hold unless of course fate, fire or person tosses those stories away.
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