Fresh perspective

I am re-posting an essay/letter I wrote four months ago, when I realized that I wanted to buy a digital camera and revive my photographic view.  This contains personal accounts of my childhood, however tame, but  if you (family) don't want to relive them with me, no worries.  

  A FRESH perspective for YOU CAPTURE @ I should be folding laundry:

all photos taken from my yard

in the past week

front, back

high, low 

blessed to live 

in Michigan

fresh blooms

acting fresh!

fresh air

 freshen up the joint

fresh clouds

Photography...seeing is believing.

I started shooting as a grade-schooler.  Remember the multiple flashcubes on a stick?  The Kodak pocket camera with the winder to advance?  Then the Polaroid let us shake the card into a photo. I asked for cameras for Christmas and birthdays.  I filled albums with snapshots of our family at Disney in 1976.  I recall how the album pages crunched when I opened a space for our poses.  My brag book contained wallets of fourth grade friends whom I would not see again.  And shoe boxes have been filled ever since.

Dad started my addiction to peering.  He carried a heavy, black, delicate camera inside a felted, camera-shaped leather case on a long strap.  Every trip to Santa's Village or Lamb's Farm or the Milwaukee Zoo included the black strapped camera.  Dad's choice of developmental medium was slides.  I keep memories of the thrill I felt watching myself shine onto the blank living room wall, larger than life, and the anticipation of which pose would follow. I can hear the unique sounds:  the hum of the whirring motor, the clatter and crash of the tray locking onto the machine, the clicks of slides dropping into place, the snap of the remote controller.  I wanted to advance the slides, hold the small rectangular box in my hand and control the tempo of our show.  That job belonged to dad.  His perspective, his order, his show.

We three kids would sit on the carpet, legs crossed, patiently awaiting with our craned necks pointed at the blank wall.  Our home stills showcased family vacations and outings, Christmas mornings and New Year's Eve parties, out-of-state visitors, pool parties, neighborhood cook-outs, training wheels to two wheelers, the yellow duckling, calico cat, and white terrier, Mom's decorated homemade birthday cakes, stockings on the mantle, hand sewn Halloween costumes, egg hunts and Easter dress-up, Grandma's gathering porch, the Falls, the Dells, the zoo...the three musketeers lined up by age and size, on our bikes, in our sleeping bags, floating on rafts, riding on the carousel, snoozing in the back seat of the car, holding up our favorite gifts, holding hands, shading our eyes, saying cheese, waving, smiling...lots of smiling.

This week I realized how I can fill a crack or two in my perspective.  I'm going to shoot again.  And again.  And again.  Without conscious decision, I gave up my passion for searching.  Searching  for movement in the crowd,  for the unique within the ordinary,  for the spontaneity in the routine. And, most importantly,  searching within myself for more.

I dug out my telephoto lens.  The one I bought several years ago for the used Nikon my brother gave me.  Found 5 rolls of new film too.  Film!  The camera is a gem.  The clerk at the local camera shop enjoyed cleaning it for me.  I guess the glass lens is a rarity today and I should take good care.  The camera took good care of me.  Took me to places I didn't know existed.  Seeing is believing...the colors crisp, the movement clear, the expression tight, and the joy of giving away part of me.  My production signed, sealed, and delivered to any and all unsuspecting subjects.  Delightfully dabbling in the development of my talent.

So the camera started acting up or maybe it got sick.  I stopped.  I put the black parts into my leather satchel and placed it strategically at the back of my closet.  And my talent took a nap.   The old Nikon will stay put for a while.  She'll have the film to keep her company.  I'm moving my perspective into the next generation of convenience.

Much more to explore...digitally.