Nikon The music in my ears was once the loud clapping of a camera shutter as it opened and closed. It meant art. It meant life. It meant I was engaging in something that was bigger than myself. I draped the ancient Nikon around my neck like a necklace, and the only time I took it off was at night. Every once in a while I would feel the distance that the camera created between me and life. It didn’t bother me back when I was still hiding, but then, one day, it flipped. I didn’t want to hide anymore. I wanted to live. I wanted to live hard. And the damn thing was in the way. So I took it off and let life flow into all the places it had blocked me. My first twenty-five years I was a photographer. My second twenty-five years I was an observer. These next twenty-five years are still unfolding, but I think I’ll let my neck go naked, let all of me go naked this time around. I will strip everything down until I observe with my eye, take the snapshot in my head, and call out to you with my voice. Just a reminder for you that I was here and that I remembered you, not from the image on the page, but from the image on my heart, burned into the emulsion forever.
Love this.