Photography 101... again

I did a thing.

I did a thing.

I bought a camera.

I’ve taken a few pictures in my day. Not a ton, as I gave up a couple of years after college and went to work in the visual effects industry; it’s an all-encompassing sort of job, not leaving too much room for silliness and bravery and bold statements. I am not Jerry Maguire. I haven’t written a mission statement for years, for decades.

But part of me is starting to wonder if maybe I had things right the first time. I pick up the camera and stare through the viewfinder. I think of the last time I was able to really photograph, and even then, with a top-notch education, it was hard. It’s easier to write behind someone’s back, shrouding the truth into a fiction if you feel it’s something that needs to hide. It’s not easy to pick up a camera and point it at a person. To point it and not hide behind a wide lens, which would capture everything without the subject even knowing. I’m talking about the type of photography that is bold. I mean in their face. Right now. Can I even do that?

There is a picture I took, and I remember it as being the first time I thought I might actually be able to photograph things. It was a tank of sardines swimming around and around in a circle. It wasn’t earth shattering, wasn’t important; it simply showed a connection forming, an understanding I was coming to have about the visual world.

And everything opened up.

I’ve spent some time these past few nights going through my old work as I wait for courage to appear so that I can press the shutter on the new little machine without self-consciousness.

I am picking it back up.

Which is insane.

But as I search for proof that I’ll be able to do it again, I see more and more of the work I once considered so crucial, so important. There are a couple of photographs, just a handful of things I’ve done, that I’ve considered to be important, to be good. Good photography, good mood, good intentions, technically adequate. And I end up staring at a photograph I took of a clown at Barnum and Bailey’s Circus almost thirty years ago. He stands alone in the spotlight, his arms raised as he waves to the people in the stands. His chalk-white face and foam nose are lifted to the sky.

Was that clown important? What about the picture that won me an underwater camera for my troubles, the picture of ballroom dancers coming together during a competition?

What about the image that the underwater camera took? Which is best, and which means the most?

And then, did any of them mean anything?

These photographs are just single threads in the needlepoint of my life. They are good, though not extraordinary. Being extraordinary is… well, extraordinarily difficult. But we do our best, now, don’t we? Do our best to catch that golden ring with just one more chance around the carousel?

The camera feels weird in my hands. This is going to take some time.

In 2025 I will be working toward sending out longer posts with lower frequency. They will include essay, poetry, and photography. Stay tuned…

Now, I’m going to go take some pictures of my dogs to get warmed up…

Jen