I couldn’t resist that title. Reminds me of the Holly Hobby and Heather bedspread I had as a little girl. I’m quite sure that dates me beyond repair… but so do the crow’s feet. If you keep reading, however, you will find that this post has nothing to do with aging – and everything to do with photography. That’s what drives my creative motor – the taking of many pictures. It always has.
The neat thing about today as opposed to yesterday, though, is that my camera is a little more cooperative… I have a bit more experience with experimentation… and the older I get, the more I appreciate the memories that the photos capture. Youth is wasted on the young. Just think – if I had all that energy again – how many more pictures I could take!
Taking photographs is not magic. It is just like playing piano or learning to draw. It doesn’t matter how much you feel capable. It matters how much you LOVE it and are dedicated to PRACTICE it. And if you love it enough, it won’t matter what people think of your pictures. Here’s an example…. my son was a gifted artist at a young age. His sister struggled with drawing, but she LOVED to draw. She often got frustrated that the stuff she drew was inadequate and not as good as her brother’s pictures. I kept telling her that if she wanted to draw, she just had to keep doing it until it came easy. She did. Now she can draw very well. And the funny thing is, you often see her drawing more than her brother.
So it goes with a “photographer”. Is that how you see yourself? A camera nut without an expensive camera? That’s what I was for many years. I finally decided that I was going to have to just buy the camera I needed to move on with my hobby. So we bought it on credit. My Canon 40D. And I use it so much that it is filthy. Now I dream of new lenses and Photoshop CS4. I dream of Lightroom and tripods… and photoblogs.
I get a lot of comments on my photos and I truly appreciate it. They are a part of my heart. Everywhere I look, I’m always finding things that need to be photographed. I stay agitated in the car as we drive along our way if I forgot the camera or I can’t take time to stop and pull over. My husband’s canned response when I ask him to stop the car is, “No, Heather. We don’t have time for pictures.” I have to convince him on long trips that I really do need to use the restroom or he won’t stop the car. He knows me too well.
Just yesterday, I stopped on the way home from our field trip.
“Why are we stopping, Mommy?” I heard from the back seat. Do they have to ask?
“I have to take a picture.” I said as I popped the trunk and got the camera bag out.
Both of the kids were looking around to find the item I had been so interested in and couldn’t see a thing worthy of taking a picture of. I could tell they were confused. “Of what?” Kaden asked.
“The grass.” I answered, turning and heading for the ditch along side the road.
“Oh.” I heard him mumble. He poked his head out the car window to look for this magical patch of grass.
I didn’t just see grass. I saw little shafts of wheat shining in the autumn sunlight like golden fluffy daimonds. I saw sparkling orange sunlight and long lazy shadows, as if those blades of grass were their own miniature redwood forest… and the dust floating around them were pixies. It was a spiritual experience.
Call me crazy. It had to be captured. Because that is just what I do. I take pictures.