Why photography? What is it about this medium that called me? I don’t have a clue.
I remember as a young child looking through some of the outdoor magazines my dad and grandpa got in the mail. I think the magazine Alaska was my favorite as a child.
The images of places I had never been captivated me. Even when I saw images of places or things I knew, the way the photographers had captured them pulled me in.
One time I recall my dad thinking it would be fun to trick some friends, he pulled out a copy of one of the Alaska magazines we had with an image of a couple of bears fighting. Laying it on the ground outside he layered a couple of tree branches around the edges of the magazine to cover the type and to hide the edges. Then taking his old 35mm film camera (this was waaay back in the film days), he took a picture of the picture.
After the rest of the roll was taken (probably a month or so later) he had it developed. That picture came back fantastic, it looked like he had been peeking through the trees watching the scene unfold. I knew it was fake but that day made me dream of taking images like that for real.
It was fun as he would show friends the picture and say look at the picture I took, their reactions were great. He would of course always tell them the true story. My imagination though had been sparked. Could I learn this craft?
I of course remember my first camera, and cringe at the memories of my first pictures. I knew I wasn’t getting into National Geographic anytime soon (or anywhere else).
What was different about photography for me as a young man though was even though I was terrible at it, It didn’t deter me from continuing to pursue it. It seemed like most things I tackled in life if I couldn’t get good at it fairly quickly I would loose interest. Photography wasn’t like that for me. If anything it made me push harder. I would make mistakes, I would get frustrated. Not understand what went wrong, I would study to figure it out.
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