Thirty-odd years ago, back in my day, my brother-in-law gave me a
Nikkormat FTN with that 50 f/1.4 lens. About the same time, a kid in
my high school shoved me into a darkroom the way some kids are
shoved into the deep end of the swimming pool.
I fell in love then, and never fell out of love. Only my husband merits
more passion than photography.
Regretfully, then, as now, I was poor. I could not afford the film,
chemicals and paper. I sold my equipment.
Thirty-odd years I toiled as a medical transcriptionist, loathing and
fearing every moment of it. I was too tired for "hobbies" when I got
home after a day of droneful commuting.
Two years ago my husband gave me a digital pocket camera for
my birthday. It had no manual exposure and, of course, 100%
autofocus. I rediscovered my passion. It consumed me like a bonfire.
I am now 52 years old, one year older than my mother was when
she died. Even though I am in ragingly good health, one never
knows how much time one has left. I do not have time to waste on
things about which I feel less than passion. My outer life needs to
reflect my inner artistic one. I have a lot of catching up to do.
This is the work of a beginner in love. I wish to spend the rest of my life
walking the path of the professional, manifesting a mature devotion
to my craft.
Photography is a totally intuitive process for me. I use primitive
equipment -- Canon point and shoots with too much "noise" for the
pixel peepers and art masturbators. This means that I can not do
extensive photos of wildlife, or complicated macro focusing, or in
general, anything moving particularly fast.
I don’t seek out the subject. They all come to me in the flash of an
instant, as an insight does to anyone with a clear mind.
Foot before foot, one step at a time.
It is just moment by moment of red mind, upon which we rely solely.
-- Shobogenzo
Nikkormat FTN with that 50 f/1.4 lens. About the same time, a kid in
my high school shoved me into a darkroom the way some kids are
shoved into the deep end of the swimming pool.
I fell in love then, and never fell out of love. Only my husband merits
more passion than photography.
Regretfully, then, as now, I was poor. I could not afford the film,
chemicals and paper. I sold my equipment.
Thirty-odd years I toiled as a medical transcriptionist, loathing and
fearing every moment of it. I was too tired for "hobbies" when I got
home after a day of droneful commuting.
Two years ago my husband gave me a digital pocket camera for
my birthday. It had no manual exposure and, of course, 100%
autofocus. I rediscovered my passion. It consumed me like a bonfire.
I am now 52 years old, one year older than my mother was when
she died. Even though I am in ragingly good health, one never
knows how much time one has left. I do not have time to waste on
things about which I feel less than passion. My outer life needs to
reflect my inner artistic one. I have a lot of catching up to do.
This is the work of a beginner in love. I wish to spend the rest of my life
walking the path of the professional, manifesting a mature devotion
to my craft.
Photography is a totally intuitive process for me. I use primitive
equipment -- Canon point and shoots with too much "noise" for the
pixel peepers and art masturbators. This means that I can not do
extensive photos of wildlife, or complicated macro focusing, or in
general, anything moving particularly fast.
I don’t seek out the subject. They all come to me in the flash of an
instant, as an insight does to anyone with a clear mind.
Foot before foot, one step at a time.
It is just moment by moment of red mind, upon which we rely solely.
-- Shobogenzo
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