Let me claim for the record that I am an amateur photographer, emphasis on the word amateur. As a matter of fact, the thought of taking photos used to overwhelm me. I didn't think I had the "photographer's eye" to take stunning photos but I would have settled for photos that just weren't...awful.
When I first gave myself permission to take photos, I was on a trip thru Europe. Who in the world could travel to Europe and not take pictures? Not even me. Paris was the first stop on our four-Country tour. Think Eiffel Tower, The Louvre, Notre Dame. OK got the image in your mind?...Great!
So, there I was at The Louvre wanting to take a picture of my two friends in front of the famous Glass Pyramid. I positioned them so I could capture them and the Pyramid. I took several photos. Since I was new to the photography thing I figured I should take some extras. Just in case. (Those were the days before digital).
For the remainder of the trip I took photos, bunches of photos. The beautiful architecture of Prague, the fetching Austrian mountaineer in the train station in Vienna, the ornate government buildings in Budapest. I was excited about the pictures and could not wait to have them developed once I got back to the US.
Much to my horror the pictures were awful. (Really, I'm not just saying that to be self deprecating) I had roll after roll of bad pictures. The lighting was off, the composition was non-existent and the focal points were confused.
Of course the friends I was travelling with wanted to see the photos. (Oh, did I mention one of them was a photographer?) I had no interest in showing them the photos because of my embarrassment but they encouraged me to bring them the next time we were together. So I did what anyone would have done. I went home and sorted through the least awful of the bunch to show.
As I looked at each photo I studied it to see what I could learn about how to do it better next time. For the most part I was clueless except for one photo. The one thing I could decipher was about composition. The photo of my friends in front of The Louvre. It could have been improved if I shot them close up with the Pyramid in the background. I was attempting to get a photo of them, the entire pyramid and some of the architecture of the rest of The Louvre as well. I had positioned them far away standing against the Pyramid. They were just little specs in the photo and blended in with all the other tourists.
Armed with that information about my creative mistake I once again gave myself permission to take more photos, even more"AWFUL" photos, to learn what made an interesting or a striking photo, or something that captures a scene or a moment.
Fast forward to today. I have snapped tons of photos since then. Some I really like and some are still bad. When I see the bad ones I wince a little and then chuckle to myself and think, oh, another Louvre picture, more creative fuel.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Fall
September is coming to a close and something sticks out in my mind. It is a feeling from childhood, a certain sadness that approached every fall that matched the changing of the season. It matched the trees losing all their leaves, left with only a trunk full of bare branches. It was an emptiness, a lonliness, missing the warmth and sunshine, the brightness of the blue sky. Missing the long days and the prickle of the sun's rays my skin. Missing the swimming and bike riding with my friends. Missing the beach parties and staying out all night. Maybe what I really miss is the long ago times of summer with its freedom, laughter and innocence...
Monday, September 14, 2009
If I were you
Have you ever heard someone say to you "If I were you I wouldn't do that?" Really? "Cause I think if you were me that is exactly what you would do because then you would be me and that is what I am doing.
I think what people mean is "If I were me I wouldn't do that." So why don't we say that? Isn't that what we really mean with that phrase? Well, if I were me I would be chuckling right now. If I were you I have no idea what I would be doing...
I think what people mean is "If I were me I wouldn't do that." So why don't we say that? Isn't that what we really mean with that phrase? Well, if I were me I would be chuckling right now. If I were you I have no idea what I would be doing...
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Motocross and maybe a little more
I had an interesting conversation with my father the other day. I think we all admire our dads and respect their opinions. My dad is the smartest person. Really. I know, I know, it sounds like that thing we chanted on the play ground when we were kids right. "My dad is smarter than your dad." And no disrespect intended but in all candor he really is the smartest, not only guy, but person, I know.
OK let's throw back to when I was a little girl, maybe 8 years old, which would have been in the early 1970's. My dad was the person who told me at 8 that I could do anything I wanted to do. Anything. So I decided I would race motocross. Yes, at 8 and on a real motorcycle. My brother was racing and I thought if he could do it so could I. So began my career at motocross. No pomp, no circumstance just "OK sweetheart if that's what you want to do'" The only sticking point was there would be no powder puff for me. Since my brother was already racing it was incumbent upon me to race with the boys. Frankly that was fine with me I didn't really want to race with the girls anyways. I thought it would mean more if I could compete against the boys and hold my own.
My parents did what any responsible parents would do...OK now I can already hear some of you saying that a responsible parent would have said no!...I digress...As responsible parents they got me all geared up with helmet, riding pants, protective gear up the wazoo and off I went to practice with my brother.
During the time I was racing people did not necessarily have their names on their jersey's or helmets but in our family you did. Not only is my dad smart but he is also an incredibly gifted artist and on my red helmet he painted in beautiful, artful, feminine yellow lettering "Cheryl" in what seemed to me like huge letters. I am here to tell you at 8 I did not understand the psychological advantage of siking out your opponents ( now I do). I just wondered why my name was so doggone big on the back of my helmet. I was embarrassed by it. It seemed braggadocios to me. When I took my dad to task over it and asked him why it was so big and in such an easy to read color he just smiled at me and said "Sweetheart I want those boys to know it is a girl passing them out on that race track."
I didn't really get the point and when I asked why he explained it to me in this way. "Sweetheart (by the way he still calls me sweetheart to this day) I want those boys to know but more importantly I want you to know that you can do anything a boy can do and most of it you can probably do better." The notion I took away from that experience wasn't so much that I was physically stronger than the boys or even better but rather I was there equal.
I am sure you would like to hear that I was awesome at motocross right? Well I wasn't bad. I did something like 10th in the state in overall points for the seasons I raced. I did not set the track on fire with my abilities or anything like that but heck what girl gets to decide at 8 to hop on a motorcycle and take it to the dirt and have her parents say 'sure if that's what you want to do." How empowering of my parents to do that for both my brother and I.
How revolutionary of my father to send a clear message - you will race with the boys, because you can. Who knew I would learn about equality in the human race at 8? I think my father knew. And the other day when we spoke our conversation centered around him reminding me again of my equality. Only this time it wasn't about being equal to men. It was about being equal to other women. This time it stung a little but I needed to hear it and am grateful.
OK let's throw back to when I was a little girl, maybe 8 years old, which would have been in the early 1970's. My dad was the person who told me at 8 that I could do anything I wanted to do. Anything. So I decided I would race motocross. Yes, at 8 and on a real motorcycle. My brother was racing and I thought if he could do it so could I. So began my career at motocross. No pomp, no circumstance just "OK sweetheart if that's what you want to do'" The only sticking point was there would be no powder puff for me. Since my brother was already racing it was incumbent upon me to race with the boys. Frankly that was fine with me I didn't really want to race with the girls anyways. I thought it would mean more if I could compete against the boys and hold my own.
My parents did what any responsible parents would do...OK now I can already hear some of you saying that a responsible parent would have said no!...I digress...As responsible parents they got me all geared up with helmet, riding pants, protective gear up the wazoo and off I went to practice with my brother.
During the time I was racing people did not necessarily have their names on their jersey's or helmets but in our family you did. Not only is my dad smart but he is also an incredibly gifted artist and on my red helmet he painted in beautiful, artful, feminine yellow lettering "Cheryl" in what seemed to me like huge letters. I am here to tell you at 8 I did not understand the psychological advantage of siking out your opponents ( now I do). I just wondered why my name was so doggone big on the back of my helmet. I was embarrassed by it. It seemed braggadocios to me. When I took my dad to task over it and asked him why it was so big and in such an easy to read color he just smiled at me and said "Sweetheart I want those boys to know it is a girl passing them out on that race track."
I didn't really get the point and when I asked why he explained it to me in this way. "Sweetheart (by the way he still calls me sweetheart to this day) I want those boys to know but more importantly I want you to know that you can do anything a boy can do and most of it you can probably do better." The notion I took away from that experience wasn't so much that I was physically stronger than the boys or even better but rather I was there equal.
I am sure you would like to hear that I was awesome at motocross right? Well I wasn't bad. I did something like 10th in the state in overall points for the seasons I raced. I did not set the track on fire with my abilities or anything like that but heck what girl gets to decide at 8 to hop on a motorcycle and take it to the dirt and have her parents say 'sure if that's what you want to do." How empowering of my parents to do that for both my brother and I.
How revolutionary of my father to send a clear message - you will race with the boys, because you can. Who knew I would learn about equality in the human race at 8? I think my father knew. And the other day when we spoke our conversation centered around him reminding me again of my equality. Only this time it wasn't about being equal to men. It was about being equal to other women. This time it stung a little but I needed to hear it and am grateful.
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