Remember my photo class? The one called "Finding your Vision Courage?" Well, it finally ended. After many weeks of shooting, editing, writing and crying. It finally ended. And I survived.
The hardest part? Writing the damn Artist Statement. Me. The one who started out with an interest in writing. Who discovered a passion for taking photos along the way. Struggled to write the damn statement.
And I know why. It's the same reason I always struggle with writing for classes. It becomes too personal. The thoughts that I keep bottled up inside me. That I never want to see the light of day. Are the only ones I seem to write about in class situations. Because if I'm going to write. It has to mean something to me. And the things that mean something to me. Are the things I don't like to talk about.
And of course we had to read our statements aloud. Or rather our partners read our statements aloud. And in my case. She read. While I bawled. Yep. Big heaving, gasping tears. Totally embarrassing. It sucked. And then to top it all off? My partner told me to basically cut out everything I wrote.
Later others in the class made me promise not to change it. And told me not to read it on the day of the reception. So I wouldn't get emotional. In the end, I did edit it. Basically making it longer.
At the eleventh hour BSD found out he would not be home for the reception. Needless to say I was crushed. But the reception turned out to be a lot of fun. Thanks to some very dear friends. Who came to support me. And stayed the whole two hours despite an absolutely gorgeous beach day passing them by.
A table filled with snacks and drinks kept the ballerinas and their friends happy. And my friend's father-in-law volunteered to keep us all entertained as our very own piano man. What a treat that was!
In the end I learned a lot. About myself. About my vision. About courage. I'm sick and tired of the photos I took in this class. But I look forward to taking more. So I'd say the class was a success.
Family Photographs
Growing up, I have fond memories of my father as the family photographer. The worn leather strap of his Leica hung from his shoulder throughout our family travels. He photographed our family, doing ordinary things in extraordinary places, and he brought that world back home for us through slides projected onto our living room wall.
Just like my father, my family inspires me to pick up my camera. Beyond the family trips and birthday celebrations, I am captivated by capturing the everyday moments. Those moments that I don’t want to forget: the way my youngest curls her blankie around her fingers before she drifts off to sleep, or the dozens of chocolate chip cookies we’ve baked together over the years; even a simple hand-scrawled note or a family game of cards.
The photographs displayed here are simple: a family doing ordinary things in ordinary places. This collection represents a season of our family life, literally and figuratively. Other seasons will come and go, and with my Canon hanging from my shoulder by its patchwork strap, I will continue to document our “ordinary” life. As my father did before me, I will leave a legacy in the form of photographs for my children. Simple. Ordinary. Extraordinary.
***
Note: The two photographs from the reception were taken with my dad's camera. *big cheesy grin*
The hardest part? Writing the damn Artist Statement. Me. The one who started out with an interest in writing. Who discovered a passion for taking photos along the way. Struggled to write the damn statement.
And I know why. It's the same reason I always struggle with writing for classes. It becomes too personal. The thoughts that I keep bottled up inside me. That I never want to see the light of day. Are the only ones I seem to write about in class situations. Because if I'm going to write. It has to mean something to me. And the things that mean something to me. Are the things I don't like to talk about.
And of course we had to read our statements aloud. Or rather our partners read our statements aloud. And in my case. She read. While I bawled. Yep. Big heaving, gasping tears. Totally embarrassing. It sucked. And then to top it all off? My partner told me to basically cut out everything I wrote.
Later others in the class made me promise not to change it. And told me not to read it on the day of the reception. So I wouldn't get emotional. In the end, I did edit it. Basically making it longer.
At the eleventh hour BSD found out he would not be home for the reception. Needless to say I was crushed. But the reception turned out to be a lot of fun. Thanks to some very dear friends. Who came to support me. And stayed the whole two hours despite an absolutely gorgeous beach day passing them by.
A table filled with snacks and drinks kept the ballerinas and their friends happy. And my friend's father-in-law volunteered to keep us all entertained as our very own piano man. What a treat that was!
In the end I learned a lot. About myself. About my vision. About courage. I'm sick and tired of the photos I took in this class. But I look forward to taking more. So I'd say the class was a success.
Family Photographs
Growing up, I have fond memories of my father as the family photographer. The worn leather strap of his Leica hung from his shoulder throughout our family travels. He photographed our family, doing ordinary things in extraordinary places, and he brought that world back home for us through slides projected onto our living room wall.
Just like my father, my family inspires me to pick up my camera. Beyond the family trips and birthday celebrations, I am captivated by capturing the everyday moments. Those moments that I don’t want to forget: the way my youngest curls her blankie around her fingers before she drifts off to sleep, or the dozens of chocolate chip cookies we’ve baked together over the years; even a simple hand-scrawled note or a family game of cards.
The photographs displayed here are simple: a family doing ordinary things in ordinary places. This collection represents a season of our family life, literally and figuratively. Other seasons will come and go, and with my Canon hanging from my shoulder by its patchwork strap, I will continue to document our “ordinary” life. As my father did before me, I will leave a legacy in the form of photographs for my children. Simple. Ordinary. Extraordinary.
***
Note: The two photographs from the reception were taken with my dad's camera. *big cheesy grin*