Getting Foolish About Photography
I was walking through the park with a good friend this morning when we ran across this magnificent Ford Fiesta. It was literally held together by tape, hope, and a healthy dose of honesty. I immediately pulled out my phone and snapped a couple of pictures. Had my friend not quickly pointed out that there was someone actually sitting in the car, I would have taken some shots of different distances and perspectives. I will return to this photo once in a while for years. It’s not a great photo. But I like it, and I enjoyed the moment of capturing it.
The world needs great photographers. Serious people with a rare sense of vision and timing who’ve dedicated themselves to their craft and invested in their gear. I’ve recently discovered and accepted that I won’t be one of them. Six weeks ago, I bought a nice camera, practiced with it, took it on an overseas trip, and didn’t really take any pictures with it. Whiff. Sigh.
And what of the four weeks since I returned?
I’ve taken several pictures that I actually like. You probably saw this coming, but I took them all with my iPhone. My favorite is a mangled bike rack I photographed while stopped at a light. I dog sit often, so I always try to get a good-quality portrait shot of each dog. And we had a gorgeous thunderstorm two nights ago, and I decided to see what I could do with some panoramas. (If you’re curious, I’ve included a photo album at the end of this post.)
As I’ve reflected on what else is different since I sold the big camera, I realized a few things. First, let me clarify. I’ve had at least one nice camera for most of the last ten years. I always felt a little guilty about not taking more pictures with it or not bringing it with me to specific events. Several times throughout any given Thanksgiving day, I’d either regret not having brought the camera. Or if I had brought the camera, I’d often feel a bit invasive and voyeuristic. I wouldn’t feel fully present at that moment.
Also, a big digital camera changes the vibe of any given moment. Call me old school, but I associate big cameras with senior pictures, weddings, and paparazzi. None of those things are fun or spontaneous. But camera phones are.
There’s a goofiness to putting my phone in portrait mode and getting down on my stomach to take odd little dog pictures. And there’s a delight in capturing the random violence someone exacted against a bike rack or the story we’ll never hear about all that duct tape barely keeping that bumper attached.
Part of the reason I wanted to become a competent photographer was to develop a conscious (and eventually unconscious) practice of seeing the world more clearly and beautifully. With more story. Suddenly, it feels like I am.
