OK, it’s time for another common question I get. Not surprisingly, many people want to know, “How did you become a photographer?” I tend to answer along one of two lines, either, “I have always been a photographer,” or, “Well, it was a long and winding road.” I’ll speak bit to all of that.
I remember being a young child. As a marked youngest in the early 70s, there was not a lot of photos taken of me. But, do remember 2 adults who were avid amateur photographers asking to take my picture. One was a neighborhood friend. I think he as doing a class, and he asked to take a photo of me with my favorite holiday present. I can remember feeling so special and so honored to stand there with my fashion doll as he posed me and that dolly, like a classic portrait photographer. He was taking my photo. He was interested in me. My aunt also did a portrait of me when I was quite young. I remember the lift it gave a glum young me to be the subject of a more casual, photo journalistic photo. When I saw the image, the fact that it was in black and white seemed very sophisticated, indeed. Photo bliss.
My experience of photography as an act of love, of honor, and indicator of value was set at a very young age. My dad got his Olympus OM-1 somewhere back there, and it was generally produced for occasions that could be seen as special or important: vacations, holidays, special events. In those moments where I was included in a picture, I felt seen. To be attended by the camera’s gaze was a much needed dose of validation. With all this meaning already in place, I embraced photos, valued them acutely, and even found them a little bit magical. It’s not surprising that the role of photographer was innately attractive to me, as well.
When my older sister got a camera for Christmas one year and I did not, I was overwhelmed with envy. I think I was five or six. It would be a couple more years before I, too, received a Kodak Instamatic camera for Christmas. Hers had a blue color block on the front. When it came time for mine, they had moved on to a red strip and upgraded from flash cubes to flip flash. I was styling.
From then on, my greatest recurring joy was to get my pictures back from being developed, along with new film and flash. For as long as I can remember, most of my allowance went into things photographic. I entered my terrible snaps in the summer camp competitions. When I was ten, I got a shot of a contentious moment at a friendly regatta and enjoyed the hubbub around the crews wanting that photo evidence. Being behind the camera was even more validating than being in front of it. I pointed my camera at what I thought mattered, and when people saw the results, they clearly agreed. Now, that was a refreshing experience. That never gets old.
I was asked the why-are-you-a-photographer question by some would be bohemian type at a studio party. When I answered that it was because I felt that every frame was an act of love, he rolled his jaded eyes and all but shouted, “Oh come on!” For me, all my roles as photographer are best done, and most happily done, with love, from those in which I serve as witness to those in which I act as creator.
When I met up with my riding camp mentor many years later, she asked what I was doing. “I’m a photographer.” “You always were the girl with the camera.” Well, how I got from the one on to the other will be another post.
