learn how to take photographs

I grabbed the camera today and started taking pictures of my dog whilst she posed ever so perfectly for me on her own personal catwalk (or would that be dogwalk).

I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what the camera was doing. My vision was blurred from a migraine at the same time even, but by golly, it was an opportunity with the sunlight shining on her just right, so I grabbed the camera and did what felt right.

It’s a digital cam, so I have to find the USB cord to see how I really did, but I’m proud to report in that I took a step closer to my goal. At least now I can say I’m trying.

My father takes extraordinary photos.

They are amazing compositions, long before the age of digital photos. I remember him dragging that camera bag around every family vacation and weekend drive ever.

And the slides. Oh good lord, every film processed never came back on photos. No way, we had to have them process on good old fashioned slides.

And the lucky stiff, my baby sister got the photo gene. I don’t know how it happened, but I looked at her photos one day and realized “hey, look. That’s Dad’s eye!”

Me. I think I own, what? Five digital cameras? Six? And maybe two video cameras? My dear sweet husband is under the impression (mistakenly given to him by ME) that the problem with my photos is not behind the viewfinder, but inside the camera.

No. I finally admit. The problem is behind the viewfinder.

PHD (Press Here, Dummy) cameras were made for me. I don’t know why, but I seem to have missed the gene for photographing.

I suspect that it might be in there. I really do. Which means that I’m going to have to start poking at it and picking at it, almost like you pick at a Band-Aid.

I know that sounds odd, and maybe even gross. But I also know that for me, that is what works for my creative process. I have to poke and pick and ruffle and basically annoy until my creative process sits up and says “WHAT? What do you want?”

Then it notices that something is happening and sends a message to the creative center of my brain.

So – I guess it’s time to start looking for the missing photo gene (and hope to goodness that my sister didn’t get all the photographing genes). Dad is really quite good and her photos are nothing to sneeze at.