When it comes to my childhood my memory isn’t great, but one thing that stays with me is the memory of my first photograph. Now that photograph itself was by no means any work of art. I was just little at the time and my mothers camera was sitting on the kitchen table. I wasn’t allowed to touch the camera, being a special expensive piece of equipment, but I really wanted to, I just had to. Without moving the camera, I climbed onto one of the kitchen chairs, got on my knees, peeped through the viewfinder and pressed down on the shutter. Then I heard it…that magical duel clicking noise followed by the cranking of the tiny leaver to advance the film. Now came the anticipation of just what would appear on my image. I had to wait, and wait a long time. The rest of the film needed to be used up, then the tiny film canister needed to be dropped off in town for processing.
I can’t remember just how long the whole process took…days…weeks…months? But I do remember how I felt when I saw that image for the first time, that poorly lit, non composed image of my mothers kitchen sink from the top of the table. I couldn’t believe that I had captured a moment in time that would now be a part of my life forever just by clicking a tiny button. That image, now cast off for the garbage pile as no one knew how it got there, or just what it was a picture of, will always remind me that anything can be captured in a photograph and stand the test of time.
A picture can remind you of that special place, that special feeling that special time and become a permanent reminder of life’s memories big or small. That memory of the underexposed, over yellowed photograph of my mothers kitchen sink is what began my journey and passion for capturing life’s moments.
I love to take a photograph.