01.

Almost: Photographer

2004 - Present

Unpublished Shots
Canon Ixus, Canon 400D, Canon F1, Action Sampler, Diana F+, Kodak Ektar H35, Nikon 35Ti, Fuji X100V, Ricoh GRII

The privilege of making the ordinary feel cinematic. The memories of the first ever camera owned; a dazzling red Canon Ixus, gifted around the age of seven or eight, made its way into the everyday life of this young curly girl. Capturing moments with cats, friends, grass, mom and dad, the occasional toys and life that of an eight year old. Silly skits, witchcraft (mixing potions), rock painting and pretend news reports became the subjects where naturally the camera pointed to. None of which survives now, but the memory of making them does. And what a memory it was. The first thrill of holding something so special and having the ability to make them last. The relic that lives somewhere in the drawer, well used, well loved and now well rested.

What seemed to be a short lived hobby became a world that grew alongside the seasons of life. ISO, shutter speed, aperture, joined the ever increasing vocabulary of photographic terms. Along with it a new Canon and Nikon DSLRs that expanded the possibilities of what can be seen and stolen by a preteen. As the world grew more complicated to navigate, so did the practice. Photography clubs, photowalks with dad, long afternoons fiddling with dials that never seemed to make sense. In spite of that, the camera stayed glued and ready to fire away at moments that felt extraordinary. Even in this solitary practice, the excitement of sharing it, especially with who at that time (and maybe still is in my own heart to this day) the best photographer that ever lived; Dad. Who time and time again included me and went with my whims of photographing random objects. A shared joy with wildly different eyes.

The feeling of being cool before anybody was cool, the ‘ahead of the curve’, the trendsetter if you say so, was the major key in which we (me & my very cool big sister) played when we first got our Lomography cameras long before it was a thing. Burning through rolls with our Fisheye & Action Sampler, the world became our experimental playground. Mistakes were applauded, light leaks were art streaks and every imperfection celebrated. Freedom of expression and feeling on top of the world. I didn't know the ceiling could be higher until I graduated to using 120 film. It was rare and expensive to come by but a necessity ever since parents gifted me with yet another incredible addition; the Diana F+. Surprisingly reeling me in to a more subtle and contemplative shooter, as each frame became deliberate and precious, just like the lomo photo books.

The bug of analog became a black hole as I switched over to receiving an heirloom. Dad’s first camera; the Canon F1. Solid, weighty, stubborn, and at this point well over 30 years old - it demanded respect. Its light meter never quite worked right even after repairs, and so we learned how to guess and read light. We managed to tame the beast. Passing along not only the camera, but the tools and practice of bulk loading film, developing b&w rolls and the beauty of prime lenses. The feelings remain, though most of the tools share the same home as the red Canon Ixus. What remains along with a 30m bulk roll of Ilford HP5 that was bought in confidence but never opened serves as a reminder of both possibility and procrastination.

Canon F 1

Diana F+

Action Sampler

Developing Negatives

Nikon 35Ti

Ilford HP5

And yet, came the digital dilemma. The Fuji X100V. For years it had been the ideal, my ideal. Finally crossing over to legitimacy, a ‘real photographer’ or so it felt for a brief moment. What was produced were calculated and impressive shots that rendered me flat and overworked. The ideal camera came with ideal pressures, and the need to produce award-winning shots each snap sank deeper than expected. The invisible audience grew louder and the all seeing judge stood closer. Never feeling quite enough, the camera stood in dust waiting to be the person I thought I should be.

Fuji X100V

Eventually the quiet acceptance came, letting go of what once was and who I thought I could be. Finally facing myself and giving up pretenses. Trading in the X100V for a Ricoh GRIII felt almost like defeat, with a sprinkle of relief. Putting down weighted bricks of being an artist, and back towards memory, towards archiving, towards stealing moments, returning to presence.

1/2 Ricoh GRIII

2/2 Ricoh GRIII