Documenting with photos has given me a desire to see and to live, more so than I used to have. I've always been content and happy with staying home. With blankets and with books, candles, and mug after mug of mint tea. I like being alone, in my own space. My thoughts free to travel at their own pace. The silence wraps me in warmth, like an old friend.
It wasn't that I was afraid. Well, not always. I'm capable of enjoying myself and connecting with others, being out and being seen. But oftentimes, when I am "out," I struggle to find my role or place in it all. I have a difficult time with feeling like I belong anywhere. I compulsively wonder what people think of me, what to say, if I'm being rude, if I sound stupid, if I smell weird, silently plotting ways I could sneak out without anyone noticing.
When I go some place beautiful, I get overwhelmed with it. With the wind through the trees and the way the light bathes everything I see in that sleepy golden splendor. How could I ever capture or comprehend such things? How could anything I do ever compare? And somehow, all of that beauty - It makes me sad. It makes me sad because of my complete inability to see and feel and express it all. This probably makes no sense, but regardless, it is how I feel. I guess because they make me want to create my own beautiful things, like a child mimics a parent, of which I felt completely adept. Because, you see, I could never do them justice.
But with a camera in my hands, I am alive with purpose. My brain buzzes with possibilities. I race to capture the light - caught in my lense like bottled scent. I get right up close to someone's face, and it's a new dynamic because for once, they're the one who's uncomfortable. But I am confident. Because I get to show them the magic in the way the sun and shadows were just barely dancing on their cheeks, unbeknownst to them. The light echoing silently from their eyes. I get to show them that they are one of these beautiful things.
I hesitate to call what I do "photography," because I hesitate to call myself a "photographer." That somehow feels pretentious and a bit ambitious for my current level of skill - which is somewhere between, "Wait, what?," and, "These aren't...horrible." There are a million others out there with a passion for photos who do it a hell of a lot better than I do. But that isn't really the point.
I must admit and acknowledge that this particular medium has given me a drive and curiosity for experience and exploration that I've never had before. And, I guess what I'm saying is, I'm anxious to see where it leads.
*Models: Some dear friends of ours. The lovely female with the mystical gypsy hair is Holly, who is the reason I even dared venture into this medium. Aren't they fetching?