a while back, i was talking to a friend about writing. you see...she writes magically. and i'm pretty much in awe of everything she shares. i have no doubt that she'll be published some day. and she will be both author and illustrator. her drawings are equally amazing as her writings as is her photography? so we chatted away and i shared with her something that i've only shared with a special few (very few).
since starting this blog, i've had quite a few comments about my writing, asking me things like,
have i always loved to write? did i write before i began blogging?
the truth is...
my mom is 100% german, born and raised in germany. she came to the US when she met my dad (american GI) and became pregnant with me. from that point on, my mom did her best to become americanized. she became fluent in english, although reading and writing continued to always be a challenge for her. and my dad was just not very active in our lives growing up.
with a german mother and a father who didn't play a huge or encouraging role in my life, i don't remember reading much growing up, except for the books my teachers forced me to read. i don't remember owning books. i don't remember books on a book shelf. i do remember getting my hands on some judy blume books, which i did read and enjoy...but that's about as much as i read for fun.
the combination of a german mother with a limited english vocabulary, a father who was not very involved, and little reading resulted in my own limited vocabulary--something i have always been embarrassed and insecure about.
in high school, english was my least favorite subject (along with social studies).
in college, i dropped english lit three times until my final semester, when i was forced to take it and pass, or i wasn't going to graduate nursing school. i clearly remember one of our first assignments; we read a book or story (can't remember) about a bear in the woods. i thought,
how the hell am i going to write an entire paper about this, when it's just about a damn bear in the woods.
i sat down with my paper and pencil and wrote. turned in this paper that i completely bullshitted my way through and the next thing i knew, the teacher was sharing my paper (ack!) with the entire class as an example of a well written paper.
what? how the hell did that just happen?
the class went on. i continued to bullshit my way paper by paper. and ended up with a B+ in the class. proud and blown away, i still did not like english lit or writing; i just thought i got really fucking lucky.
that brings me to today. because of my vocabulary or lack thereof, i continue to have this fear of writing. and well, i feel it all equates to being a shitty writer...that i write like a child. sometimes while writing, i'll think of a word that i might have heard somewhere and not being sure if i'm even using it correctly, i'll go to my handy-dandy computer dashboard and look up the definition.
i'm not making excuses. it is what it is. and i try really hard not to dwell in or make excuses because of my past.
why do i share this?
we all have our insecurities. my vocabulary is a huge insecurity of mine and writing puts it out there for everyone to see (or read). in sharing this, i hope to encourage you to not let your personal insecurities get the best of you--give it your all and be proud. you never know where it will take you.
Is that my sessions are filled with lucky shots that are no accident; That I am not merely an observer, but a narrator; and a craftsman that is masterful at fostering conditions that allow for real moments to unfold.
Anyone with an eye for composition and light can document life as it happens. I firmly believe it takes something more to dig beneath the surface–to evolve into a photographer who is not just a picture taker, but a picture maker.
There is a moment of extraordinary that can be extracted from every 10 minutes of ordinary. Capturing it is not about point of view, equipment or framing. Instead, it stems from connection: connection to who the photographer is as an artist, and most importantly, connection to the people being photographed.
What does love look like? Exhilaration? Exasperation? How did she gently twist your hair around her fingers when she was three? And, what did it feel like the day you first held his tiny hands in yours?
I aspire for my photographs help to tell the stories. Theirs. Mine. Yours too…
her words are magical. i dream of writing so elequently. for now i savor her words...
to be a picture maker and not just a picture taker to know there is a moment of extraordinary in every 10 minutes of ordinary to know that it really is about the connection
love you steph. i cherish our friendship more than you know!
from my 365 grateful project...