At 18 months old, my photographer father put a small brownie camera in my hands. I learned photography at his knee, 12 possibilites in a yellow foil wrap at a time. I couldn't wait for the red light and the brown liquid to work their magic and render my images, way too young to understand the chemistry behind it all. Taught to always have my camera, as well as a fishing pole with me, as I imagine he wanted me to be able to fill my soul as well as my belly. He taught me everything he knew until he passed when I was fourteen. Broken-hearted, I used photography to bridge the divide that now separated us.
Once digital began and film was "the old way" the transition felt both exhilarating and treasonous. Exhilarating because gratification was instantaneous and the boundaries were no longer. Treasonous because my Dah would have said, "It's cheating, too easy, every image is precious and deleting with a click is like abandoning a child." I had a wonderful yet cantankerous mentor that stepped in to channel my artistic energy, even to this day. He blesses me, but my soul still searches through my work for my Dah's approval. I was taught all genres, to be able to shoot each effectively before moving on to the next. To delve, seek the depth, unlock the core of my subject... that is my perspective.