As a child I was truly fascinated by my emotional responses to light and dark. I became obsessed with the changing climates of the day. I would watch a cloud pass overhead and cast it’s mood upon people and terrain. I remember harsh noon light making rich black shadows and twilight casting desaturated gray-blue tones. These observations translated to photography. At the time I didn’t understand why I would stare at photos in magazines for hours, dissecting my feelings toward the colors, mood and textures but I continued to observe.
There is nothing more that I can remember then watching my Dad swing his camera around his shoulder. He never walked anywhere without it. We have family albums that date back to the day we are born. He never missed a photo of us. Every month he would demand our presence just to maintain the currency of his photo albums. He would always upgrade his equipment and hand me down the old cameras. I loved cameras even before I knew how to use them. I guess, my Dad was my first teacher. He didn’t tell me how to shoot or what to shoot but explained to me that the camera worked magically by itself once set on automatic. I know this was his sense of humor but it sparked me. To me this meant that the camera harbored some type of magic and I wanted to know, how?.
In fourth grade summer school I took my first photography class, a basic class that showed us the darkroom. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the photo sheet dropped into the developer and my image was born under liquid.