the practice of patience

Babies oblige, scrunching and burping and stretching and drooling, more or less lying there all chubby and delectable. Toddlers must be chased, cajoled, tickled, bribed, tricked. Adults require layers upon layers of self-awareness to be peeled back with a gentle hand.

A few days ago, Marco taught me a new lesson. He was too cool for me. And it changed everything.

We scrambled atop boulders and danced like crabs and dug for treasure and walked through the woods to a secret cabin perched on the edge of the sea. What made for shot after shot of his little brother and sister was contrived for him. UGH, he said to me, rolling his eyes in mock boredom, sticking out his tongue. I don't want to do that.

You... what? Oh. Okay. Harpy out.

Startled, I turned away for a while, focused instead on the toddler and the preschooler, pointed my lens at familiar and readily tameable beasts. All with my mind racing, and one eye trained on the conundrum that stood kicking rocks by himself, hugging his mother one moment and scowling good-naturedly the next.

Shooting Marco was the first time I've ever been so exquisitely attuned to patience. To stepping back, to letting him show me what kind of photo he wanted me to take--not the kind myself or his parents may have envisioned, but what is just right.

This is the age of the birth of a sense of self--delicate, tentative, antsy.

But looking straight at you, when he chooses to.

Seeing Beyond My View

I recently wrote an article that’s up at PBS Parents about how to get kids into photography. It’s a topic near and dear to my photo mama heart. It has been such fun for me to see both of my daughters as they have grown into little shutter sisters.

I watch as my 5-year-old haphazardly shoots away at anything that catches her eye with little thought or regard of how the photo is going to come out, if it even comes out at all. She’s all about being in the moment and isn’t too concerned about the future result. It works for her. Mistakes and accidents photographically speaking can make for some pretty artistic imagery. My 10-year-old on the other hand just recently spent her own money on her own camera, and what she is doing with her handy new little red point and shoot is quite inspiring. I notice her becoming more aware of her surroundings, more mindful with her camera and how she creates a photograph. Her images are much more deliberate now and they are awesome.

While camping over the summer, she snapped this shot of me using a cool panorama feature her camera offers.

Put your hands on your hips Mom.

*click

See mom, this is MY perspective—showing the photo—Pretty cool, huh?”

Pretty cool indeed. It’s one of my all time favorite shots from her to date.

Looking at myself (er, my bust line) surrounded by that surreal landscape among all the tents in the middle of the Amish country of upstate NY will always take me back to our summer adventure. And this particular picture reminds me of how much I don’t see. How impossible it is to see life through someone else’s eyes it and how important it is to try sometimes.

Have you been inspired lately by a photo someone else took that helped you see the world with fresh eyes? Celebrate someone else’s vision today by leading us to a photo that has moved you. It can be from a child, a friend, found on a blog or at Flickr. Any image at all that helps give you a new perspective.

And if you happen to have a little shutterbug at your house, you are encouraged to join the Flickr Group A Little Perspective—it was created just for clicks from the younger set. I’ll be hosting the Little Perspective Day this Friday at Mother May I too, if you want to join us over there.

Crap Shoot

I saw a photograph the other day of a baby. She was about eight months old, with round bubble gum cheeks that sat on her tiny shoulders. It reminded me of my own babies. Except suddenly I couldn't think of any pictures that I had of my own childrens' cheeks. The realization felt surprising and sad. And final. Like without the solidity of a photograph, the memory of those details was now precarious. What about their fat knuckles?  And their finger nails? And their belly buttons? Did I take pictures of these things? Or had I been putting it off until "tomorrow when I wasn't so busy". And now it was too late, and those memories feel like any minute they might fly away. Then, the more I thought, the more I realized I hadn't been putting off those pictures because I was busy. It was because I'd been viewing my life as a photographer. Instead of a mother. Person.Observer. We talk a lot around here about showing the messy, the real, the imperfect. And I believe in all of that. So that's why it surprised me to realize that I'd been looking at my whole LIFE as a photo session. If the light was bad, what's the point? If I was too far away, "it'll just sit on my hard drive as a snap shot anyway". YUCK. Sometimes we end up longing for those "bad" snap shots!

So, I'd been mulling this over. And Monday I had an opportunity to get over my self and my stupid perfectionism. My daughter, Annie, started kindergarten and my heart was in my throat. There were people, and flourescent lights. She was nervous, and I was missing her already. All I had was my little camera, and a horrible view of her in a far-away sea of children. But it was the last view I'd have before she walked into that Big Girl Hallway. My baby. The one I kept in the hospital bed with me because I wanted to watch her breathe. She used to fit into my kitchen sink. And her day belonged to me. Now I would have to rely on others to tell me about it. So many times I'd been counting down "until". But at that moment I would've given anything to be able to put her back into that sink for one more bath. Or to feel her sleeping on my shoulder.

I didn't want to lose that feeling. So I whipped out my little camera, zoomed in as close as I could, and got this. A shot that is so blurry you can't hardly make her out. But I love it because it reminds me of how fast everything goes by.

So, in honor of "letting go", I'm calling this "Crap Shoot" day. These are your shots that wouldn't necessarily win an award, but that help you save an important story. Please share yours with us! And then next week, stop by my blog on Thursday, because I think I'm going to make this a regular thing.

p.s. I don't consider this shot above as a "crap shot". It's just an image of one of my sweet clients. They're expecting their first child, and it reminded me about how fast it all goes. One day you're shining a flash light into a belly. The next, you're watching your baby waltz into kindergarten. So take pictures. In the end, all that matters is remembering.

Enchanted

It is true that the magic of childhood is for the most part intangible however, as a professional photographer and a mother I know that the perfect moment in time captured in a picture can tell a pretty grand tale of the enchantment.

What is it exactly that makes us swoon at the sight of a sleeping baby or melt when we feel the motion of uninhibited play and total freedom of being?

Do the eyes have it? It is a gesture? Or something about the context of the shot that makes it irresistible?

Even after all these years, and many clients later, I’m not sure I can put my finger on it exactly. I guess I just know it when I see it, just as I’m sure you do.

Share with us in a photo what kind of kid stuff stops your grown-up heart in reverie.

The Making of a Shutter Sister

"Mommy, where is my camera?!" she called out as we hurried towards the door. "I don't wanna go without my camera."

I remember what it felt like to take my first photos.  Such power. The notion of capturing a moment in time and keeping it in view forever. It was a good feeling, and I knew from the age of seven that I loved holding a camera to my eye and looking at life through a viewfinder.

When I purchased my digital SLR a little more than one year ago, I shelved my first digital point and shoot in a cabinet. The "antique" had a dent in the side from a careless fall and a frustrating delay at the click of the shutter, but it did have the ability to shoot video, so I kept it.

My five-year old daughter asked about it one day as I walked around our backyard looking for little gifts to discover and shoot. "Can I take pictures with you..." she asked. "...with your old camera?" I'm not sure why I hadn't thought of that idea sooner, but her proposal was a fine one. Of course. So I ran inside, grabbed the camera and taught her where to look and how to zoom. 

And suddenly... it clicked.

* * *

Do you remember your first camera or your first few shots? Have you shared a camera with a child in your life? Did his/her perspective surprise or inspire you?