Not what or who, but why.

It was a simple, benign moment that planted the seed from which I believe a desire to make photos grew. That moment was on my grandparent’s living room floor, under a slide projector, watching my grandpa drop in slide after slide into the magic photo machine. I watched my own mom and her sisters grew up, photos being the medium that carried me into a different life, a different time, a different story. My mom continued on to document my sibling’s and I’s life in a similar, albeit more modern fashion. I still have too many scrapbooks and not enough places to put them. As for me, that small but significant moment was when the magic of a camera gripped my heart, and has yet to let go.

The kid on floor is still the one who picks up a camera to this day. I am not sure I am glad the time of slide projectors has passed, but I can confidently say the giant’s whose shoulders I stand on are those of my Mom, and my Grandpa. If it wasn’t for that old faithful Canon T2i and a few generations of photographers to be inspired by, I would not be the person I am today.

I wish I could say that I only take photos for myself and that my heart would show a desire to only express my creativity and make myself happy. The truth however, isn’t exactly that. If I have learned anything about the game of life, it is that you can’t take any of it with you. The passion isn’t fueled by the idea that I can take them with me, instead it is fueled by knowing I will leave them behind when I am gone.