It's interesting to me how few times in life when professional photos will be taken of us. During school there are the obligatory class photos which may or may not be considered professional (depending on your exact definition), there's prom and/or homecoming or some other such dance which, again, is school related, your wedding day and then, that's about it. That's not to say that there isn't the random snapshot of you on vacation, accomplishing something exciting, but, in general, that about marks the end of any expected photojournalism of one's life.
I used to think that taking photos of myself was narcissistic, that it indicated some flaw in my personality that I felt the need to see myself in photos. However, when I inventory how many photos I have in my possession that include me not looking goofy or mugging for the camera, I see that I am simply filling a void. It's a learning process for me as well, exploring aperture and ISO settings, without having to annoy someone else to pose for me. Zane is mostly a willing participant, but sometimes he is uncooperative so I'm a last resort.
Once, when visiting my great-grandmother, she sat transfixed on a large black and white photo of a young woman on the wall. "That's me," she sighed. I looked at it intently trying to imagine the woman sitting before me as that beautiful, young woman. I was much younger at that time then she was in the photo, but I remember being at once jealous of how lovely she had been and sad to see how age and Alzheimer's had changed her. "You're beautiful," I told her and I meant it.
I just hope one day I have a photo like that to keep me company in my old age.
I used to think that taking photos of myself was narcissistic, that it indicated some flaw in my personality that I felt the need to see myself in photos. However, when I inventory how many photos I have in my possession that include me not looking goofy or mugging for the camera, I see that I am simply filling a void. It's a learning process for me as well, exploring aperture and ISO settings, without having to annoy someone else to pose for me. Zane is mostly a willing participant, but sometimes he is uncooperative so I'm a last resort.
Once, when visiting my great-grandmother, she sat transfixed on a large black and white photo of a young woman on the wall. "That's me," she sighed. I looked at it intently trying to imagine the woman sitting before me as that beautiful, young woman. I was much younger at that time then she was in the photo, but I remember being at once jealous of how lovely she had been and sad to see how age and Alzheimer's had changed her. "You're beautiful," I told her and I meant it.
I just hope one day I have a photo like that to keep me company in my old age.
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