I am fully aware that Jimmy is to blame for my addiction.
Instead of building me the darkroom I wanted over a decade ago, Jimmy presented me with a new camera, a little point and shoot with the then inferior digital format.
He obviously had no idea a photograph, particularly a black and white image, is a work of art, a subtle play of light that begs expression from the moment of inspiration to the birth of that vision on paper.
My early years as a high school yearbook advisor had included a stint in the darkroom that I was now ready to parlay into something I could call my very own.
Who knew the world of digital technology would feed such a frenzy of addiction, with me leading the pack.
Instead of building me the darkroom I wanted over a decade ago, Jimmy presented me with a new camera, a little point and shoot with the then inferior digital format.
He obviously had no idea a photograph, particularly a black and white image, is a work of art, a subtle play of light that begs expression from the moment of inspiration to the birth of that vision on paper.
My early years as a high school yearbook advisor had included a stint in the darkroom that I was now ready to parlay into something I could call my very own.
Who knew the world of digital technology would feed such a frenzy of addiction, with me leading the pack.
"The darkroom is actually inside the camera, dear,” Jimmy announced when I had difficulty hiding my dismay with this unexpected turn of events.
I’d spent the better part of six months talking about enlargers and safelights, chemical baths and photographic papers to drive home my point. I was as subtle as a zebra’s black and white stripes. Alas, holding my new darkroom in the palm of my hands was like discovering there was no film in the camera after shooting an entire roll of what I’d anticipated would be prize-winning images! I wanted to toss the camera across the room!
Jimmy had even gone so far as to purchase a Nikon, relying on clout to help cinch the deal. I was not impressed. Nor was I looking forward to the now necessary steep learning curve required to master this new piece of technology. I was perfectly happy to remain in the twentieth century along with my old-fashioned darkroom and 35 mm camera.
Oh, yea of little faith.
Ten years and a hundred thousand plus digital images later, Jimmy can have the last word, although I dare say it’s buried beneath all those digital dividends.
“That’s enough pictures, Sherry,” Jimmy said after I captured this image and a dozen more of equally mundane moments several months ago while waiting for our plane to take off.
I’d spent the better part of six months talking about enlargers and safelights, chemical baths and photographic papers to drive home my point. I was as subtle as a zebra’s black and white stripes. Alas, holding my new darkroom in the palm of my hands was like discovering there was no film in the camera after shooting an entire roll of what I’d anticipated would be prize-winning images! I wanted to toss the camera across the room!
Jimmy had even gone so far as to purchase a Nikon, relying on clout to help cinch the deal. I was not impressed. Nor was I looking forward to the now necessary steep learning curve required to master this new piece of technology. I was perfectly happy to remain in the twentieth century along with my old-fashioned darkroom and 35 mm camera.
Oh, yea of little faith.
Ten years and a hundred thousand plus digital images later, Jimmy can have the last word, although I dare say it’s buried beneath all those digital dividends.
“That’s enough pictures, Sherry,” Jimmy said after I captured this image and a dozen more of equally mundane moments several months ago while waiting for our plane to take off.
I don't see any "Do Not Disturb" signs.
Okay, so I was bored waiting for the show to get on the road! What’s the harm in snapping a few pictures I can delete at will? Only, delete rarely seems to happen. It is my life, after all, the mundane as well as the magical.
Jimmy does look a bit mundane, but isn't my smile just magical?
I used to bite my nails as a teen; down to the quick. I habitually twirled my fingers in my hair, too, creating wavy ringlets before they were the rage. Adolescence was not an easy time for me. Now I take pictures incessantly, as if the goal is to document every passing moment, banal or beautiful, or lose something forever in the passage of time.
Okay, maybe life still isn’t easy despite all my experience. I’d hope things would change when the kids were grown and Jimmy and I were left to our own devices. That seems to be the problem; our own digital devices. It's less about art, and more about . . . more.
Okay, maybe life still isn’t easy despite all my experience. I’d hope things would change when the kids were grown and Jimmy and I were left to our own devices. That seems to be the problem; our own digital devices. It's less about art, and more about . . . more.
My brother-in-law (Lynda made me promise not to mention names) gets the blame for my current camera. He introduced me to this latest in digital technology.
I took four thousand pictures during the two weeks Jimmy and I were in Maui, six months before my travel blog even took root as an idea for filling my retirement with substance and purpose beyond doting incessantly on my kids and grandkids.
Back in the day, before silver halide crystals on a strip of 35 mm film gave way to today’s pixelated digital decadence, pictures were typically the stuff of special occasions and holidays. They'd yet to become fodder for chronicling every nuance of daily living via social media. Guilty as charged.
“It’s a sunset, Sherry,” Jimmy complained when his patience with my present-but-unaccounted-for companionship infringed on our sharing that sunset together.
Back in the day, before silver halide crystals on a strip of 35 mm film gave way to today’s pixelated digital decadence, pictures were typically the stuff of special occasions and holidays. They'd yet to become fodder for chronicling every nuance of daily living via social media. Guilty as charged.
“It’s a sunset, Sherry,” Jimmy complained when his patience with my present-but-unaccounted-for companionship infringed on our sharing that sunset together.
Yes, a picture is worth a thousand words, and just as many memories.
“It looks just like the sunset did ten minutes ago,
I think Jimmy must be color blind!
and just like the sunset every night for the past week.”
Different angle in this one.
He’s got to be kidding, right?
Of course, don’t ask me what I’m going to do with all those digital sunsets!
Wait a minute! There’s always this travel blog!
As with any addiction, those afflicted are often the last to recognize the problem, much less take steps to correct the problem. Never mind as human beings we’re wired to hoard, at least according to the famed psychologist, Abraham Maslow.
Maslow determined that once our basic needs (food, clothing, and shelter) have been met, we thrive on social recognition, personal worth and accomplishment; those three needs are critical to our perceptions of happiness. No wonder I can't bring myself to delete my precious memories. The more digital images, the greater my worth! Right?
That explains the 700 million comments and likes per day on the king of social media, Facebook. Apparently I'm not alone in my happiness, or my addiction.
I’m willing to admit, there on the beach, the sun setting, I felt an incredible sense of urgency to capture every precious moment (it was my first time ever in Maui, where life suddenly went from black and white to totally Technicolor; this was not Jimmy’s first taste of paradise) least I miss the colors at their peak of perfection. Who knew when that perfection would occur? I wasn’t willing to take that chance. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch to throw in a bit of perfectionism feeding my digital obsession.
OMG! If the Technicolor moments of my life run dry, will my audience (that would be you!) dry up too?
Whoa! I’m suddenly feeling uncomfortably Kardashian!
Perhaps it’s time for a pregnant pause.
. . . . . ! . . . . ? . . . . . . . . . . . . #@&
And all this time I believed Thoreau; I was quite happy leading my life of quiet desperation! Or
was I? It’s going to be a life of very public desperation if I don’t deliver, again and again and again! Yikes! I’m beginning to feel a lot of pressure. My breathing is becoming labored. Where’s my focal point?! Where’s Jimmy?
Wait! Jimmy is the reason I’m in this digital mess! Why is it he gets off with a lighter sentence while I’m left holding the camera and two terabytes of digital files?
Of course, I am the one chasing the truth; the one who sees magic and mystery where Jimmy sees mostly form and function.
Of course, don’t ask me what I’m going to do with all those digital sunsets!
Wait a minute! There’s always this travel blog!
As with any addiction, those afflicted are often the last to recognize the problem, much less take steps to correct the problem. Never mind as human beings we’re wired to hoard, at least according to the famed psychologist, Abraham Maslow.
Maslow determined that once our basic needs (food, clothing, and shelter) have been met, we thrive on social recognition, personal worth and accomplishment; those three needs are critical to our perceptions of happiness. No wonder I can't bring myself to delete my precious memories. The more digital images, the greater my worth! Right?
That explains the 700 million comments and likes per day on the king of social media, Facebook. Apparently I'm not alone in my happiness, or my addiction.
I’m willing to admit, there on the beach, the sun setting, I felt an incredible sense of urgency to capture every precious moment (it was my first time ever in Maui, where life suddenly went from black and white to totally Technicolor; this was not Jimmy’s first taste of paradise) least I miss the colors at their peak of perfection. Who knew when that perfection would occur? I wasn’t willing to take that chance. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch to throw in a bit of perfectionism feeding my digital obsession.
OMG! If the Technicolor moments of my life run dry, will my audience (that would be you!) dry up too?
Whoa! I’m suddenly feeling uncomfortably Kardashian!
Perhaps it’s time for a pregnant pause.
. . . . . ! . . . . ? . . . . . . . . . . . . #@&
And all this time I believed Thoreau; I was quite happy leading my life of quiet desperation! Or
was I? It’s going to be a life of very public desperation if I don’t deliver, again and again and again! Yikes! I’m beginning to feel a lot of pressure. My breathing is becoming labored. Where’s my focal point?! Where’s Jimmy?
Wait! Jimmy is the reason I’m in this digital mess! Why is it he gets off with a lighter sentence while I’m left holding the camera and two terabytes of digital files?
Of course, I am the one chasing the truth; the one who sees magic and mystery where Jimmy sees mostly form and function.
It's a thorny issue, deciding what to do with all those priceless & some not so priceless digital images.
I’m the one who sees the love between mother and child and feels compelled to capture the ephemeral beauty of the moment before it's lost.
Where did the time go? It seems like just yesterday that was me, not my daughter and granddaughter.
I can’t help but see the passage of time in a vast and barren landscape and not truly understand the insignificance of my very own existence (despite my Kardashian tendencies).
Some would have us believe we're all just cosmic dust. Does Iceland's volcanic dust count?
It’s all a blessing and a curse, seeing the world, people, moments with such intensity.
The artist begs expression; the wife, mom, sister, friend & blogger - they all beg forgiveness in the eternal quest to balance the gift of each new day with the blessing/curse of all those digital memories.
The artist begs expression; the wife, mom, sister, friend & blogger - they all beg forgiveness in the eternal quest to balance the gift of each new day with the blessing/curse of all those digital memories.
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