Photography is so personal and a reflection of who we are and who we want to be and how we wish to be perceived by others.
Here I am 67 and counting looking around observing the fast changing art that is the field I choose to reflect my inner vision and how inside I so wish to be perceived.
A 10 year hiatus traveling around California in a pony drawn covered wagon and supporting myself taking Polaroid Pictures of children dressed in a cowpoke costume certainly wasn't the Matthew Brady clone I had envisioned I'd be.
Actually, I was in a time bubble when photography entered its digital age and during that time I thought a Polaroid Spectra with remote control was as could as it gets. I stored my Nikon's and my 4X5 view camera was stolen off the wagon. There's a whole bunch of fine photographers in our world both professional and amateur.
Anytime you think your a great photographer just because you call yourself a pro, there's an amateur lurking just around the corner with a 4X6 Walgreen's print of his shot of the eastern face of Mount Rainer at sunset to make you eat humble pie.
I subscribed to Peterson's, Modern and it's clone, Popular while the library along with intense conversations along Riverside International Raceway's Turn Six with fellow sports photographers served as my curriculum vitae in part.
Now I surf and there is so much information with thousands of photographers sharing their knowledge it dang near amounts to an overload. My favorites list is far too long and I even store the sites on delicious.
I will be more detailed and even perhaps more to the point as time goes on. I know about the fancy graphics programs and that holy grail of the digital photographer, Adobe CS3. I learned about smelly chemicals, 16X20 Drums, HC110, Rodinal (great developer for TriX)
I took in all the lore about Ansel Adams, and the Zone64 system as I recall was the term used. I still think it's silly.
But photographers are born geeks.
And, if they're like me and there's a lot like me, we're shooters.
The photographers I truly respect and, yes, admire, are the Brady's of our past and especially L.A Huffman who was a chronicler of the American Wild West when it was wild and of course Mr. Curtis who is a Northwest icon.
I have a inward grin reading about the difficulties in storing and transmitting digital images when my mind thinks of my predecessors transporting wet plates down the mountain spines on the backs of balky mules. Glass breaks you know that, of course.
