Identity: I am not...

Early this afternoon I had stepped outside to take a picture of the Party Tree in its faded not summer (one of the two seasons in central Texas, the other being summer) glory. As I turned, I saw a stark contrast on the porch between sunlight and shadow. I snapped a quick photo (color, landscape). A few minutes later, on my way to meet a friend at Chuys, it struck me that I had missed an opportunity, how I ought to have framed the shot (black and white, zoomed in, portrait).

This happens to me quite a bit. A real photographer would have seen this immediately and captured it, probably shooting at least a half dozen frames-- even with a phone camera.

After visiting Justin's family after Chuys (and incidentally capturing a couple of pics of gorgeous clouds near sunset from his yard), I noticed several scenes on the way home-- including a stunning swath of bare trees silhouetted against a beautiful, vestigial sunset). In each case, I briefly toyed with hitting the brakes on the empty, country road and backing up for the shot. In each case, I didn't so much reject the idea as simply note its passing, and continue on my way.

This happens to me a lot, too. A real photographer would have stopped, backed up, hoped nobody came over the hill, popped up through the moon roof, and captured the moment. Many would have made plans to return the next day (and the next, as many as needed) with a Real Camera[tm] to capture it properly.

My identity is not defined by who or what I am not, but by who and what I am. But it can be helpful to know who and what you are not, if only so you don't waste time, money or energy on trying to be that person.

I like taking pictures. Or, technically, most of the time I should say I like capturing visual imagery on digital media; I seldom use film any more. I sometimes plan to have a camera (at least my phone) handy. I sometimes recognize the moments or images to capture in time to do so.

I don't think and see the world like a photographer. I have photographer friends. They frequently (perhaps always) see the world through a lens, even if they don't have a camera in their hands. In fact, if you locked them up in Gitmo the rest of their lives, where they saw a camera only from the business end on the other side of the razor wire, they would still view life through a lens. A real photographer is, in my experience, wired that way.

I usually take one photo and either use it or don't. I sometimes post poor photos, noting either the crappy camera quality in the phone, or my lack of technique. A real photographer would have several pictures to choose from, and either toss the junk, or if they saw value in it, give it a name and make no apologies.

I've always intended to get a decent camera. I bought a pretty good one years ago for my wife and myself, but she got much better at using it than I did. I bought her a nice, if basic, Sony camera when the film camera died. But somehow there's always something I want more (music gear, for instance) than that camera. No photographer would ever think that way.

I still don't know everything the phone in my camera does after six months.

I mostly take pictures to share a moment or image with others; with my visual memory I don't need photos for me (although I like them). I strive to improve at photography-- but I'll never be a real photographer. I'm fine with that. I know who and what I am. Nobody (not even Chuck Norris!) can be the best at everything. I'm best at being me, so that's who I'll be.

And I'll continue taking pictures, posting and commenting on them, and occasionally blaming the camera or my technique. It's all good.