I rank as a world-class photographer. Unfortunately, no one else is aware of this fact.
My father espoused the Raccoon School of Photography, in which you had to stare into the sun until your irises melted onto your corneas. The resulting prints showed everyone with raccoon circles around their eyes. I also witnessed the power of the light meter.
“Don’t anyone move,” cautioned my father as my younger brothers and I waited for a cloud to pass. Dressed in our Sunday best, we held our breaths and froze.
“Skip the pictures,” said my mother, “or we’ll be late for church.” But father held firm, camera in hand, light meter looped on a cord in the other hand.
By the age of 9, I was considered responsible enough to receive a simple push-button camera. I specialized in action shots.
“Fall over,” I said to a brother wobbling past on his bike. “Fall over,” I said to another brother stumbling past on skis. “Do that again,” I urged, “and look more natural when you fall.”
I loved my little camera. I love my current cameras — the ones with built-in light meters and discs, the ones with film and filters and instructions books as big as manuals for operating nuclear power plants.
Alas, my love is not reciprocated, even though I’m ever alert to great photo ops. The majestic medieval Palazzo Vecchio in Florence, Italy, with a full moon rising and a horse-drawn carriage passing by as if on cue; kindergartners in China concentrating on their brush-and-ink drawings; a frosty morning in a grass-seed field showcasing a giant Oregon oak, the branches loaded with buzzards …
The list goes on. But there are no photos, just dead batteries, missing film, lost discs, wrong lenses and one camera that missed a whole trip by slipping under a couch pillow.
I signed up for an online photography class. I submitted a stunning photo of lotus blossoms in a Chinese pond. The teacher’s feedback didn’t match up with my photo. I realized the instructor critiqued my picture holding it upside down. I requested another instructor.
The next assignment had a theme: “Glamour.” The closest I’d gotten to glamour was shopping at REI for a new backpack. But I picked out one photo of my dashing brother in yellow rain gear, steering a sailing vessel in the Baltic Sea, clouds scudding past in a blue sky that provided accent to billowing sails. I labeled it “Glamour at Sea.”
The instructor’s return comment: “I am not amused.”
I switched to a local community college photography class. I hate to brag, but I became a standout student. “Admit it,” I said to a classmate, “I’m the worst photography student, aren’t I?”
She hesitated, reluctant to feed my ego, but finally admitted that yes, I was the worst photographer in class.
My top-ranking status was ruined by a grandchild: “Grandma, I want you to take my senior pictures.” No evidence of my incompetence shook her resolve.
We trekked to parks and gardens, grand old houses and river banks. She changed outfits as often as I changed cameras. Then I discovered a carousel horse standing in a field. The resulting “golden hour” photo, with setting sun, granddaughter’s arm draped around carved figure, and instructor who helped with the black-and-white print, nudged me from “worst” to a short moment of “nice work.”
Next class assignment theme: “Fine Dining.”
I started with a fire in the fireplace, pulled the coffee table close and covered it with a linen cloth. A pink rosebud in a silver bud vase, candles in crystal candle holders, polished silverware glinting from the glow of the fire, and a linen napkin added elegant touches. The guest’s favorite dish, a large smoked beef bone (with a parsley garnish), reclined on a fine china plate.
The resulting photo showed the guest, my Australian shepherd dog, freshly shampooed and groomed, sitting in front of his meal with a smile on his face and drool on his chin.
My instructor’s response: “I’m amused.”
I’d say that currently my cameras and I have a love-hate relationship. Sometimes the people actually look like who they are—not escapees from “wanted” posters. Trees and streams turn out so clear one can almost smell the fir needles and campfire smoke. Other times after photo sessions, the family encourages me to take up another hobby — like wallpapering.
I signed up for a Photoshop class. I’m hoping to learn how to remove raccoon-looking eyes, and how to Photoshop a mini-mart into looking like the Palazzo Vecchio.
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