If you ask the great photographers who are also very nice human beings they would want me to think there’s nothing called a professional photographer or an amateur or a hobbyist. They’d want me to believe in my art and think of myself just as a photographer irrespective of where I am technically or otherwise. As long as I’m making intentional photos. I know it’s unfair but when I look at their work and where I am I start to imagine a black and white movie scene where a dark street probably in 1940-50s, urban environment, filled with people with dark tall buildings on both sides of the road, side walks are hardly visible because on the road (the ground level) are the photographers like me who haven’t found themselves and are lost somewhere in the crowd. Everyone has a camera. Starry eyed I’m looking at photographers in the buildings by the window of their rooms (higher level) are only a few. They are busy doing their work, sipping the coffee, reading their books and can be easily recognized even by their shadows.
So when some times I wonder about what I should be photographing next I unfortunately miss to see the most important parts of my life right there in front of my eyes. My family. How about documenting my kid’s growing up years. I fear once she starts walking and make friends she’ll have less time for her dad. Until that happens I try to capture the moments that involve her so to create memories that she’ll hopefully cherish when she looks back at her photos.