Chatting to a fellow dog walker this week, I was asked whether photography was my hobby. I was momentarily taken aback by the question since I’d never thought of it like that. Photography is something I just do. As the bassets and I strolled on further I started to ponder on what photography actually means to me since I have invested hundreds of hours and more than a few dollars over the last two years.
All my life I have been learning something but what’s different about learning photography is that I’m studying it because I like it not because it might help me professionally. For once I am learning something for the love of it and so by definition that makes it a hobby. This fleeting encounter has in lots of ways been life changing as I finally realised that for me photography is not a passing interest but something I actually care deeply about for no other reason that it makes me feel good in a masochistic sort of way.
Being a photographer is a painful journey of learning art and science. At least using a digital camera you can privately delete your less good photographs and n0one need know. Beats the ritual humiliation of learning to play golf. Unless of course you sign up for a photography course that requires you to handover all your booty warts and all for critique.
It’s taken me a few weeks since the review of our first photography field trip to finish processing the photographs. But here they are at last.
I can’t claim any great story that binds these photographs together. They are more of a collection of things that caught my eye on the day although reflecting on the photographs since I have come to realise that behind every photograph there is something more revealing about myself. My nearest and dearest will know that my mum died too early in life so death of a loved one is something I can relate to with every fibre of my being. So being in a churchyard undoubtedly brings back memories in lots of ways. From the personal stories you can read on grave stones to the memorial flowers left by loved ones.
Artificial flowers on graves make me both smile and cringe. Unlike natural flowers they don’t wither and die gracefully but hang around looking increasingly bedraggled and dare I say sometimes distinctly tacky. Whatever their state there is something beautifully poignant about the gesture of flowers in memorial. Laid in respect and love as a lasting momento. There is nothing artificial about the act despite their artificial form.
But we were on assignment in the church yard to practice technique. Shots that give a sense of place.
Shots that tell a different story depending on your point of view.
Photographs that capture colour and the environment. A sense of place and time.
There were moments when I struggled to find anything of interest and then there were times when the light made something otherwise plain into something more interesting.
Looking for contrast was not difficult given the colours and textures. I was particularly taken with the older style monuments.
I took a multitude of pictures before finding my story in this otherwise plain object.
For all the different techniques and perspectives what makes photography an enjoyable past time for me is that amongst the clutter in the world there are human stories to be told. In the case of a church yard where there is life there is also death. And where there are people there are memories to be honoured.
