My very first camera was a small point-and-shoot film camera, a flat rectangle of a camera that used film that vaguely resembled an old phone. There wasn't a focus dial, let alone any of the other types of controls we can even see on modern phone camera apps, and if I was lucky, I could pick up a limited use flash to connect to the top. I don't have any of the pictures I took as a child, although I'm sure there's some in a picture book somewhere, but I remember the feeling of capturing a snapshot of the world around me, and the joy of sifting through an envelope of images, eager to see what I made. My experience with that camera planted a curiosity that stuck with me for years, and I would constantly find hobbies or activities that were photography adjacent. However, it would take until I was in my 20s before I finally realized I could take it as a serious hobby, thanks to my first digital camera, a Fujifilm FinePix F50se point and shoot.
It was smaller than my first camera, but it had a limited zoom, adjustable shutter and aperture, and great image quality. It's compact nature and high quality meant I brought it with me everywhere I went, much to the chagrin of my friends, and I managed to capture one of my favorite images (the picture above), and countless memories with my friends. But despite my love for that camera, I found myself wanting more. I wanted to make pictures with an impossibly shallow depth-of-field. I wanted to play with motion blur and spinning lights in the dark. I wanted to pull out tones and colors from images that were currently being compressed into nothingness by the Fujifilm's JPEG format. I toyed with a few "prosumer" type cameras... the ones with fixed lenses that could zoom beyond the minimal throw of the Fujifilm, but they ended up being a step back from my trusty FinePix. Luckily, during a trip to visit my parents, my mom gifted me what would be my first DSLR, a Canon EOS Rebel XS.
I was amazed. I started with just the kit lens before eventually "upgrading" to their 50mm f/1.8... crucially, not the "Nifty 50" version, but I was overwhelmed with the levels of control. I took horrible pictures in inadequate light, and ok pictures in fantastic light. I played with symmetry, shapes, and perspectives. I shot everything I could, never really settling on a shooting style I felt was distinctly me. As I shot, I grew. I began to understand the exposure triangle, composition techniques, depth of field, focal lengths. As I grew, I started to realize the limits of my DSLRs. I didn't like pressing the button to set the aperture so I could see what the sensor would see. The focal zones were limited, and combined with the slow focus motors in the 50mm, the camera missed focus constantly. I was grateful for my DSLR, but it was time for a change, and after missing one too many shots on a road trip, I stopped at a Best Buy and switched to mirrorless... and to Sony. A Sony A7III to be precise.
With the A7III I went from fighting focus and trying to understand what the camera was seeing to just... shooting. There was a time with my DSLRs that I just didn't shoot, I was so frustrated with the camera missing focus and not doing what I wanted that I just... stopped. Switching to mirrorless brought the joy back. I could trust it would nail focus more often than it would miss, I knew what I saw through the electric viewfinder was what the sensor was seeing. I could finally see my exposure, my depth of field. It was freeing.
I was back to shooting everything. I would be asked what I shot, and the answer was always what caught my eye. I've never had a niche... jack of all trades, master of none as they say. But lately I've found myself attracted to the tranquility of minimalism, and ironically, the manic chaos of sports, something I'm hoping to dive deeper into.
I don't really view photography through a philosophical... um... lens. I rarely seek deeper meaning in beautiful scenes, but I do strive to capture the emotion I see when photographing people, or to freeze the anticipation of a big play or the joy in a celebration when photographing sports. I don't see an empty space as a meditation on the world around me, I see its barren emptiness as a type of beauty, something worth capturing.
The world around us is filled with beauty, but with our lives forever in motion it can be hard to truly stop and appreciate a moment. I appreciate the photographers who excel in freezing time and sharing their particular vision of our world, and I am grateful to those of you who have read this far and have taken a moment to view mine.
