My father started his professional photography career the year before I was born. Fortunately, I was his firstborn, which meant that not only did he capture sweet pictures of my early years, he took the time to make prints and put together an album. One of my fondest first memories is of a tricycle that my father found sitting outside of a dumpster that he brought home.
As a 3-year-old, it didn't matter where this wonder machine came from because it was mine. Made of solid steel with hard rubber tires, it is virtually indestructible, which is why I believe it survived my childhood and teenage years with progressively more dangerous stunts and adventures.
It became an icon of my childhood, and a big part of that was looking back at this photo of myself so little with feet that couldn't touch the pedals. A picture that my father made out in our front yard and put inside my album. When I left for university and got my own place, I took the tricycle with me. At the time, I saw it as a bit like a sculpture with strong, graphic lines.
As the decades passed, this heirloom never left my possession. It found places to exist hanging from the garage ceiling or sitting quietly in the corner of a room. One reoccurring thought was that someday, should I ever have kids, I'd pass it along to them.
I didn't grow up wanting to be a photographer, but that was the life I grew up knowing. And, as fate would have it, that's what happened. One day, while shooting a wedding, I met the woman that would end up choosing me to be her husband (she wasn't the bride...thank goodness!)
Getting married had a significant impact on the way I looked at the value of photographs within my own life. Once we had children, I realized how special it was not only to connect between the generations but also to give an idea of belonging. As I'd sit with my daughter on my lap looking at pictures in my album of when "Daddy" was her age, this picture was always one where she'd say, "Hey, that's my tricycle!"
A thought grew of making a photo that use my gifts and talents to give her something similar to what my father gave me. He and I work together in our professional lives, and so we conceived a way to create something new and incorporate the old.
When I think of our daughter, she's full of natural wonder and creativity appropriate for kids her age who embrace their vivid imaginations. Using the same tricycle that I had my picture made on so long ago, she's riding facing a fan with a shadow of her on a motocross bike on the wall. The fingerprints of a photographer are on every image we make, but for this one, we decided to include something more literal. A connection point for her many years from now is my picture sitting on the floor.
I also choose some books and things of sentiment to give her more clues about myself and the watch to symbolize how I'm aware of the passage of time. A print of this picture hangs prominently in our home. There is something about its presence that weaves into the fabric of our lives and everydayness.
Photography is a gift that my father gave me far beyond my chosen vocation. He gave me connection points to memories of my childhood and, more importantly, a deep connection to his love. Putting the fullness of my hands and talents into something that passes the same along to the next generation is my privilege.
The importance of a print. Our memories, our connections, our sense of place, and purpose within our families become intertwined with the physical piece of paper that shows our story and captivates our imagination.
As a 3-year-old, it didn't matter where this wonder machine came from because it was mine. Made of solid steel with hard rubber tires, it is virtually indestructible, which is why I believe it survived my childhood and teenage years with progressively more dangerous stunts and adventures.
It became an icon of my childhood, and a big part of that was looking back at this photo of myself so little with feet that couldn't touch the pedals. A picture that my father made out in our front yard and put inside my album. When I left for university and got my own place, I took the tricycle with me. At the time, I saw it as a bit like a sculpture with strong, graphic lines.
As the decades passed, this heirloom never left my possession. It found places to exist hanging from the garage ceiling or sitting quietly in the corner of a room. One reoccurring thought was that someday, should I ever have kids, I'd pass it along to them.
I didn't grow up wanting to be a photographer, but that was the life I grew up knowing. And, as fate would have it, that's what happened. One day, while shooting a wedding, I met the woman that would end up choosing me to be her husband (she wasn't the bride...thank goodness!)
Getting married had a significant impact on the way I looked at the value of photographs within my own life. Once we had children, I realized how special it was not only to connect between the generations but also to give an idea of belonging. As I'd sit with my daughter on my lap looking at pictures in my album of when "Daddy" was her age, this picture was always one where she'd say, "Hey, that's my tricycle!"
A thought grew of making a photo that use my gifts and talents to give her something similar to what my father gave me. He and I work together in our professional lives, and so we conceived a way to create something new and incorporate the old.
When I think of our daughter, she's full of natural wonder and creativity appropriate for kids her age who embrace their vivid imaginations. Using the same tricycle that I had my picture made on so long ago, she's riding facing a fan with a shadow of her on a motocross bike on the wall. The fingerprints of a photographer are on every image we make, but for this one, we decided to include something more literal. A connection point for her many years from now is my picture sitting on the floor.
I also choose some books and things of sentiment to give her more clues about myself and the watch to symbolize how I'm aware of the passage of time. A print of this picture hangs prominently in our home. There is something about its presence that weaves into the fabric of our lives and everydayness.
Photography is a gift that my father gave me far beyond my chosen vocation. He gave me connection points to memories of my childhood and, more importantly, a deep connection to his love. Putting the fullness of my hands and talents into something that passes the same along to the next generation is my privilege.
The importance of a print. Our memories, our connections, our sense of place, and purpose within our families become intertwined with the physical piece of paper that shows our story and captivates our imagination.