Not surprisingly, I like cameras. Here’s a photo of me from a time before I can remember.
Maybe it has something to do this:
That’s a charm bracelet that used to dangle from my mother’s wrist and one of my first memories is being enthralled by the camera. Maybe because it was mechanical. The other charms just hung there, but the camera popped open and snapped closed. It seemed magical.
They still seem magical to me. Magical toys. They freeze time, capture time, and record time. They are mnemonics and they conjure fictions. They can tell the truth and they can lie. Their lenses can reveal the micro and the marco.
Cameras have also opened doors that might not have otherwise opened and brought me into contact with people I might not have otherwise encountered. All of the subjects of A Life’s Work for sure, but other folks as well. I don’t think I would have done the artist residency circuit if it weren’t for cameras, and I’ve met some of my dearest friends at those places. If cameras hadn’t been a part of my life I doubt I would have traveled to London, Berlin, Los Angeles and many other cities and shown work.
Cameras are the reason I’m currently employed, and possibly for the first time in my life, earning a living doing something I actually like.
And so I’m very grateful that cameras are a part of my life. They have been good to me. But there is also the bad, and the ugly.
On those in the coming weeks.