The Lesson of My Photographic Lament


I have fallen in love with photography.  Twice.

First, though, I must forewarn those among you with the stamina to trudge through to the conclusion of this brief photo essay – this is a tale of regret… a confession of sorts.  But, as with most proper confessions, there’s a consolation and freedom in naming the offense.  In this context, my admission is that I fell out of love with photography.  At the worst possible time….

The photo at the top of this post is of my oldest daughter.  As she was learning to lift her head and discover her surroundings, for maybe the first time, my brother Rob grabbed this image with a film era Minolta SLR.  He was shooting Tri-X or equivalent black and white emulsion and I barely noticed that he was photographing her.  Now, twenty plus years later, it remains one of my favorite photos.

As a young teen, my fortunate acquisition of a Petri rangefinder camera (a gift of my brother Ed) started a love affair with photography.  This phase included setting up a darkroom in my parents’ basement, moving up to a fully manual Pentax K1000, transforming into “that guy with a camera” during high school and college years, always gaining admission to sidelines and court sides at the sporting events of the era, and achieving a level of sophistication and success that even prompted me to consider a career in photography for but a fleeting moment.

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