A favorite quilt instructor of mine, out of Colorado, teaches an on-line photography class. At the end of last month, the price for the class was deeply discounted for about a week. I went back and forth trying to decide whether to take this class, worse than a 16-year old girl figuring out what to wear on a first date. Self-care won the day, and I’ve done the first pre-class lesson, which is getting familiar with where my camera’s non-automatic functions live.
Part of today has been spent attempting to install required class software on my ancient (no longer merely an antique) laptop. Obviously this has been a cauldron of frustration, which had me hacking permissions (something I haven’t done for a decade) surrounding the downloaded install file itself. The 33.5 steps it took me to get the actual software queuing-up hardly matters. Lets just say I am more determined than ever to replace this computer.
My dad (and my mom’s brother) was a professional photographer. He shot art, architecture, causal portraits, or groups of people. My first camera, a Kodak Tourist II, is sitting in between two antique sewing machines on a chest in my study. I’ve always had a decent eye for composition when shooting photos, and have done well with each generation of camera I’ve owned, but only from an intuitive place. I’m looking forward to taking a much deeper dive.
It’s interesting to mature into a place where our relationship shifts with our parents. When dad was my age I was 25. A married adult with 2 kids. No longer a bratty child (well, mostly). Today, I love looking back at the connections, and seeing how much of what he did, I do. Sewing, gardening, photography.
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