As most anyone who is acquainted with me knows, I hate having my picture taken. I imagine 75 percent of all the pictures taken of me in my lifetime have been corrupted by a nasty face, a tongue sticking out, a quick turn of the head, etc., etc., etc. Of the remaining 25 percent that I did not deliberately destroy I blinked, smiled wrong, posed at the wrong moment or otherwise turned a perfectly good photo opportunity into a nightmare. Well, oh well, I say because I'd rather people remember me for who I am and not what I look like in a picture. (And yet, my brother and his girlfriend still insist on finding all the pre -1990 photos of me with puffed bangs, fluorescent shirts, and braces and remembering me that way - and yes, to top off the atrocious fashion, I was generally sticking out my tongue or flipping my eyelids inside out) I should add at this point that my routine destruction of picture shoots stems primarily from my mother's obsession with taking pictures of her children. Yes, we had the annual holiday trips to Sears or Olan Mills for the classic family portrait-the typical unnatural pose in front of a log burning fireplace with large downy flakes falling gently outside the window. Mom always thought this the perfect opportunity to pull out all the stops and dress us in plaid kilts, peter pan collars and of course little black patent leather Mary Janes. And my poor brother-his version of the kilt routine was a pair of plaid knickers and a nice set of suspenders. It was embarrasing enough going to the mall dressed like a Scottish bagpiper, but then there was the eternally long wait where we sat stuffed into our heavy coats, mom furiously combing every last hair down on our heads, dad barking at us to sit still and behave and inevitably, someone having to go to the bathroom. Around us, fifty other families sweating in their coats, combing their hair and otherwise doing exactly as we were. And then under the intense heat of the lights and near suffocating confinement of the tiny studio we'd be memorialized forever and be on our way-not exactly quick and painless, but a breath of relief as we were at least done with that for another year. But it wasn't really these trips that led me to my pattern of photographic rebellion. It was really mom's obsession with the basic point and shoot. "Just one more", "I just want one of all three of you", "Let's try one with your father", "Oh how about over there"....and we thought the invention of the digital camera would somehow help our plight....but no, this just led to "Oh rats, that didn't work", "Mark, you were looking the wrong way", "Why is your father eating chocolate","Where is Erin?", "Linsey, your eyes are closed"-which then in turn led to a repeat of the original "Just one more's". And so, it slowly became a game I couldn't resist. With just the right timing, I could destroy every picture...and I did. My brother became quite adept at my game as well...in fact, we're still quite good at it. But as always, what goes around comes around and I now have two children that, on occasion, I feel I would like to preserve a few memories of. (There are of course a lot of memories I would like to not preserve....Colty and Amelia playing with a bottle of baby oil comes to mind here...) As anyone who has attempted to take a picture of small children knows, it's near impossible. They don't sit still, they don't smile on command, they don't stay dressed and they certainly don't maintain a combed and mannerly appearance. They do run around like hyenas, take their clothes off, pick their noses and fight and bicker each other to tears. Over time I have learned that "posing" small children is just not appropriate-and more often than not, it's the candid, unposed shots of them playing that do end up being memorialized as my favorites. It's in those shots that a moment is captured-a glimpse of that pure joy that can only be felt and expressed by a child-and it's not something that's captured by a snazzle-toothed department store employee waving a stuffed bear and saying"Peanut Butter Pickles!" Those moments that in an instant take you back to that time, that feeling and that memory-that's what a true picture should be about. I believe photographic skills can be learned, but there are only a few who truly have that gift to capture the essence of the moment. (This is perhaps why I am not a fan of department store portrait shots...or maybe it was all those annual holiday photo shoots....) This weekend we had the privilege of entertaining my college roommate and her husband-both avid photographers, and very good ones at that. I do believe, that somehow we managed to capture a few "moments" in the lives of Colton and Amelia-although this was in part due to the wonderful pink hippo story we fabricated to keep them looking up and towards the lense...in fact, I think I see that hippo now-right over there-just next to the window-do you see it?
A candid shot from our afternoon walk..............
And, of course, a few of the dogs...........
And you will notice there are none of me...............
And these two are still looking for that elusive pink hippo..............
Thanks to Cory and Alex for all the wonderful pictures!!
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