Somewhere in the fugue state of childhood bliss, there is that moment of realization when you learn that things that are really fun can sometimes hurt. Depending on the magic developmental formula, some kids are emboldened by this - a badge of honor of sorts; others become wary. My transformational moment occurred on a park slide - the old-school kind. The F U N kind - twisty, steep, metal. Exhilarating and fast. Especially in red plaid polyester bell bottoms.
For those of you who've had the graciousness to keep up with my blog, you know my feelings on reduced friction sports, which often combine the most fearful of attributes - speed and lack of control. This feeling is, shockingly, pathognomonic of my approach to most things ... s l o w l y , c a u t i o u s l y ... after careful observation and analysis, and with a modicum of assurance that (1) the risk of pain (literal or figurative) has been minimized, and (2) chances of success have been maximized.
I have always enjoyed taking pictures - to observe, absorb, interpret, and capture. Back in the days of film, I would pick up the developed pictures with a mix of nausea and excitement - sometimes the NatGeo composition that I saw was there on the 3x5. Many times, it wasn't. The important realization though, is that, there or not, the joy of the initial experience remained.
It was a big deal to launch beachradish images®. In true form, I was as OCD/thoughtful as I could be about it. That said, I have zero control over how my images, or style of photography, are perceived. I have had glowingly positive feedback, and I have had the occasional stinging comment. I still haven't quite defined what "success" looks like. What I do know, is that the ride will be twisty, steep, and exhilarating. Even without red pants.