I realized recently that since earliest childhood, I have seen my world in picture frames.
With or without a camera in my hand, my eye searches out pattern, color, foreground, background, and other artistic qualities that make the shot.
Sometimes, I actually could take the shot. In elementary school, there was a class picture only because I was behind the camera. I documented the farm and the river that ran alongside as many times as Mom would allow me to use the camera. In her day, pictures were only taken on special occasions because the film and developing were too expensive to fritter away. But I took shots of the kids in their grubbies, of Dad laughing or snoring or dropping his false teeth to tease us. I took pictures of Mom gardening with curlers in her hair and of Dad fresh in from milking or working in the fields—earthy…
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