The Eye

Now that my life is no longer filled with pending research papers, group projects, exams and looming deadlines, I find myself relishing in the opportunity to explore interests and hobbies that have absolutely nothing to do with school.   I’m stumbling upon interests that I never knew I had, like my obsession with reading women’s auto/biographies (okay, okay maybe that has a little to do with school); or like my love of nature, open land, outdoor activities (Hiking, anyone? How about kayaking?  Hell, just give me some cowboy boots and call me Annie Oakley). Oh, and sweet white wines. Love ‘em with dessert.  And then there’s my budding interest in photography.  I don’t just like it. I love it.  I can’t get enough of it.     

Though I’m new to the photography scene, I already have a list of favorites.  From legends like Chester Higgins, Jr. to newer photographers like Chenoa Maxwell as well as the immensely talented Annie Leibovitz.  Show me the work of a good photographer and I start frothing at the mouth.  Seriously.  It happened this weekend when, while browsing at a local bookstore, I stumbled upon a batch of postcards that each displayed a different photo by Chester Higgins, Jr.  I eagerly examined each one,  losing all sense of time and obligation.  Nothing–other than books and writing–has that type of an effect on me. 

I love portraits, but there’s nothing like photojournalism.  It’s not posed.  Not premeditated.  It’s natural.  Without a doubt, there’s something about a photograph that illuminates the beauty of the everyday-ness, the mundane, the simple.  There are also those photographs that are at once beautiful and grotesque.  They are the riveting images that capture the complextity and bitter reality of our pain and injustice.  

So, here’s to the photographers–the artists who urge us to slow down, take a pause and be present to the world around us.  

(By the way, I took this pic of a friend of mine while at Elmina Castle, just off the coast of Ghana.)