To which I always reply, "I'll let you know if I ever become one."
Well, really. I'm not a professional photographer. I don't get paid for my pictures (though it'd be amazing if I did), I don't get great shots every time (though to be fair, I know that even professionals don't get perfect shots 24/7 either), I don't even really know as much about it as I like to think I do (yes, Mom, you're right).
But here's the thing: I love that little Canon more than I can express. That camera has been a Godsend since I got it last May. Some of my friends excitedly informed me that they were getting cars for their graduation. I wasn't jealous. Tibby, my camera (yes, she does have a name) has been more important to me than a car ever would've been. And why? Because I can't just enjoy beauty when confronted by it. I feel like I have to do something. Preserve it, either in writing or in film. This, I think, is a big part of what draws me to filmmaking: I don't just want to preserve it, I want to tell a story about it. I want everything I do, be it photography, writing, or motion pictures, to have multiple interpretations.
Yesterday, I got extremely lucky, because at the precise moment that I just decided I'd had enough, and escaped from my cabin for a half-hour break, I had my camera in my hands. I was in tears, but I was also in a very beautiful location. This is the result: just a handful of pictures of the camp where I work, located in the beautiful woods of Northern Michigan.
You're awesomesauce
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