i recently got a new camera, after having a great one for a while and then trying to replace the great one (since three years made it SO obsolete they stopped making it) with a super duper piece of crap camera that i had dreams of throwing from tall buildings or smashing to bits with heavy blunt objects. christmas was good to me, and i am now properly equipped with a fast-action-make-everything-look-like-a-million-bucks lens through which to see the world.
i once wrote an email to my good friend, danny schmidt, declaring excitedly that i had finally discovered my life’s purpose. it was around the time that i decided right before going on stage that i really didn’t enjoy performing....like, at all. i didn’t like the jitters before playing, i usually felt nervous and clumsy when i was up there, and i didn’t like the part afterwards when i couldn’t talk to anyone without feeling like i was putting them on the spot to tell me it was a great show, and then questioning the truth of the statement and trying like to hell to learn how to take a compliment.
i wrote danny to tell him that i wanted to be a photographer, or more so, that i finally realized that’s what i was. photography is so innocent and so pure. photography has naught to do with ego; how could it? it’s being a witness to life’s miracles, big and small. nothing more and nothing less, except knowing when you see one and when to click a button. you’re not creating anything, only sharing. that was a tremendous relief to me at the time. it still is.
as dramatic a moment as that was, really i was just feeling shy and scared and uncertain and noticed a whole new bright light that captivated me. and now instead of leaving the old light behind i’ve learned to see music in much the same way. we’re really a witness to everything, even ourselves.
a new camera feels like a new skin. my eyes and my heart are more open. they see things in a different light. and they’re seeing that everything is a miracle, really. everything is amazing.
