The Life and Death of the Imagemaker

I grew up loving photography. I was the girl who would always been seen lugging a camera everywhere, even as a kid.

Photography was a measure of control. Photos were a means by which I could frame the world the way I wanted. It was my perspective, no one else's. It was a way to communicate without having to speak.

As a little girl, I had a lisp and stutter growing up. This caused me to be painfully shy and so I spent a lot of time with just my immediate family, playing quietly indoors. My uncle was an amateur photographer and so he practiced his craft with his only niece, a willing and eager subject. It was a distraction that helped me probably without him realizing it.

I had hundreds of photos taken of me from birth to the age of five alone. I grew up being aware of the camera, but only in the sense that it was completely natural for me to always have one following you around. It brought me out of my shell. I even did a short stint in commercials for a little while as a kid. But somehow I was never satisfied with being the subject. I wanted to control the contraption. I wanted to be the one in charge. So eventually, my uncle handed over the reins to me.

It was like magic to me. The ability to capture life and freeze it. I was addicted. And I didn't have to talk to illustrate a point! After that, I disappeared altogether as the subject matter in photos if I had a say in it. I've always had a fascination with portraiture, and human relationships as a subject, so I would shoot everyone and everybody as much as I could. I can't tell you how much film I've wasted over the years, just trying to figure this machine out. I never gave up being behind the camera. I lived for releasing that shutter and hearing the metallic click of the aperture mechanism. My toy camera gave way to a 35mm SLR, and then I added a Super 8mm film camera, and a 8mm video camcorder to the mix. I was carting around more audio/video equipment than your typical tourist.

By the time I had hit high school, I was known as that "yearbook girl" with all the cameras. I spent more time running around capturing action and candid shots with my SLR than I did studying. I filmed documentaries on practically everything. I guess it paid off. I guess my uncle's influence bore some fruit, for I eventually found my way into university studying film as a major. There I honed the craft of storytelling, and becoming an "auteur".

After graduation, the reality of my chosen profession was daunting. My fresh-faced idealism wasn't enough to propel me forward. I wasn't able to find stable work, and the constant frustration and stress wore me out. "The Industry" had sucked my passion for storytelling and imagery dry. I had lost my artistic soul. I gave up my dream of becoming a work-a-day filmmaker. I chose to find a "regular job".

So now I'm happily working away at a stable government job programming for a living. It's definitely a far cry from my artistic roots, but I find creativity in aspects of my work, and that's enough for me at the moment. I enjoy the people, and I believe in my work. It's a lot more than I can say about my previous film jobs. I sometimes run into old acquaintances and they ask me how my film career is doing. It is always an angst-filled moment when I recount my story. I do miss it sometimes. It's like missing a former lover. It wasn't meant to be, but you are fond of the happy memories.

In the meantime, I will continue on framing the world as I see it though my camera lens, but now I do it for me. I will continue writing my stories and expressing my thoughts through written and photographic media, but I do it on my own terms. No budgets. No clients. No money-men. No critics. Just me. Who knows, maybe one day I will once more take up the mantle of full-time artist.

For those of you who manage to make a living out of your first love and passion: Congratulations. You have my utmost respect.