A Captured Life

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Some people may live to make a difference, some people may to just make the money; some may just live to live.But me, I live for photography. I live knowing one day I will take that perfect picture, a picture that will capture the very heart, soul and beauty of this world. My passion for photography was set in motion in the beginning of 8th grade. My only options for electives were beginner's photography or teacher's aide. Of course I chose the teachers aide, what kid wouldn't? But to pick that elective a parent's approval was needed, so my counselor called my father. To my disbelief my father said no and so I wasn't allowed to become a teachers aide. So I was stuck with this photography class I had absolutely no interest whatsoever in. I vowed to myself to get back at my father that I would put forth no effort in achieving a good grade. Class after class I sat through it knowing that if I let go of this idea of getting back at my father, I would truly enjoy photography. Finally one afternoon my teacher asked me to stay after class so we could talk. She opened my eyes to how much I truly loved it, telling me I was hurting only myself when I didn't strive to reach my potential. After letting myself go, my distaste for photography developed into love and passion. I began to listening to everything my teacher taught, started coming after school and during lunch just so I could spend more time in the darkroom. My teacher would joke, saying I was having a love affair with the darkroom. Some times it would take me days just to get the picture perfect, fixing each mistake over and over again. It was maddening some days, knowing that in the end I was only making a minuscule change that probably only I would see. But to me that was the difference between greatness and mediocrity. As I began to mature and proceed into high school, my passion for photography still blazed inside of me, never ceasing to die. Seeing my appetite for knowledge about photography my father brought me and a friend of his together. His friend, to my disbelief had worked for vogue photographing top models of his time, photographed top models during the infamous fashion week in Milan, and traveled around the world capturing pictures for National Geographic. What I laid in bed envisioning and dreaming about for years, he had actually experienced. Unbelievable. I became his shadow, soaking in every piece of knowledge he offered. Astonishingly enough he never got annoyed or aggravated with me and all the questions I seemed to have. After more then a year of immersing myself in the wisdom of this incredible man, he passed away. Leaving me with only the moment we had together, the knowledge he graciously gave me, and his favorite camera. Days turned into months and I still couldn't even take out his camera with out my eyes filling with tears. In these moments, photography seemed irrelevant to me. Why should I have been granted the gift to take pictures while his was so hastily taken away? After months I finally realized the lesson I should have learned the first time around, I was hurting nobody else besides myself by not pursuing what I truly loved. And with that, to this day I am still cultivating my love for photography in every single possible way I can.





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