There’s something that clicks in my woman’s soul when the shutter on my camera captures an image, but it’s hard to explain. I had spent the afternoon discussing an independent study class with a professor, and she brought up some interesting questions for me to ponder. Part of my area of interest is how older women are portrayed in ads, cinema, and still photography. My professor asked how I would take their picture without adding to the distortion of what exists. I hadn’t thought about it quite that way, and enjoyed the mental gymnastics it caused. Another thought—who am I shooting the photographs for? The subject? Me and my sense of what is visually interesting? Society? What am I trying to say about aging that hasn’t been said or seen before?
It was a lot to digest. When I arrived home I took a moment to pause and look around. A large frog hovered near the fish pond waiting for his insect supper to appear. The orange daylilies swayed to secret rhythms carried on the softest breeze. I took photographs and let go of all mental dissection and reasoning. In this moment the images were for me, and me alone, and it was the best part of my day.
