I Just Changed My Mind

I was sitting here writing a different blog, and changed my mind. I want to write about a little boy and his younger sister.

My husband and I went to New Orleans this past summer. Now, of course it was an amazing trip, considering neither of us had been. But this trip to me, was a little bit more special because we took a day to visit the Lower Ninth Ward and the devastation that the Hurricanes had caused.

We didn't know prior to visiting New Orleans that you could actually go on an organized tour through these areas. Upon perusing the brochures in the Hotel lobby, we learned that you can tour the cemeteries, swamps and "NOW NEW AND IMPROVED TOUR THE DEVASTATION OF THE LOWER NINTH WARD!" *Gulp. That was a little too hokey for me.

I had brought both cameras along on this day trip and an extra memory card. I wasn't prepared to miss a thing. On the other hand, I felt like such a jerk taking photos of other people's misery. It just didn't seem right at the time. Maybe it still isn't right, but I'm a "see it to believe it" kind of girl. The news didn't show me what my own two eyes could. And I wasn't prepared.

Mostly, our drive was silent. We were both astounded at the devastation and ruin in the community. We were both aware of the fact that at many times, we weren't welcome there. I imagine tour buses in your neighborhood will do that to a resident.

We just crept around in our car, feeling sad and astounded all at the same time. I mean, this was four years later and there were piles and piles of garbage in the streets. But this garbage was different. It was walls and carpets and sinks and windows and furniture. It was lives and memories in piles on the roads left to rot in four years of neglect. Utter sadness.


Rounding corners, it was wise to keep an eye on who was watching you. It was wise not to stare. Dark tinted vehicles made their rounds and crept in behind us wondering what we were up to. We just kept going and I kept shooting. People would arise from their porches to gesture to us at street corners wondering "whatchoo lookin' at?"

Understood. This is not a Zoo. You are not on exhibit. This is your neighbourhood and your home. I understand. Driving on...

We passed dumpsters and FEMA trailers and foundations with lone flowers growing at the sidewalk where houses used to stand. We saw unimagineable heartache. Yes, we saw it; and we felt it.

The sun had come out and the clouds were parting when we decided enough was enough. I had my photos and my husband had had his fill of sadness for the day. I looked at the map and suggested that he take a right at the next corner to get us back to the main road and out of the neighbourhood. He argued, but I know my directions if nothing else!

Upon heading to the corner in our rental car, I saw a little guy and his (presumably) younger sister approaching the corner as well. We made a right turn and I watched while Older Brother gently put his arm out and stopped Younger Sister from crossing close to our car.

I smiled at his kind protectiveness and he smiled back at me.

My heart swelled. For the most part, we had been unwelcome in that neighbourhood. We were tourists getting high on other people`s misery.

But for this one quick instant, I realized that just one resident of the Lower Ninth Ward knew I saw the good and the kind and he smiled at a complete stranger in a car.

So, I was going to blog about how much I really dislike coffee, but instead, I remembered this little boy and his sister. I hope he shot hoops that day and that she cheered him on. I hope they found a safe place to play amidst that heartache and that they were happy for the afternoon.

I don`t know what home they went back to, or where they lived. I don`t know if they have a backyard to play in and warm safe beds at night. I do hope that we all remind our children and friends and loved ones how lucky we all really are.

An Open Letter To Winter

You're lucky I like you, winter. Because some others don't. They try to exclude you, uninvite you, dislike you.

But I like you.

I like having an excuse to turn on the fireplace and get warm. I adore bundling up and heading out while the snowflakes are falling. I love nothing more than watching big, clumsy snowflakes make their way to their final resting place. (What? They DO know they're going to die there where they land.)

I like -no I LOVE- Egg Nogg. You can only get it at Christmastime but I would use it year-'round on my cereal if I could. My mom used to mix it with Amaretto and I'd do anything to be allowed to have a sip. I started young, Winter. But I don't blame you.

I like tobogganing until your toes freeze and your cheeks turn the impossible shade of pink that you wouldn't dare buy at a cosmetics counter. I like wool socks on hardwood floors and runny noses (as long as they're mine or my children's. I'm not wiping YOURS, sorry.)

I like the patterns of frost that you create on the windows and doors and refuse to believe it's inefficient heating in my home. So what? I still don't blame you, Winter.

I like icicles hanging and looking like dangerous teeth on the sides of buildings. You don't scare me, Winter. Your bark is worse than your bite.

And how about seeing my breath in the air? Isn't that just a wonderful phenomenon? Think about it! Crunching snow under your feet and knowing that it's REALLY cold outside and the snow is too cold to even pack. Saying "it's packy snow" and not feeling politically incorrect, because, well, it IS packy! And that means snowballs and snowmen! (It also means war, so keep your head up.)

Most of all, I love nostalgia stinging when I hear any music from Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph or any other movie that is completely inappropriate to watch in June. My youngest has been singing "Silver and Gold" with a perfect low tone and vibrato. I nearly died. He loves it, too. My oldest has learned the "Batman smells" part of Jingle Bells. My heart soared. This... THIS is all you, Winter.

So please, Dear Winter, bring us some snow for Christmas. I have my two front teeth, I cannot possibly house a hippopotamus (I have two dogs and a cat, you see. They won't get along.)

Bring us big, fat, clumsy snowflakes and howling winds and "packy" (yeah I said it...) snow and hot chocolate and numb toes and icicles and frozen ponds and frost patterns on our windows.

Bring us loving families gathered around to eat/drink/be merry. You can even bring the uncle that is only ever seen in family Christmas photos passed out on the couch; the one that has "too much Amaretto in his Egg Nogg".

Bring us peace and love and warmth this Christmas season. Bring it to every single family, rich and poor. Crappy presents, great presents, loving presence and snow.

Bring it on Winter. I like you, and everything you bring.

Sincerely,

Korinne.

Disco!

Yesterday, my mother and I went shopping. A few months ago, I had purchased a sweet little lens for my camera that basically stopped working after the first time I used it. So, I packed that up along with the paperwork, and took it back to the store. Along with that, I brought a lovely set of vintage lenses, some filters, and an analog Canon AE1 camera that had been gifted to me by a basement photographer. I wanted to know about this new gear.

It was a dicey situation. I knew that my "store warranty" was up on the lens I had purchased.

The lovely man behind the counter came to see what I had in my bag of goodies (it sure does look interesting!). I proceeded to tell him I had some vintage camera gear I'd like to look at with him and oh yeah, a broken lens I bought here.

My mom sort of walked away because well, quite frankly, she's seen me throw a hissy fit before. She IS my mother afterall and intuitively knew that perhaps another epic hissy fit was about to occur if I wasn't going to be able to replace that lens.

So, first things first, I handed Stan (the camera man) my lens. I said "perhaps you can show me what I'm doing wrong with this thing" and then slapped the airhead look on my face.

He connected it to a store camera and started fiddling with it. "Well, what's wrong with it?"

I smiled a bit.

"Well, it doesn't WORK" I replied.

My mother has now shuffled off into the depths of the store knowing full well the verbal assault I am going to launch on this man should he decide that my paperweight isn't going to be replaced.

"Let me see your camera" he said.

"I didn't bring my CAMERA, there's nothing wrong with IT". I slid my smile down into half smile, predator mode.

"Oh"

fiddle fiddle fiddle

I can hear the lens whirring and spinning and basically begging to be released from the camera.

"Hmm. It seems that the lens doesn't want to autofocus".

And while he slips the autofocus switch into manual focus mode I say "no, and it won't manual focus either." No smile. Predator mode engaged.

He looks up at me over the top of his glasses.

He says "well, let's see if we can't find you a replacement for this."

Oh, here's my mother. She has returned. Clever lady. She was biding her time.

He scans through the computer and finds a few "in stock" lenses that are even a little more suited to my needs. He even checks to see if any of them are going on sale in the near future.

Smile returns.

So, I got my broken lens swapped out, for a fee, for my new portrait lens (which stops down to f1.8 mmmmm)

Smiles all around.

"Now," he says "let's see what's in this bag!"

It turns out that none of the glass in the bag will adapt or fit to any modern DSLR cameras, but will do just fine on the camera in the bag. (It's a film camera. Did I mention I don't use film? I'm impatient and can't wait for developing!)

"Okay, well, that's cool" I said. "I can tinker with this stuff when I'm bored". It wasn't a total loss, I had a schmancy new lens to play with.

"Well, wait a minute... " said Stan. "Look at these filters, they will all fit your new lens!"

Admittedly, I hadn't wondered if they would. I was just ready to pack it up.

We start pulling scads of filters out of the bag and opening their ancient cases.

"These three are for increasing your focal distance. You can stack them, or use them individually" says Stan, looking over his glasses again.

"Sweet! Rock on" and I flash the devil horn hand. He chuckles.

My mom pulls a blue box out of the bag with a honeycomb detail on the front and I say "oh yeah, I think that one creates stars!"

Stan is now smiling out of half of his mouth. Sly semi-predator face engaged. "No," he says "THIS is a honeycomb filter. It will allow you to shoot a kaleidoscope image".

My mouth drops open. "What?" and my eyebrow goes up. Just ONE eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's a vintage filter. It will create a honeycomb of images".

"A DISCO filter?" I am getting more and more excited. "Like the ones that cheesy 60's photographers used to use for weddings?"

"Exactly" says Stan.

I have now got two devil horn hands in the air, rock and roll mode fully engaged.

"I HAVE A DISCO FILTER, MOM!" I'm dancing a little bit.

"Yes you sure do. Now bring disco back."

My mother. Only SHE can see my potential when I'm faced with the adversity of out of date warranties and disco filters.

She knows, if no one else, that I will rock this disco lens and take the best pictures ever.

My mom. She's so cute.

I'm Blogging

Every other photographer that's worth their salt does it, so why can't I?

I have finally agreed that I am a photographer. For a long time, I was a girl with some pretty snazzy cameras and that just made it LOOK good. But no, I have taken some rather stellar photos (if I do say so myself) and well, people like them. I can't argue with them can I?

So it started when my youngest was just a baby. I acquired a digital camera and started taking all kinds of photos. I altered them on a second rate photo editing program and proceeded to post them on a parenting forum that I visited at the time.

A lovely member (that I remain friends with to this day) had posted "wow, your photos are beautiful! How much do you charge and when are you available?"
I was stunned.

"I'm not a photographer" I had replied.
"You may not think so, but your work says otherwise" she encouraged.

And so that was it. I was set as a "photographer" on a cheapo digital camera, with a second rate photo editing program.

Down the road, I had gotten my hands on some Christmas money, and went and purchased an "upscale" camera. I took it everywhere and shot pictures of just about everything. I loved watching how light could utterly transform a photo. I quickly realized that the most interesting and captivating shots were taken from angles that most others would overlook or taken of subjects that most others wouldn't think to notice.

I shot farmhouses, barns and spent a great deal of time skulking around in cemeteries. Often with my husband, or children, or both in tow. I was often encouraged by my family and wonderful friends and before I knew it, my mother was willing to help me acquire my first PROFESSIONAL digital SLR camera.

I bought a Nikon. I remember the sales guy remarking that it was a big camera for my little hands. Pfft... he clearly didn't know me too well, did he?

Finally, finally, I felt I had the gear (thanks mom... you put me where I am), but still didn't feel secure in my skills.

I broke into farmhouses.

I traveled to New York and shot at Giant's Stadium for a friend who was preforming and I was gifted with not only that opportunity, but also the chance to shoot for Nickelback and Bon Jovi. And yet, I still didn't feel I was a photographer.

I drove to every cemetery in the county.

I went down to the beach and shot just so I could shoot.

Still, I was someone with a ridiculously large camera and didn't feel I was worthy of the title.

I shot long exposure shots in Time Square. I shot a homeless man in LA. I shot people's pregnant bellies and Christmas photos and sunsets and moonlight on the water. I shot rodeos, my husband's stubble, my mother holding my children, my wonderful friend's hard earned pregnant belly, a tiny sick baby prior to her heart transplant, children with autism, the late and great Mr. Jeff Healey, rainbows over our new house. I shot weddings... WEDDINGS! I shot Bluesfest and rock bands and musicians and CD inserts and promo shots for posters.

And I still didn't think I was a photographer.

Well, here's what I know that I am. I am a daughter, a mother, a sister, (anyone hearing the song? Yes I'm a bitch too), a wife, a good friend, an extrovert, a fan of bare feet, a racecar driver (shh no, I really AM!), a music lover, a fan of pinot grigio, a debater, a self professed know it all and so much more.

And I decided to write this blog now because I finally, finally believe that I am a photographer as well.

Thank you to my mother for always keeping my lofty dream filled head from floating into the clouds and enabling the real dreams. My husband for "keeping six" while I'm committing a B&E. My children for being my always unwilling subjects. My friends for their constant critiques (completely solicited by me) and encouragement. My clients for their belief if me from the start and for sticking by me through pregnant bellies, family shoots, weddings, graduations, family memories and everything else.

I have created snapshots of you all that live on in the place it matters most. My computer may crash, and I may lose all kinds of photos (let's not discuss that right now, shall we?)...

... but your snapshots all are saved on the best harddrive around.

My big giant heart.

Thank you, thank you.

K
xx