I jumped into photography the same way I jumped into countless other things: enthusiastic, certain, and ignorant.
At that time, in the beginning, I hadn’t the faintest idea of how a camera worked, much less the chemical science behind film or printing. I had Ansel Adams posters on my bedroom wall and a book titled Atget’s Gardens on the table beside my bed.
My father gave me a 35mm camera and two rolls of Tri-X for Christmas. Without bothering to read the instruction manual, I started taking pictures of leaves and branches, interested only in composition, in the shapes and play of light, in how an image could hold itself together within a frame.
Forty years later, I am still taking pictures with the same enthusiasm and certainty, ignorant now of different things.
I will always be interested in composition, in the interplay of shapes and shadows. In weight, dependencies, and structural integrity.
I have a reasonable handle on how a camera works, how light (altered by lens or not) passes through an opening (aperture) and makes an impression on whatever is there to receive and record it, whether that’s film coated with light-sensitive emulsion or a digital sensor.
Just press a button to release the shutter, and you’ve frozen a moment in your memory of time.