Don’t you just love that feel of the sun outside, not burning, not overwhelming, but just shiny and right for your mood?
Don’t you just?
So, here is the story… my dad was born a photographer, an artist. Well, maybe not only an artist, but also a farmer, aviator, engineer, bullfighter, horseback rider, salesman, metallurgist and many other skills/occupations (which I should tell you about in other posts, no, we are not writing a book right now, focus Caro, focus) over the 32 years he accompanied me of the 86 he lived in total.
And well, so he used to say I acquired/got some of his skills. One of them being photography (and also probably my taste for antiques, the countryside, READING! Lots drawing and much, much more).
My first memories of photography come from a whitish drawer full of negatives and pictures in black and white that papi used to keep close to him or in a well hidden area (that reminds me I need to go back to mami’s house and start digging that archive, so I show you and you know what I am talking about). Then there was papi’s camera, his pride and joy, an Agfa in its leather case (oh! Those times of leather and well made stuff, no plastic, no nothing), his tripod and himself, an elegant and proper man.
Papi would always try to take pictures with all of us included. It meant he had to set it on timer and run. He was very fast. Various pictures show us like that, we needed to make space for him, so he would just place himself there and we needed to smile.
I was very shy to try his stuff, so eventually, when uni times came, I was dying to have a career as an artist/painter. I remember I told a friend/journalist, I was a frustrated painter, so I started painting with my camera instead. Some blurry shots will tell you about it. So, well… that’s when I started shooting everything and everybody, no limits, no time… I just borrowed a camera and started shooting, then as I finished uni, I put some money together and got myself a camera, my toy, my companion for trips to happen.
Once uni was over and I had saved up some money, I started travelling. Life (or myself?) took me around various countries, jobs and situations in which _cuasi obsessively_ my camera was with me. After all those years, I ended up with quite a meaningful collection of photos. Not stopping there (as I already had piled up so many pictures and had done nothing with any of them) I got another camera, a bigger one.
So, I kept asking myself what should I do with them. Here were some of the options:
1. Die and let myself forget my photography moments. After all I already enjoyed the process of taking them. God! Such moments! I already am thankful for such opportunity to enjoy one of my passions. Feverish moments full of excitement and joy.
2. Mami said I shoud do whatever and she meant whatever with them since they were being of no use at all. She suggested “selling” them for calendars or something. Whatever, you know? However, as it happens, people who make calendars in my country would pay me one sol (less than 0.50p - and I am exaggerating) for my photos. Calendars in my country are given for free, which means companies give them away as part of marketing, so calendar makers would pay nothing and would rather download images from the net than paying a cent for somebody’s images. Even if they would, they would pay me 0 soles for them and would say I should be thankful if they get to show my pictures, except they would not mention the author. Copyright in my country is almost non existent.
3. Exhibitions. Oh yes, I’ve done them, enjoyed working on them in England and Peru, but… Maybe not the way I want to communicate for now.
4. Inherit my niece and let her do whatever she pleases with them? Maybe I am too young for that, I am only 33… Hmmm, hmmm.
5. Have a boring website and pretend to look all professional? Hmmm.. Have tried it, will do, maybe.
7. Have a blog and open up, share, and grow along with the process while recapitulating and re-enjoying all those moments. Hmmm… could well be?