My grandfather Fred was a photographer. My father Dennis was a photographer and still is. In fact he’s got a set of Leicas I covet to a biblical proportion. There was a time when I was very young when my father was a stringer for the Associated Press. His real passion was serving in the police force and gave up working for AP sometime in the early 70’s. But he remained a photographer and his preferred subject matter was myself and my two sisters.
The archive of imagery of my sisters and I growing up is the reason I became a photographer. Inside the countless boxes of Kodachrome and contained on the endless strips of black and white film negatives is my childhood. Just abut every piece of it from first steps to first day of school, family vacations, Christmas celebrations, and all the subtle moments in between that make up a childhood.
Fast forward to the early 90’s. My parents have divorced, I’ve graduated high school with zero direction, barely making my way through junior college, and one day I’m in the attic of my grandmother’s home trying to piece together my life when I stumble upon the family photo archive. Right then and there I make a decision to learn all I can about the craft of photography, if only to provide my children, should I be fortunate enough, with the same gift my father gave to me and my sisters.
I enrolled in a photo class at the jc I was at, then a few more, then transferred to Brooks Institute of Photography, graduated, met the woman I’d marry, had two children and…well it can all be traced back to this picture and thousands and thousands of ones just like it.
This is my cousin Brian and I from a family picnic, that’s me on the right.
