My camera is gathering dust… and the bad part is I haven’t even missed her.
The only art I’ve made lately is the art of the snapshot.
And I think that’s okay?
Ever since I first picked up a camera…roughly 17 years ago… I’ve snapped photos of the mundane moments of my life.
Mundane in the grand scheme of the world… but meaningful to me.
I snap the things that make me happy. I snap the moments when I feel at peace. I snap the things I don’t want to forget (because I have a terrible memory).
A lot of my snaps are my cats… or food… or my legs and feet.
And I often wonder if this counts as photography. It’s a photo. I took it. It means something to me.
But these photos certainly aren’t going to win me any awards. They won’t get me in a gallery or a magazine. They won’t even mean anything to anyone but me.
But at the end of the day what is photography really except a snapshot of a moment of time that meant something to someone?
So yeah. I think this counts.
It might just be my ice-cream. But it counts.