...the first blossoms of spring...
...the fragrant scent of lilacs through an open window...
...the pounding of the ocean surf...
...cloud patches on mountain ranges that go on forever...
...the vast expanse of a desert landscape...
...something like standing on top of the world...
...and a gentle stroll under a quiet green canopy:
But what if I told you...
That even though I have discovered or sought out each of these kinds of moments, none of these photos reflect my own experience.
Because they are not my photos.
They are my dad's.
They are his moments. Snapshots of time one generation removed from the here and now.
And yet.
The aspects of each moment that drew him to capture it on film are--in a way--shared. Epigenetics at work again, such that as I traipse through the world on my own, I seem to be drawn to the same kinds of colours, the same patterns and details, the same breathtaking scenes. It's in my DNA; it's in my very soul.
In many ways, my photography is actually an act of worship. It is a way to honour my Father and the creation He has painted over the globe. But in the last couple of years, I've also come to realize just how much my photography is a way to honour my father as well. The eye he had lives on in the way I capture many of my images, without me even realizing it. Often as I sift through his old photographs, I notice similarities between our compositions. It is both humbling and affirming.
As I consider the feelings that are often stirred within me when I photograph, I can only imagine that similar feelings must have been evoked in my father when he held his camera up to a particularly striking scene before him; yes, this.
Oh, Dad. That we could have traipsed through more of these scenes together.
But don't worry; I've got this.
It's a beautiful summer afternoon, and I'm headed outside with my camera. The sky is your favourite shade of blue, Dad; and the colours are calling.
Happy Father's Day.
1 comment:
XXXXOOOO - Mom
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