Fear and Art: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmarking
This Sunday is Father’s Day. No matter how many years go by, I always find this day a little sad without my father here. Whenever I returned home for a visit, he would greet me at the door with a bear hug and a declaration that the prodigal daughter had arrived. I miss those times. There is however, a joy in this passion for photography which he and I share. But it wasn’t always that way. Up until about age five, I was a very willing subject for my father as he played with his cameras. On a Sunday my sister and I would walk up to the local park with him and pose on the bench or beside the pond. Sometimes we would don sunglasses or dress up in little silk suits replete with frog buttons and mandarin collars and model in front of the camera. Then I stopped enjoying being in front of the camera. There is of course a photograph to mark that occasion which was our first day of kindergarten. My sister and I are in our school uniforms standing in front of our home and I’m leaning against the gate with my eyes rolling back. Clearly I am not amused at being photographed yet again.
Over the next few years I would flirt briefly with photography. It would not amount to much but my father remained faithful to his passion and to the idea that I would love it as much as he did. And he was right; the prodigal daughter did indeed return.
The quote at the beginning this post is from a book I picked up a couple of weeks ago. I strongly recommend it. When you read it, you’ll be struck by the sense that people you’ve never met before, know you so intimately. You’ll wonder how it is that they can articulate what is so deep inside your heart, the fears about yourself, others, and your work. By the time you finish this little book, you will realize you’re actually part of this wonderful community they call “Artist”. You and me both. We are kindred spirits, here to travel along this path–sometimes together, sometimes on our own but never alone. We may stop a while but never quit. We are all prodigals who can come home to this community that understands a life making photographs is not easy but it is always worth it. My father understood this long before me and I’m grateful I’m learning it now.
Very well written and sensitive post Sabrina. I think you are absolutely right in your assertions that once we develop a passion we may slow down, stop or re-asses what it, but you never quit because it tugs at you too hard.
Thanks Ed. I’d really like to take credit for the assertion but it is from Art and Fear. I’m glad though that you feel the same way because I see it in your images.
What a lovely photograph to have as a keepsake. And a really beautiful gift that your father has given you in photography. It’s a connecting point you’ll have for your entire life.
I have so many of my father’s photographs, Erin and I’ll keep sharing them whenever I can.
Really nice Sabrina, thanks.
You’re welcome, Ken and thank you.
I just finished reading the book last week and know it will need to be read again. a lot of good stuff in there. I like having you as a kindred spirit.
Yes! It is one of those books that one can re-read and find bits of wisdom that keep resonating. And I like having you along with me on this journey too. Thank you!
Beautiful post, Sabrina. I’ll need to order that book.