A dash of immodesty

I spent last night hanging out with Reid, who is probably best known for his work in Louis Singh's avant-garde student film GacMyver.




We hung out at Mojo's, and I read one of my little Phaidon photography books. Every time I read on of those, I enjoy them so much that I feel an almost visceral urge to drop everything I'm doing and become a full-time photographer.

And you know, I'm almost certain I could make it.

While packing up this morning, I found some photographs and contact sheets from a couple years ago. I don't know how to say this, but, I impressed myself. In the same sense that I can look at those Phaidon books and appreciate their images, I can look at my best photos and have the same reaction: Damnit, these are good.

For example, this picture of my friend Aileen, a former UIL champion piano player. (The tones look even better on the physical print.)




I think this is a beautiful picture, and I'd almost forgotten all about it. I think it perfectly captures her personality, which is naturally shy and reserved. I found more, and those pictures jogged memories of other ones, and I realized I've never taken somebody's portrait and not managed to capture their personality.

I need to get my enlarger fixed. I need to get caught up on a year and a half backlog of printing. I need to start shooting portraits again immediately.

UPDATE: Fate never fails to put me back in my place. I picked up my camera today, my Canon Elan 2 SLR, to finish off a roll of film before I packed the camera away. Turns out the camera, which to my knowledge has been sitting on a shelf for the past three weeks, has a broken latch — a discovery I made as the back of the camera came swining open, ruining whatever miscellaneous pictures were on the film. Now every single piece of photography equipment I own is broken, and I haven't dropped or mistreated a single one to my knowledge. Fuck this.