They told me I was a writer, a singer. And I am those things.
But every once in a while, my mom turned our bathroom into a dark room, and I thought she was making magic in there.
And so I went to high school and college, and I wrote, and I sang. I was an artist with my words and with my voice, and I loved that art, but I wanted to make something you could look at with your own eyes.
I tried drawing. I can do a horse that my son thinks is a dog.
I tried painting. No evidence remains.
And then I picked up a camera, and I started to see how I could make my own magic.
Except sometimes the magic right before me in a kiss between a mother and her baby, in a bridegroom’s eyes, in a ray of sun cutting low through a willow tree, doesn’t show up in my box the way I see it in front of me – the way I see it with my heart.
Artist friends have shared this video with me so many times, and I have watched it over and over again, and when I watch it, I want to say, “YES!” (and sometimes I do) because every artist needs to hear this, needs to know that there is something promising about the fact that you look at your work and it doesn’t look exactly like you want it to. We have to keep making, keep trying, keep shooting, because that’s the only way we’ll ever make the magic we know we are capable of.