A thousand words

I took a photography course in college in which I received a B thanks largely to the fact my professor was an alcoholic who occasionally showed up for class. In truth, I probably should have received a free eye exam because the results were quite often disastrous and even worse than that.

In the space of a couple months I learned that an aperture is expressed as an F number, but I usually assigned it a much more specific four letter F word. You would have gotten better composition out of a piece of black construction paper. Filters? Please.

I was partnered up with a cute little female cop so needless to say I loved it when we ventured outside to take nature shots across river banks and leaf strewn hiking trails and giant rock formations. She had a hook to her smile and her poses were whimsical with a hint of suggestive intent behind them. Or so I thought until I tried making a move and she introduced me to a brick wall story about her fiancée. The ensuing weeks were a wretched mess of terse exchanges and excruciatingly awkward silences with no promise of a break in the tide.

The hilarity was amped up a few notches when I walked into a dark room already in use. Which is the equivalent of erasing the hard drive of a writer on deadline, only much more grievous an error. Photographers do not suffer fools when it comes to their work, and I had earned my dunce cap for the remainder of the semester with this stunt. The worst part was that I had no fallback. My photographs appeared as if they had been taken from inside a barrel plummeting over Niagara Falls but it mattered little to my professor, who graded me on a curve which had more to do with her after school spirits than her eye for talent. This fact drew the enmity of my peers, who took to derisively calling me Ansel Adams.

Short story long, photography ain’t my bag.

So when I check out the amazing photographs The Petal Pusher hangs up on her blog on a regular basis, I am inspired. To check out more of it. And to laugh about that forgettable photography class where I didn’t get anything right. There are stories in the thousand words worth of talent like hers. Always stories.


3 thoughts on “A thousand words

  1. Sure you don’t have any B&Ws from that class tucked into an old book somewhere? Would love to see them. You know, Cayman (you’ll forever be Cayman to me), your writing is quite book-worthy. Have you ever considered it?

  2. Thank you happy. I knew I was defeated when I took a roll of photos with the lens cap still firmly affixed. And that was my best stuff.

    Petal . . B&Ws outside of a mugshot? Not a one. And as far as that book, I am knee deep in the middle of writing one at the moment. And no, it doesn’t have a blessed thing to do with photography.

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