How I rekindled my love affair with photography

My dad had a darkroom in our basement, and I can’t remember not having my own camera: 126 and 110 formats when a little kid before graduating to 35mm sometime around the age of 10.

By 13, I had a Canon A-1, a fairly advanced piece of kit for the time. It was also fairly advanced for a kid barely old enough to shave.

I studied photography in high school and college, and since then I’ve carried a camera around the globe. Our house is full of cameras, with several dating back more than a hundred years.

But a few years ago, I realized something: I wasn’t having fun with photography. It had simply become part of my job.

Take picture, make content, move on to the next item on the list. Ever-tighter deadlines meant more pressure to keep things moving along. Rarely did I shoot for personal enjoyment.

My dad, on the other hand, has been compiling books of his photos. My favorite: pictures of breakfasts he has eaten.

 

***

The first step, as is often the case, is to admit there’s a problem: Hi, my name is David, and I’d like to recapture one of my passions before I totally walk away from it–or just consign it to my other job-related tasks as editorial director here.

 

***

I’m a graduate of the University of Georgia’s journalism program, and through a strange twist of fate, a few years ago I met the man currently teaching the very photojournalism program that I attended. Mark and I now talk all the time–a mix of cars, cameras and life. He also owns a Miata.

Just before the pandemic, he had me visit UGA as a professional in residence. I spent two days talking with both students and faculty, from intro-level classes held in a lecture hall to the school’s dean.

It was one of the most rewarding moments of my professional career. I wore a jacket.

During the visit, Mark placed a new Fuji digital camera in my hands.

But Mark, I’m a loyal Canon shooter.

 

***

My Canons represent efficient workhorses, with each knob, dial, button and screen placed right where I’d want them.

I know these cameras will never let me down. Battery life has always been exceptional. They have a businesslike bulk and heft to them.

They’re usually paired with two big, pro-level Canon lenses closing in on their 20th birthdays. They might have a few scars but, thanks to regular cleaning and maintenance, continue to serve without a hiccup.

But that Fujifilm camera felt different. It reminded me of my film models of yore. To change film speed on the Fujifilm, instead of accessing a menu, you twisted a knob. Old school.

While visiting B&H photo in New York soon after, I checked out some Fujifilm cameras. Those initial impressions were still there. These cameras just felt familiar–like somehow this conglomeration of metal, glass and composite had warmth and a soul.

Two models sat on the counter. My friend Amy, who was with me, batted her eyes: Why not both?

I didn’t buy either one.

I wanted the forthcoming Fujifilm X100V. This compact rangefinder camera looked like the perfect travel companion, combining vintage looks with all the latest digital technology. It would be something new and different, too, as I’ve been shooting DSLRs since the year of the flood.

I was told that this new camera would be a game-changer. Since it wasn’t yet available, I placed my pre-release order with B&H and waited.

My new camera arrived on Monday, March 16, 2020, just in time for the covid lockdown.

 

***

So there we were with a full-on pandemic raging, meaning nowhere to go and me with this awesome new travel-sized camera in my hands.

We had recently said goodbye to both of our dogs. The house, like the rest of the world, had become very quiet.

Fortunately, our neighborhood contains an elaborate network of walking and biking trails–pretty empty at the time due to said pandemic–so I regularly walked them, new camera in hand.

I photographed a lot of fences: wood, vinyl, new, aged. And trees, leaves and flowers–the kind of things you find along those paths.

It gave me a tiny opportunity to clear my head, too. No news, no other voices. Did the birds and squirrels know what was going on? They didn’t seem to care.

I found myself just taking photos for fun. No deadlines, no need to please an audience. If the scene through the viewfinder made me happy, it was declared a winner and captured with a press of the shutter. Some were shared online.

I was falling back in love with photography.

 

***

As things were starting to return to normal–specifically, late last year–I met someone carrying a film camera. So, of course, we started talking about cameras.

I mentioned that a friend and I had been trying to put together a photo day–just an opportunity to make pictures for the sake of making pictures.

She suggested a group called Pexels that did just that, organizing group shoots for models and photographers, with all experience levels welcome. Their next meetup was scheduled for that upcoming Sunday evening.

I hadn’t done any model photography since college–involving Amy, coincidentally, that same friend who joined me at the camera store. But I still went, my little camera in hand.

I had no idea what to expect. Would there be any kind of instruction? Was this really some kind of sales presentation in disguise? Were they going to roll us and take our gear? Would I even find anyone to talk to?

I arrived at a small park to find a group of people milling about: half looked like models, half looked like photographers. (The cameras gave away the second group.)

Soon after, we got our marching orders: We’d be shooting in the nearby alleys. Make photos, have fun, trade Instagram handles. We’d all gather up later that evening for a group photo.

The sight of that first model left me a bit frozen. Do I just, like, take her picture?

On the way home, I realized that I had opened the door to something new: new ideas, new faces, new looks at something I had been doing since I was just a kid.

Afterward, Mark asked about the group’s vibe. Organic, welcoming and collaborative, I replied.

Shanice in Sanford, Florida.

 

***

Since then, I’ve attended several more of those events–like one a month plus a few gatherings organized independently by local photographers.

I’ve also done some one-on-one shoots with Hathim, an Orlando model who’s become a good friend. We find that it’s a good learning experience for both of us. As a bonus, it often ends with food and conversation. He also likes cars.

I co-hosted a meetup, too, and entered it with a stated goal: Make everyone feel welcome. I drew up a map so those arriving late would know where to find us. Area parking was clearly marked. Personal invitations and thank-yous were sent.

We had three or four dozen people join us. Lots of smiles and several first-timers. A few have come back since. We wrapped up the evening with a group dinner.

I’m doing this because I enjoy the opportunity to create. Plus, every time I pull the camera from the bag, I feel like I learn something.

Photography, at least in my mind, is the perfect union of art and science. It’s composition and light. The rule of thirds and proper metering.

Hannah in DeLand, Florida.

More cameras and equipment followed. Off-camera lighting is the newest thing. Perry Bennett, who’s been shooting for us for years, has patiently answered so many of my questions. Kevin, another old friend who’s an amazing shooter, has been on speed dial as well. My wife has been my patient model.

I’ve turned many of my photos into zines, printing enough for the models featured inside. Maybe I’ve assumed the role of the group’s fairy godmother.

I find I’m becoming more comfortable working with those models–less intimidated by those willing to step in front of the camera. Despite their runway looks, in most cases they’re nerds like the rest of us.

Some of my favorite shots revert to my newsgathering roots: behind-the-scenes images of models interacting with photographers, the slight boredom of waiting for everyone else to get into position. I’m realizing that Glen E. Friedman’s work in Thrasher and the punk rock scene left a bigger impact on me than I realized.

Arianna in Winter Garden, Florida.

The models, like the rest of us, all have different back stories. Some are college students wondering and hoping if this could lead to something bigger. Others have careers but seem to enjoy the collaborative, creative process. One of the regulars just shared news about receiving their six-month sobriety chip. Another can now be seen on a Busch Gardens billboard along I-4. It’s a community.

A car doesn’t get bored or care how it looks. My goal with my subjects has become simple: Make them feel comfortable and confident. The rest will happen naturally.

Together we have worked in parks and plazas, fully equipped studios and alleys that smell like stale beer and you-know-what. Together, we’ve made dumpsters look glamorous.

I once squeezed in a shoot in a parking lot before a Miata meet. The subject was into cars and simply wanted photos of her in her Hyundai.

One of our locals called me a couple of weeks ago: Wanna come over and shoot in my home studio? You’d never know the images were created in his spare bedroom.

Hathim in DeLand, Florida.

I’ve returned to car event photography with a new vision: maybe a little less pure documentation, my background, and a little more capturing the artistic views hiding in plain sight.

A topic that has come up in the local group: Is this for the money? Personally, I need to get something out of it–however, that something could be fun, helping a friend or learning a new technique. (See the comment about the photos of a friend in her Hyundai.)

The friend I originally simply wanted to shoot with? Bette and I now regularly get together to make pictures–sometimes with the group, sometimes not. Sometimes we do more talking than shooting, and I’d still call that a major win.

We just lined up a morning at a local air museum. I think they have three planes, a Jeep and a PT boat. Bagels are part of the plan. I know we’ll have fun.

My wife has joined in, too, picking up the Canon that I bought for her 17 years ago. She goes her own way at the shoots and has proved to have an eye for it.

Perhaps the biggest take-home lesson: There is no right time to start something–or to rekindle a dormant love affair. Add in some time, a nurturing community and space to learn, and it again feels good to create simply for the sake of creating.

Secret Art Studios in St. Cloud, Florida.

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