Your Mileage May Vary

This morning I sat at the island, looking at the lovely (though unarranged) bouquet of flowers that Russ brought me for Valentine's day. I thought the petals of the daisies looked particularly lovely with the light of the window behind them.

Later, I sat in the school room trying to ignore the pain in my foot. I noticed the sun streaming in through the windows and decided that I wanted to do some experimenting with the flowers--to put into practice some of the things I've learned in my photography class.

I experimented with different angles (sun shining on the flowers, sun shining behind the flowers), different backgrounds (white, carpet, bulletin board, blanket, anything lying around that I could get my hands on...) and different settings.

I took pictures off and on for several hours as the light changed and moved across the sky. In the end I took 972MB worth of pictures, which was about 480. (Good thing I have that new hard drive!) I went through and deleted a bunch, but I still have 330 pictures left. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed myself; I didn't expect to enjoy photographing other flowers as much as I enjoy roses.

As I was snapping away I found myself thinking about the process of taking pictures. I've been taking pictures for as long as I remember. When I was a teenager my dad let me use his precious 35 mm camera that he'd purchased in Finland on his mission. I dressed my little sister up in her cutest dresses and took pictures of her all over our yard. I took pictures of clouds and trips and friends.

As an adult I take pictures of my children, my surroundings, my travels, and every now and then a flower or two. I see the world around me in pictures. I feel almost a compulsion to record what is happening and what I see. I cannot explain what would motivate me to take almost 500 pictures of a few flowers, except that as I composed the pictures they were so beautiful that it was like watching a ballet.

I still don't understand it, but I sure did enjoy it!

And I can't imagine Russ ever expected his flowers to get this kind of mileage.