Two For The Money

A couple of entries ago, in “Say Cheese,” I wrote about a miracle. Instead of turning water into wine like Jesus did at his mother’s request during that famous wedding in Galilee, I turned wine into photography.

If you remember, Groom and I recently purchased a new camera for our anniversary after weaning ourselves off the bottled grapes. I was thrilled about our new acquisition for almost two days before malcontent and displeasure grabbed me by the ankles and started playing tug-o-war with me as the rope.

Never flexible enough for the splits, I didn’t enjoy the sensation. Here’s the deal. I thought I could share, but each time I got my hands on our new camera and slipped into my “artiste” mode, Groom would see a shot he wanted to take, and folks, he just kept interrupting my mojo.

I would inwardly sigh with exasperation, but hand the camera over anyway. After all, it was an anniversary gift, which came with the implied agreement that we could both use it. The generous, loving, wifely side of me wanted Groom to blossom in his photography skills and I loved seeing the shots he took.

Afterward.

But not while we were in the middle of stalking light.

Bottom line? I wanted to share the hobby of photography with him, but not the camera. I quickly discovered it was like trying to write, but having somebody borrow my pen every third word, ruining my flow.

Now, what to do? My energy is not subtle. Groom knows me too well and he figured something was up about 15 seconds into my frustration. How do I tell the man I love to keep his grubby mitts off our anniversary present?

I have a couple skills in my toolkit, but lying isn’t one of them. I suck at it, which is why I don’t bother. I could tell you my honesty comes from a pure place of integrity, but that would be a lie. It comes from not being clever enough to keep my stories straight. If I tell a lie, I bust myself instantly. The aggro’s just not worth it, so my ineptitude as a liar keeps me honest.

When Groom asked me point blank why I was being snotty, I had to admit I was struggling with either being “nice” or telling him I could no longer share our anniversary camera.

He just laughed. Here I was, hesitant to speak my true feelings yet after I did, he said my energy is much more pleasant when my words and actions line up instead of tap dancing around an issue. Apparently I emit a funky vibe when I am not speaking my truth, which bugs the heckles out of him.

With the truth buck-naked and on somebody’s front lawn (he asked me while I was taking a photo of a neighbor’s flower garden), he said it was no problem, he would wait to take photographs until he could get his own camera.

Oh noooooo. While that sounds lovely on the surface, I knew that would be trouble with a capital T. One, I would not be able to enjoy taking pictures alone, knowing I was being a selfish biyatch while Groom waited patiently as I focused here and zoomed there. For-geddaboutit.

Two, by the time he got his own camera, I divined it would be a bigger, better fancier version of mine and that would simply open a can of one-upmanship worms. To compensate, I would have to upgrade and that would motivate He to outdo She. Nope, I put the ix-nay on the ait-way.

As his birthday falls on our anniversary, or is it the other way around, I suggested that we pool our generous gifts into a fund and get a second, identical camera for him. That way, we could share lenses, batteries, cords, etc., but more importantly, we would be playing on an even shooting field.

In less than a week, funds rearranged themselves to provide Groom with a twin to mine. I was thrilled.

For one day.

Groom managed to find yet another way to vex me. As we roamed our neighborhood, each interpreting light, color and texture to our heart’s content, I was a happy woman until he emptied the memory cards onto the computer and we had a slide show.

Aaaargh, his photos were turning out better than mine. Oh no, I don’t want to leave you with an impression that I’m competitive or anything (of course not), but it irked me that he was already surpassing me.

Let me submit to the jury a recent example. Take a look at the two photos of the red fence. Do you see how straight the wrought iron pickets stand for him? And do you notice how drunk and disorganized they become for me? How does that happen???

My mother has a theory that many inanimate objects with moving mechanical parts are designed with the express purpose to work for men and break down for women. I want to argue that her idea is sexist, but…

Okay, now on to the Fair. On Thursday last, we woke up to the idea of attending the County Fair for pitchur takin’ (fancy talk for the art of producing images of objects on sensitized surfaces by the chemical action of light), but were both feeling reluctant to plunk down the price of admission.

A few minutes later, via email, Kimmm informed us that she had two extra free tickets to the fair and told us “folks with new cameras neeeed to go to the fair at dusk to get frustrated and amazed by taking photos of lights and sunsets.”

What? Free tickets just like that? So off we go that evening and between us, can you guess how many shots we fired off in less than three hours? If you said 500, you’d be right. Although we each took some amazing shots (not presented here yet), I noticed that Groom still did better in certain situations. Take a gander at the carrousel horses and the clowns. Crikey!

I’m delighted to report that I am not really in competition with Groom. He inspires me and I am determined to become the best photographer I can become. This sounds cliché, but I am in competition with myself.

I am also noticing that I am an emotional photographer, my camera reflecting sundry moods. When I am tired, the images blur. When I am nervous, the photos are shy. There is a magic that happens when I am focused and my heart is open.

Discovery is an enchanting process. My eye follows faces, while Groom’s traces places, buildings and flowers with bees. I like urban portraits - tattoos, piercings, street fashion and haunting bone structure.

Some of our photos overlap, as we think from very similar angles. Yet we are constantly surprising each other with a glimpse into larger views or a detailed world that the other didn’t notice. It is stoking the already kindled embers, as you can see by this last photo of the fire dancer. Passion caught as our initials are danced into flame.