A Memory and a Photograph

My senior year of high school, we had to do a project that involved family photos. So I went into the boxes and pulled out my favorite images documenting my life so far, and I realized quickly that there were virtually no photos of my father.

Though he was a computer engineer by trade, Dad was an avid photographer, and the first person to put an SLR in my hands. But he always avoided being in front of the camera. After my school project was finished, I got myself a little camera and decided I’d follow him around and take pictures. After a while, he got used to it and I think he started to enjoy it.

Sadly, exactly three years after my high school graduation, my father was killed instantly in a car accident. We were devastated, of course, but one of the things that loss does for you is to clarify what’s important. As time went on, the value of those photos became more and more apparent. Most of the photos I have of him were taken in those last three years, and it makes me happy to see that I captured him being his regular, slightly goofy self.

I didn’t know yet that I would become a photographer myself, but all these years later, I can see that the things I learned since the loss of my father have given me an unfortunately clear understanding of the important things, and this understanding shows itself in my own work.

 

As a photographer, I am drawn to a very classic, fine art style, and I avoid trends. My goal is always to focus on the things that make you who you are: your personality, your demeanor, your expression; your love for your family; your happiness in the present moment.

I don’t know why my father avoided the camera — self consciousness? Shyness? Worried about presenting the right image? I wish I could ask him. But if I could, what I’d tell him is the same thing I tell all those in front of my camera: you are perfect just the way you are, today, and your family thinks so, too.

In my post about fine art photography, I mention my perspectives on creating art for your family. I take my portraits as if you’re looking at them far into the future, and trust me: in 20 years when you are remembering how small your children were, or in 50 years when your family looks back on these photos, your hair & makeup won’t matter nearly as much as all the “important stuff.”

Like any artist, I draw upon my own intuition as well as my life experience in each and every image I create. Unfortunately, I know what it’s like when all you have left is a memory and a photograph. I share my story here in the hopes that it provides just a little more insight on why I do what I do — and why I’m so passionate about celebrating the present, and giving you & your family great photographic artwork.

Michelle Kirkland, fine art portrait photographer

972.768.6457