I have been blessed to grow up as the daughter of a photographer. My childhood memories are filled with so many events surrounding the camera and my parents' studio. It was such a mesmerizing place for me, where my imagination was free to explore, my confidence was built and many dreams were played out into reality.
The studio had front display windows that were always filled with the most beautiful portraits set on brass easels. I loved to climb into the window and pose, wondering if the passerby's would be able to tell if I was real or Kodak. I would stand there until I could stand it no more, then erupt into many giggles thinking I had really fooled them.
Dad would always call me in to the picture taking room when he needed to finish up a roll of film to get off to the labs. I would quickly brush my hair and rush in, excited every time I was asked. Time seemed to stand still when I was in front of his camera. He would focus his complete attention on me, moving as if there was nothing else but the two of us in existence. He was carefully shifting my face, adjusting the lighting and stepping back to analyze the shot. Before him I always felt radiantly beautiful, grown up and important.
Sometimes he would develop the film in his darkroom. It was such a fun place to be with the orange- yellow lighting casting a mysterious glow over the cluttered room. I can still smell the odor of the developing chemicals and see the plastic trays where each photo would await its turn to come to life. It was always so magical to see the photo appear under the gently rippled surface. Then with our tongs we would lift them out and hang them to dry. Such an amazing process that brought anticipation and fulfillment -something we've lost in our instant, digital, modern world.
I developed my passion for customer service, organization and office supply stores in this place. From the time I could read and write I was waiting on customers, answering the phone, making change and the bank deposits. I wonder sometimes if my mom had this all planned out to teach me self confidence, communication skills, and a desire for excellence. Did she know how important I felt when she entrusted me with those things? I don't ever remember her double checking my work or making me feel like it wasn't up to par. Each week I had the privilege to walk to the office supply store of this small town and purchase the supplies we needed. Who knew such joy could be found from picking out pens and receipt pads? Then I would walk to the post office to get the mail and little by little my circle of freedom would get wider.
I spent my all of my summers there - and kept busy in many ways. When I was younger, I would run school lessons for all of my stuffed animals upstairs. There was an old push button typewriter and chalkboard and I would teach for hours. I would walk back from the library with sometimes 20 books a day - Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Little House on the Prairie, Judy Blume.... When I had exhausted all of the books, then I started on the comic books from the magazine stand. It was always Richie Rich or Archie and Veronica, a Sunkist orange soda and a Heath bar.
I had not visited the studio in a long time. It was so nice to walk in and feel like it was there for me, just the way it used to be. That woodsy smell, the rows of beautiful photos on the walls, the creaky floors and the piles of old photos cluttering the rooms. The ding of the front door bell when you walk in still announces the arrival of someone to see. It was fun to watch my children exploring and enjoying the place that holds so many memories dear to me. I watched A as she changed and posed, wondering if my parents used to watch me in the same way. My mom was there fixing her hair, making her feel beautiful just like she used to do with me.
I wish I had gone into the darkroom again and opened the heavy, squeaky alley door to see if there were any kittens out there. I wish I could have waited on another customer and answered the phone... "Photography by Jack, may I help you?" I'm glad I could be in front of that camera again, this time with my family and their grandchildren.
My dad still has such a gift for capturing the beauty of a person in his camera lens. As I look at the high tech digital setup, I wonder about his old Hasselblad camera from all those years ago. After we take our family photos, we go to the large computer screen and instantly start viewing our proofs. Strange to think that we can make these photos become anything we want them to be in this digital age. It causes me to remember that's not the case with our children. They are like the photos in my dad's darkroom, slowly developing stage by stage, in and out of the transforming chemicals of life, gradually becoming visible in the warm light. With anticipation, I wait to see what they will become and how they will turn out. And I am so thankful that they have experienced the joy of days at the studio with my parents. These are the moments that always remain.... the warmth in my heart of time spent with them in a place that gave joy in the moment, planted seeds for the future and stored up treasures for the days gone by.
