Can't paint, chisel, saw, hammer. I can't draw a straight line.
I can't sing a tune.
Can't play a note.
give me ink and light
and I'll "tell" you a wonderful story
Growing up reading page turners
I grew up in a solid working-class family - parents, brother, myself. Dad worked nights, mom worked days because they learned that they were better babysitters for my brother and me. We didn't grow up with a lot of THINGS - we had everything we needed, and quite a few things we wanted but we weren't "well-to-do" or anything like that. BUT when I visit my parents and look through our tons of family photo albums, I feel rich. Filthy, stinkin' rich!
The pictures in those albums are not all "wall-hanging-worthy" pictures. They're not traditional portraits. We got those too - lining the wall of the hallway when you first enter the house. We love those. We do. Even the embarrassing ones, like the one of me with the Jheri curl and tortoise shell thick rimmed glasses. (Why did they let me out the house???)
But the truth of how we lived, loved, cared, shared ... how we interacted, or sought solitude ... is evident on the pages of those photo albums. These honestly portrayed emotions and sentiments can't be revealed through stage directions to "place your hand here," and "lean your head there," and "look at each other and smile."
In those albums, I see my parents, grandparents, and my uncles and aunts and cousins - and uncles and aunts and cousins who really weren't uncles and aunts and cousins but we just called them that, just because. I see parties and reunions and crazy clothes and 70's fashionistas and Foxy Brown and Shaft wannabes, and and and I can feel the summer heat coated with exhaust fumes from the urban landscape, and hear the O'Jay's, the Spinners, the Four Tops, Gladys Knight and her Pips, the music blasting from fake wood paneled speakers someone set on crates outside and and and I can hear kids playing kickball or trash talking, piling styrofoam plates with hot dogs and potato salad sprinkled with paprika, and spilling red Kool-aid on t-shirts and looking like crime scene victims.
I wonder where he is, where she is.
I realize that not only was it all "not that bad," but more importantly, "we really had it good, didn't we?"
I smile with every page I turn.
Growing up writing page-turners
So what do I do?
I don't do "BOOK COVERS" (Traditional Portraits). I don't do traditional portraits - the posed documents that confirm your existence. I have nothing against them. I love looking at really good ones. I do. Can I shoot them? Yes. Have I shot them? Yes. Will I shoot them? No. But I can recommend some talented photographers that I know.
I do the "INSIDE STORY" I "write" the scenes (Hours in Your Day) or the chapters (A Day in Your Life), that exist between the covers - the rich, real, raw, story that celebrates the beauty and truth of your everyday life. These scenes and chapters make up the rich content of your life ... the page-turners that will have you and your children, and even their children, looking back, wondering fondly ...
"Where is he, where is she..."
and realizing, "we really did have it good, didn't we?"
... and smiling with every page you turn.