Through my lens: Part I - INTRO

"To me, photography is an art of observation. It's about finding something interesting in an ordinary place ... I've found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them." -- Elliott Erwitt

As a child, I never found myself secretly squinting at the blackboard in elementary school, and I was always thrilled when I aced my vision screening the first week of classes each year. I never had to endure the "four-eyes" jokes and my only association with coke bottles was the kind I would find chilled on the bottom shelf of my fridge on a sticky summer day.

As an adult, I haven't been forced to purchase seven pairs of readers to stash in every purse I own, in my car and on my nightstand. In a dimly lit restaurant I pick up the menu printed in the most fine scripted font and am able to scan it's options instantly, saving my arms for the in-n-out zooming workout.

So when I purchased my first big girl SLR camera with a few pennies that Uncle Sam awarded me (read: returned to it's rightful owner) three tax seasons ago I figured we'd be the best of friends. As I floated on air out of the store, Nikon in tote, I imagined all of our future moments together. The cocktail parties, the Christmases and road trips - all the "ordinary" places. I figured, with a tiger's eyes like mine, we'd make beautiful art together.

I never realized that the images captured in those moments had nothing to do with my 20/20 vision. Whether I donned contacts, bi-focals, or readers as I peered into the viewfinder meant nothing at all. As Elliott Erwitt says, each photo had nothing to do with the things I was seeing, and everything to do with the way in which I saw them.

The way I feel when my finger depresses the silver dome atop my camera and the shutter snaps closed, and the emotions that very photo brings forth in you are often quite different. However, therein lies my ultimate goal - feeling.

It is my hope that whether you sat in the front row in second grade to see the chalkboard, hold the daily newspaper three inches from your peering eyes each morning, or like me, are able to read the highway exit sign from a mile away ... that my photos allow you to feel.