Poetic photo??

Me the photographer…
Yes I can handle the camera after all…
I can pick, click and the photos can be pretty slick…

I always doubted my skill as a photographer…its one thing if the composition is wrong – its absolutely another if you cant hold the camera stable to save your life…
Such was the sob story of my life…
My first photography practical in college and I mess it up like a mega disaster…which was accompanied with much depressive bouts and sulks…
And I thought I was the worst human being yet born to hold the camera the way I did…
I have taken masterpieces of what a photograph shouldn’t be…
The eyes have often been misplaced…the nose had been superimposed on the mouth…oh and sometimes, it has been an exemplary form of modern art – to decipher what was the subject would have been as interesting exercise for Einstein…much less for the lesser mortals such as you and me…

And then with much bravado and courage, I picked up that box-like-instrument once again… then I learnt the functions…oh it was painful to raise that heavy SLR and go into flashback when I have given birth to a whole new living specie in my photographs…
But one must put the past behind…and so, again, I took up the mammothian task of learning photography…

I am an art lover…a secret poet…an amateur painter…and I have always related photography to art… and have always desired to learn to take good photographs…

It is something else to see an object from your perspective…you can never explain it to another person unless you have the power to capture that moment or that angle from your own camera…
It frustrated me to no end to not be able to hold that expression on the road side child’s face or to see the stream of light flicker from between that hose pipe and not be able to show it to someone else…or to just click a corner or the sky or the tree or the grass as I see it…
Every photograph is poetry…carefully constructed…uniquely built…
It’s more like poetry because once that moment of magic is over, you can never recreate it again…in your eyes or in your head…the words are lost just as that stream of light is…

So when picked up that intimidating object called camera again, I was petrified…petrified of creating some more new species or some more of the types of Picasso’s absurdity and lose heart again…but I learnt…

The aperture…the shutter speed…the lenses…the direction of light…I lapped it all up like a hungry cat trying to absorb as much as my head allowed and put some of it to practicality…

A trip into the Himalayas came out of nowhere…I got a chance to experiment what I was grappling to learn…in a passionate frenzy my eyes kept darting around to create new visual poetry…and the sound of the camera became a sound of pleasure to my ears…the ‘click’ was almost orgasmic…it made me skip a beat just thinking and praying that I managed to capture that moment as I saw it…and around each photograph is a story…that I unravel in my head as I see them develop before my eyes…an eye-full of poetry rather?...

And then I was re-born…
Me the photographer?....nah…I still prefer Me the poet…!!