If you’ve clicked through to this post expecting some steamy relationship advice, I’m afraid that’s not what you’re getting today. So either move along or stick around and enjoy this very non-steamy blog post.
I have loved photography since I received my first bright red camera aged five. The first picture I ever took was one of my parents on my fifth birthday and of course, I chopped their heads off. The next was one of a pair of salt and pepper shakers and my third was of my favourite teddy, Rachel bear. I don’t know why she had the same name as me.
I remember being so excited to finish the film so we could take it to a camera shop (probably Max Spielmann’s, remember that?) and see what my photos looked like that. So much so, that I’m pretty sure I used up the whole film in a few days, snapping pictures of anything and everything.
When the photographs were developed I was probably somewhat disappointed that my pictures weren’t exactly Annie Leibovitz quality, but I’m sure my parents said they were arty nonetheless.
In the years that followed I went through camera after camera. I’d come from back from family holidays with reels of film to develop and I’d always be the one on school trips with a camera hanging from my neck. I just loved taking photographs.
When digital cameras became a thing, I was desperate to get my hands on one and when I did, I was amazed that I could take and delete tons of photos until I got the right one. Photography was just so exciting.
As I got older, I realised that I way preferred being behind the lens rather than in front of it and so at sleepovers when everyone was excited about trying out new makeup looks, I was the one who declined having my hair straightened or trying out an eyeliner in favour of being the photographer.
When I first got a phone with a camera, my interest dwindled. Photography was everyone’s thing now, yet when I was younger, no one had ever seemed the slightest bit interested. This sounds like a total ‘I don’t want to be into it if everyone else is,’ but it was also more that ‘my’ version of photography had changed.
Now people could take hundreds of photos of the same event, there were filters and all kinds of different settings to edit photographs. It wasn’t the ‘raw’ photography that I’d always enjoyed. It was easier to perfect the photos now, easier to edit out the things that the photographer didn’t want to be seen. And, I didn’t like it.
It took me a really long time to appreciate the fact that photos could be edited. I felt like the end products were’t real and honestly, I felt like there was no point taking photographs if they could just be edited to look the way I wanted. And so, for a long time I just stopped taking them.
I took photos of friends and events but landscapes and nature completely evaded me. I had lost interest in what was once a huge hobby of mine.
When I started blogging, just over a year and a half ago, I realised how much I’d missed in the photography world. Flatlays were everywhere and I was so envious of other blogger’s photography that it sparked something in me again.
I finally picked up my camera again with a new passion for photography and found that actually I quite liked editing photos and taking dozens of pictures until I got the right one.
But it wasn’t until I went to the Lake District last month that I could say I really had fallen in love with photography again. I finally was seeing the world as a photographer and even though I know my skills need so much work after them lying dormant for the last few years, I’m excited to improve and love photography like I used to.
Taking photos was one of my first loves and I’m so glad it’s slowly returning.