dave lackey
Veteran
It is hoped that this thread will be where you can share a story with your photos. Please post your own story behind your photos. Here is one of mine:
Today is Mother's Day, 2011 in the USA.
There is something about Mother's Day that just brings up memories, and stories, for me, at least.
Recently, I was reminded by a well-respected photographer that my photographs are part of storytelling. Sometimes, I let that part get lost in my quest for "art". Or 'technically-correct/perfectly composed' images. But the loss of friends recently coupled with so many with health problems have shed light on what is really important. Enlightenment comes in many ways.
So, I looked through my little digital collection of images (from slides to black and film images) that I keep on my iphone to share, in addition to those on the main computer. And, yes, it is true. Those images have a story to tell. But, also, the images have a story yet to be told. The picture below is from 2011. Mother's Day at the beach in Orange Beach, Alabama.
The picture is nothing special as it was just a walk on the beach with an old Nikon AF SLR loaded with Velvia. The story behind the picture was "why I was walking the beach that morning". It was simply a documentation of what I saw and captured on slide film, or so I thought. But I was there for a reason...it was therapy for me, a rare hour alone.
I was struck by the beauty of reflected light and colors that morning and I was thankful for the opportunity to be a guest at a condo on the beach and I had no idea what the future would hold for us. The sunrise took me back to Mother's Day in my early childhood and wonderful contemplation of 40 years of marriage at that moment. We are now celebrating our 44th anniversary in July. It seems only a couple of years ago that I proposed to the love of my life.
The sunrise picture above could not tell a story about anything beyond that moment in 2011. Only now, four years later has the rest been revealed.
And that is why I am working on a new project with a comprehensive story to tell... Not only does a single photograph have a story behind it, but written words and more photos can enhance the story-telling. An epiphany of sorts. A new beginning, photographically.
Please share your story with us.:angel:
Today is Mother's Day, 2011 in the USA.
There is something about Mother's Day that just brings up memories, and stories, for me, at least.Recently, I was reminded by a well-respected photographer that my photographs are part of storytelling. Sometimes, I let that part get lost in my quest for "art". Or 'technically-correct/perfectly composed' images. But the loss of friends recently coupled with so many with health problems have shed light on what is really important. Enlightenment comes in many ways.
So, I looked through my little digital collection of images (from slides to black and film images) that I keep on my iphone to share, in addition to those on the main computer. And, yes, it is true. Those images have a story to tell. But, also, the images have a story yet to be told. The picture below is from 2011. Mother's Day at the beach in Orange Beach, Alabama.
The picture is nothing special as it was just a walk on the beach with an old Nikon AF SLR loaded with Velvia. The story behind the picture was "why I was walking the beach that morning". It was simply a documentation of what I saw and captured on slide film, or so I thought. But I was there for a reason...it was therapy for me, a rare hour alone.
I was struck by the beauty of reflected light and colors that morning and I was thankful for the opportunity to be a guest at a condo on the beach and I had no idea what the future would hold for us. The sunrise took me back to Mother's Day in my early childhood and wonderful contemplation of 40 years of marriage at that moment. We are now celebrating our 44th anniversary in July. It seems only a couple of years ago that I proposed to the love of my life.
The sunrise picture above could not tell a story about anything beyond that moment in 2011. Only now, four years later has the rest been revealed.
And that is why I am working on a new project with a comprehensive story to tell... Not only does a single photograph have a story behind it, but written words and more photos can enhance the story-telling. An epiphany of sorts. A new beginning, photographically.
Please share your story with us.:angel:
Attachments
raid
Dad Photographer
This is a great idea for a thread, Dave. Your posted image is wonderful.
When I look into my daughter's eyes, I see the reflection of myself and my own life. I took this photo yesterday, just before she went to some social event. Dana's eyes are my eyes. I think about my life and I think about what Dana may be facing in her own life ahead. It is simple looking images such as the one I have posted here that make me think about life.
When I look into my daughter's eyes, I see the reflection of myself and my own life. I took this photo yesterday, just before she went to some social event. Dana's eyes are my eyes. I think about my life and I think about what Dana may be facing in her own life ahead. It is simple looking images such as the one I have posted here that make me think about life.
dave lackey
Veteran
Thanks, Raid. Excellent story and the image certainly reflects your eyes in your lovely daughter. A beautiful child and a loving father who happens to be a friend!
Can't wait to see others posting as well. I will find time later to review my hard drive files for anything that might be interesting.
Can't wait to see others posting as well. I will find time later to review my hard drive files for anything that might be interesting.
FrankS
Registered User
lynnb
Veteran
I will share an amusing story. This is the local seaside headland where I live. It, and most of the headlands along Sydney's northern beaches, is infested with rabbits, where once there were none.
A close friend of mine who grew up on a rural property hundreds of kilometres from the coast, moved to the city half a century ago. His family had lived on rabbits during the depression. Although he prospered in the city he missed the country life and the taste of stewed wild rabbit. What to do?
So he one day brought back some wild rabbits from a farm and released them on a local headland, which happened also to have an adjacent golf course. In the space of a short time, there were many more than the regulation 18 holes. Newspaper articles were written about the problem. Cartoons were drawn and framed in the golf club house. Baits were laid. But it was too late. The rabbits soon populated the entire stretch of coast.
My friend died a few years ago. But every time I go for a walk in the evening, I am reminded of him.
paulfish4570
Veteran
wonderful thread idea. thanks for the stories ...
Peter David Grant
Well-known
Lynn, that is a golden photograph and story. Thank you for sharing it!
Vince Lupo
Whatever
While visiting the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Reims, France, I sat on a stone bench across from this little prayer area.
After a couple of minutes, this lady walked up to the little altar. She just stood there, motionless. Her hair, her dress, her white high heels all seemed to be such a contrast with the rest of the environment.
I took about four shots before she walked away. I never did see her face.
France236 by Vince Lupo, on Flickr
After a couple of minutes, this lady walked up to the little altar. She just stood there, motionless. Her hair, her dress, her white high heels all seemed to be such a contrast with the rest of the environment.
I took about four shots before she walked away. I never did see her face.
France236 by Vince Lupo, on Flickr
paulfish4570
Veteran
this is a recent story:
our youngest son and hs bride had their first child, a son, one month ago. little jackson was three weeks early, yet his tiny hand strongly grasped the forefinger of my son; new mom's hand also is in the photo. the contrasts of that tiny hand and his dad's stained worker's finger and mom's feminine hand tell a story of family ...
our youngest son and hs bride had their first child, a son, one month ago. little jackson was three weeks early, yet his tiny hand strongly grasped the forefinger of my son; new mom's hand also is in the photo. the contrasts of that tiny hand and his dad's stained worker's finger and mom's feminine hand tell a story of family ...
airfrogusmc
Veteran
Looks like I'm going to bring this down a bit. Both of my parents died from alcohol related problems. When I was a kid I hated them for it. This was a page in a book I did when I was going through a divorce, starting a new relationship and doing some real self examination and recognizing some truths and trying to come to grips with my own demons.
airfrogusmc
Veteran
Helen, as you pointed out, can't be all flowers, puppies and Hallmark moments. The work was extremely therapeutic and helped me through a very rough time.
Strong image and sad story from you...
Another page from the book
and one more
Strong image and sad story from you...
Another page from the book
and one more
airfrogusmc
Veteran
The problem with the written word on the web. LoL....I was actually agreeing with you. I think I fixed it to reflect more of what i was getting at.
Sorry it wasn't meant like that towards you at all. The image and the story you posted is also dark and really, really sad. I was speaking in general and what is so prevalent on most of the world wide web.
photony texas
Light Sensitive
Always a bit of story behind my photos. This one deals with Addiction and the Loss of Creativity...
This dude has been taking a ride on my BACK for a bit to long.
Addiction is a hard nut to crack and it is about time The Monkey sets me free.
I’ve dealt with his manipulative ways and I am so dam tired.
So Mr. Monkey **** let me be.
And I will once again regain that creative impulse that is the Only Way To See…
This dude has been taking a ride on my BACK for a bit to long.
Addiction is a hard nut to crack and it is about time The Monkey sets me free.
I’ve dealt with his manipulative ways and I am so dam tired.
So Mr. Monkey **** let me be.
And I will once again regain that creative impulse that is the Only Way To See…
https://danielteolijr.files.wordpre...led-no-1-copyright-1971-daniel-d-teoli-jr.jpg
When I got home to develop the film I dropped the cassette on the concrete outside my darkroom located in the garage. The end of the cassette popped off. The film spool stayed mostly inside. Luckily the image here was in the center of the film and did not get ruined.
I started to use better cassettes in my hand loading.
https://danielteolijr.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/reinbeau-copyright-2014-daniel-d-teoli-jr-mr.jpg
I was having lunch in my car when Reinbeau walked up. Her toenails matched her fingernails.
When I got home to develop the film I dropped the cassette on the concrete outside my darkroom located in the garage. The end of the cassette popped off. The film spool stayed mostly inside. Luckily the image here was in the center of the film and did not get ruined.
I started to use better cassettes in my hand loading.
https://danielteolijr.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/reinbeau-copyright-2014-daniel-d-teoli-jr-mr.jpg
I was having lunch in my car when Reinbeau walked up. Her toenails matched her fingernails.
dave lackey
Veteran
Photographs and memories. To me, these are more important than just "art" that I may create. Of course, it is nice to combine the two but sometimes, the art of the photograph doesn't matter. Nor does technically correct exposure or composition. Or the camera, lens, medium, etc.
I have thousands of prints/negatives boxed up from over the years including photographs from my parents that date back to the 1920's. One day, I will get around to archiving them and sharing some of them because they are true treasure. They were certainly not works of art or even photographs that were exposed or framed in a "perfect" manner.
But I have to keep reminding myself that I have my snapshot moments to capture with whatever camera and by any means necessary. This is one from 2006:
And here is the story I wrote about this photo:
Baby Hawk and Colic
Grandbaby number three, Nicholas Hawk M*****, Gator’s little brother, was born on June 8, 2006, the second child of our daughter, and her husband.. Both of their babies were boys, born within 19 months of each other. Oh, joy, TWO babies in diapers and we get to have ‘em both at the same time each weekend! Sort of like the old 1960’s TV commercial for Doublemint chewing gum…”Double your pleasure, double your fun!”
But wait, there is one little complication in the grandparents’ good fortune. Seems like baby Hawk has all the symptoms of colic! Now, for those of you who have never been around babies with colic, just think of trying to focus on threading a sewing machine with it running at full tilt whilst someone is scratching thousands of fingernails on a chalkboard for 8 hours straight!!! Yeah, it’s that bad. But the Good Lord has yet more in store for the saintly patient grandparents, oh yes, yes, indeed. Actually it was for me, “Pop”, as I awoke at 1:00 am to relieve Grammy from baby-sitting in the other room. She has already endured 7 straight hours of colic-induced crying. Now, it is Pop’s turn.
All went well as six-week old baby Hawk slept, making little baby noises and grunts until about 4:00 am. Grammy did a great job putting him down! But now, it is time to fix another bottle. I knew without a doubt. How? Well, baby Hawk told me in no uncertain terms with his incessant demands! That’s a no-brainer even for a sleepy grandpa.
So, Pop goes about feeding the little booger and it took all of fifteen minutes and three burping rituals to drain the bottle. So far, so good. Heh, heh…”this ain’t so hard, now is it?”, as I thought, prematurely congratulating myself with my grandparenting abilities. Pop rules!…heh, heh…
But…I was slowly reminded of the reality about to confront Pop…by a smell from the underworld. What a devilish act perpetrated by such an innocent, dear, sweet baby. The odor wafted across my face and forced my bloodshot-eyes into a crossed position. Arggghhh!
Pop defends himself with a mighty effort to hold his breath while managing a dignified smile to no one in particular. We were alone and we had a problem…Holy crap, Pop forgot about THIS part…who rules now? Huh?
THIS part was a biological fact…that colic-stricken babies also tend to have symptoms of upset tummies with attendant discharges that necessitate frequent diaper changing. Okay, no big deal. That is what you get with darling little babies and in this modern world, we have all kinds of conveniences to make baby-changing a much easier and somewhat more enjoyable (?) chore. Things like a diaper-changing board placed over the fold-up bed. Diaper containers and baby-wipes close at hand. No more cloth diapers with pins and smelly pots in which to place the soiled diapers. Easy-open and close diapers with “sticky” tabs and even a wind-up mobile with Winnie-the-Pooh and Tigger, too!...just to keep the little one entertained.
So, as one popular comedian would say, “Git ‘r done!”...methodically unbutton the blasted little snaps on the “one-sie” outfit. Open the sticky tabs on the diapers while holding baby by his feet up in the dark and survey the collateral damage. Yikes! This baby didn’t have an upset tummy, he had a nuclear meltdown!! Man, this just ain’t right!!!
Grab the wipes and start mopping up the now upside-down infant…grab some more and then some more! Okay, not too bad now, but don’t forget to place a diaper or towel over the little one’s front side to avoid christening! Grab a new diaper, lift the baby upside-down again and place the diaper unfolded under his tush…not so hard to do, huh? Shoot, ol’ Pop is getting pretty good at this!
SPLATTTTTTT!!!!
Huh? What was that noise? What is that warm, thick liquid running down the full length of my right arm from my elbow to my hand? What the….????…ohhhhhh… that wafting odor again, and that oozing liquid…that could only have been the one dastardly thing in this world that parents and grandparents fear the most from our darling little ones…
PROJECTILE DIARRHEA!!!
Holy !*$#@!
Crying at one end and spraying out the other. What is Pop to do?...
Oh, Lord….
(Twenty minutes later…)
What a sight to behold…Pop rocking baby Hawk to sleep whilst humming and singing in a low voice, all the while pushing on the pacifier to make sure the constant sucking and releasing didn’t force a another discharge, of the rubber thingy kind. Baby Hawk settles down and closes his eyes. Another twenty minutes of rocking and Pop takes the baby and places him face down on the blanket spread on the couch and…slowly…lets go….
Ahhhh…it worked! Baby rests with his hind-end in the air and with his arms and knees under him while he sleeps like a …well, like a baby.
Hallelujah, what a sight to behold! Moments like these are truly satisfying to my soul. I lie beside him and pat him on the back. No sleeping for Pop, oh, no…moments like these are to savor. My soul and my heart are filled with joy and slumber must wait ‘til dawn and a new day.
I have thousands of prints/negatives boxed up from over the years including photographs from my parents that date back to the 1920's. One day, I will get around to archiving them and sharing some of them because they are true treasure. They were certainly not works of art or even photographs that were exposed or framed in a "perfect" manner.
But I have to keep reminding myself that I have my snapshot moments to capture with whatever camera and by any means necessary. This is one from 2006:
And here is the story I wrote about this photo:
Baby Hawk and Colic
Grandbaby number three, Nicholas Hawk M*****, Gator’s little brother, was born on June 8, 2006, the second child of our daughter, and her husband.. Both of their babies were boys, born within 19 months of each other. Oh, joy, TWO babies in diapers and we get to have ‘em both at the same time each weekend! Sort of like the old 1960’s TV commercial for Doublemint chewing gum…”Double your pleasure, double your fun!”
But wait, there is one little complication in the grandparents’ good fortune. Seems like baby Hawk has all the symptoms of colic! Now, for those of you who have never been around babies with colic, just think of trying to focus on threading a sewing machine with it running at full tilt whilst someone is scratching thousands of fingernails on a chalkboard for 8 hours straight!!! Yeah, it’s that bad. But the Good Lord has yet more in store for the saintly patient grandparents, oh yes, yes, indeed. Actually it was for me, “Pop”, as I awoke at 1:00 am to relieve Grammy from baby-sitting in the other room. She has already endured 7 straight hours of colic-induced crying. Now, it is Pop’s turn.
All went well as six-week old baby Hawk slept, making little baby noises and grunts until about 4:00 am. Grammy did a great job putting him down! But now, it is time to fix another bottle. I knew without a doubt. How? Well, baby Hawk told me in no uncertain terms with his incessant demands! That’s a no-brainer even for a sleepy grandpa.
So, Pop goes about feeding the little booger and it took all of fifteen minutes and three burping rituals to drain the bottle. So far, so good. Heh, heh…”this ain’t so hard, now is it?”, as I thought, prematurely congratulating myself with my grandparenting abilities. Pop rules!…heh, heh…
But…I was slowly reminded of the reality about to confront Pop…by a smell from the underworld. What a devilish act perpetrated by such an innocent, dear, sweet baby. The odor wafted across my face and forced my bloodshot-eyes into a crossed position. Arggghhh!
Pop defends himself with a mighty effort to hold his breath while managing a dignified smile to no one in particular. We were alone and we had a problem…Holy crap, Pop forgot about THIS part…who rules now? Huh?
THIS part was a biological fact…that colic-stricken babies also tend to have symptoms of upset tummies with attendant discharges that necessitate frequent diaper changing. Okay, no big deal. That is what you get with darling little babies and in this modern world, we have all kinds of conveniences to make baby-changing a much easier and somewhat more enjoyable (?) chore. Things like a diaper-changing board placed over the fold-up bed. Diaper containers and baby-wipes close at hand. No more cloth diapers with pins and smelly pots in which to place the soiled diapers. Easy-open and close diapers with “sticky” tabs and even a wind-up mobile with Winnie-the-Pooh and Tigger, too!...just to keep the little one entertained.
So, as one popular comedian would say, “Git ‘r done!”...methodically unbutton the blasted little snaps on the “one-sie” outfit. Open the sticky tabs on the diapers while holding baby by his feet up in the dark and survey the collateral damage. Yikes! This baby didn’t have an upset tummy, he had a nuclear meltdown!! Man, this just ain’t right!!!
Grab the wipes and start mopping up the now upside-down infant…grab some more and then some more! Okay, not too bad now, but don’t forget to place a diaper or towel over the little one’s front side to avoid christening! Grab a new diaper, lift the baby upside-down again and place the diaper unfolded under his tush…not so hard to do, huh? Shoot, ol’ Pop is getting pretty good at this!
SPLATTTTTTT!!!!
Huh? What was that noise? What is that warm, thick liquid running down the full length of my right arm from my elbow to my hand? What the….????…ohhhhhh… that wafting odor again, and that oozing liquid…that could only have been the one dastardly thing in this world that parents and grandparents fear the most from our darling little ones…
PROJECTILE DIARRHEA!!!
Holy !*$#@!
Crying at one end and spraying out the other. What is Pop to do?...
Oh, Lord….
(Twenty minutes later…)
What a sight to behold…Pop rocking baby Hawk to sleep whilst humming and singing in a low voice, all the while pushing on the pacifier to make sure the constant sucking and releasing didn’t force a another discharge, of the rubber thingy kind. Baby Hawk settles down and closes his eyes. Another twenty minutes of rocking and Pop takes the baby and places him face down on the blanket spread on the couch and…slowly…lets go….
Ahhhh…it worked! Baby rests with his hind-end in the air and with his arms and knees under him while he sleeps like a …well, like a baby.
Hallelujah, what a sight to behold! Moments like these are truly satisfying to my soul. I lie beside him and pat him on the back. No sleeping for Pop, oh, no…moments like these are to savor. My soul and my heart are filled with joy and slumber must wait ‘til dawn and a new day.
Attachments
robert blu
quiet photographer
This is an excellent thread, the images and the stories makes it very interesting.
Not sure in this moment to have anything to post here but as soon as I'll have I'll do.
Thanks Dave for starting it.
robert
Not sure in this moment to have anything to post here but as soon as I'll have I'll do.
Thanks Dave for starting it.
robert
paulfish4570
Veteran
dve, that's a fine story right there ...
dave lackey
Veteran
Thank you, Robert. Looking forward to your story!
[dve, that's a fine story right there ... ]
Paul, thanks! Not as elegant as your with the baby , mom and dad. Yours was well done! Mine, only a true story, nothing quite meaningful, just funny.
Rogrund
Antti Sivén
Yes, a great idea for a thread!
My story is about my parents, still alive but turning old and slowly drifting into dementia. They live in a small town in Finland, quite lonely since all their children and grand-children live in Sweden. When I go to see them we mostly talk about old days, because that keeps them calm and happy. They tell the same stories over and over again about when they grew up in Helsinki during the war, how they spent nights in the air-raid shelters as the Russian bombers flew over the Finnish capital. The house beside my mother's was hit by a bomb, but she survived.
So, after my last visit in April, on my way back to Sweden, I stayed for a few days in Helsinki and went to search for the house where my mother lived during the war. Her father was an Orthodox priest, and they had an apartment in a house that was owned by the Orthodox congregation in Helsinki, and it still is. I found the house and the door to the stair hall was unlocked. So I went in, and sat there for a good while, thinking about my mother as a little girl, running up and down the stairs. And thinking of her now, when she barely can remember who I am when I come to visit.
L1012351 by Rogrunder, on Flickr
My story is about my parents, still alive but turning old and slowly drifting into dementia. They live in a small town in Finland, quite lonely since all their children and grand-children live in Sweden. When I go to see them we mostly talk about old days, because that keeps them calm and happy. They tell the same stories over and over again about when they grew up in Helsinki during the war, how they spent nights in the air-raid shelters as the Russian bombers flew over the Finnish capital. The house beside my mother's was hit by a bomb, but she survived.
So, after my last visit in April, on my way back to Sweden, I stayed for a few days in Helsinki and went to search for the house where my mother lived during the war. Her father was an Orthodox priest, and they had an apartment in a house that was owned by the Orthodox congregation in Helsinki, and it still is. I found the house and the door to the stair hall was unlocked. So I went in, and sat there for a good while, thinking about my mother as a little girl, running up and down the stairs. And thinking of her now, when she barely can remember who I am when I come to visit.
L1012351 by Rogrunder, on Flickr
John E Earley
Tuol Sleng S21-0174
Wonderful thread.