Photography is amazing.  It inspires me and excites me.  Photos can evoke memories certainly.  But they can also bring instant sensations as well.  A remembrance of a taste.  A smell.  Or a sound.

A sunny day in Portugal, and my first taste of the crisp, vinho verde03almost tart sip of Vinho Verde.  I can still feel it on my tongue when I see this picture.

Or the powerful smell of rosemary against a warmed wall on 4m_2a summer’s day in Tuscany.

Or the baying of longhorns as their mealOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA time was approaching.

My parents were not photography buffs.  And both Tom and I tend to steer  clear of the front of the camera.  But we have so many opportunities today to document our lives and to relive particular moments.  What a wonderful gift.


I’ve started to move my online photo album to a site of it’s own.  Please visit it to see some of the photos that make me happy.

My husband and I seldom argue.  And we never actually fight.  Maybe we lack that hot tempered gene.PB010739

But there is one thing that we can never see eye to eye on.  Tom does not believe that Photography is art.  He attributes it to luck.  To being someplace at the right time.  He views it as something easily replicable and not requiring exceptional talent.

This perspective irks me to no end.  It is the one topic that I can’t have a conversation with him about.  Money, sure.  Politics, fine.  Religion, ok.  Photography – don’t go there.

100_1406_2And it bothers me even more that he makes no attempt to humor me for my own love of photography.  Not that he doesn’t admire many of my photos.  Or show them proudly to family and friends.  Or plan decorating projects around them.

He just won’t admit they are art.