Photography means quite literally “to write with light”. For 18 years, I struggled with this aspect of photography. I read book after book, I mastered manual exposure controls, understood the rules of composition and focus, but that elusive quality of light continue to elude me. I took photography classes, both online and in person, went to seminars and read blogs, but none of them spoke about light. Light is the very definition of photography. It should be the very basis of everything taught about photography but I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not for the simple reason that very few people take the time to master it.

On the very first day of classes at the Hallmark Institute of Photography. My instructor began his lesson with light. I was *finally* getting the information on that aspect of photography, somebody was finally explaining to me the very essence of light. It put a huge smile on my face that has been there ever since. In this day and age, anyone with a dSLR camera can be called a photographer for there are no requirements to enter this industry. There is no test to take, no board exam, most work from home so they don’t even bother with business licenses, business liability insurance or worry about taxes. There is no requirement to understand light. I know this, because I’ve taken classes from, and picked the brains of photographers in business who couldn’t teach me light. I went to a college for a program in photography, and there they taught me to photograph photos to my favorite poem. I took an online class that taught me to use a large aperture to photograph macros of flowers. I took every sports photography book out of the library and chased my children around a soccer pitch and learned to use a fast shutter speed for sports photography. I went to Hallmark and finally learned about light.

Light is the very basis of photography. It is everywhere in our life, a lamp to read by, a sunbeam streaming through a window, sunlight reflecting on snow that makes us squint when we drive, but how does it work, what does it do and how does a camera read it. Ever since Hallmark, I have become less of a photographer and more of a light chaser. Light is ever changing, I watch it dance on my living room wall in the early morning amazed at what it can do, I watch it wrap my children’s faces in awe, at it’s simple beauty and theirs. I let it bring life to the images I create. And I spend my life following it.

It is for this reason, I consider myself to forever be a student of photography. I will constantly continue to learn about light, to see it better, to use it to sculpt an image, to bend it, bounce it, flag it, smooth it or use it to add feeling to my images.

When I took this image, I was sitting on my couch and my daughter peeked out our living room window at the snow. Her face lit up with awe at it’s falling beauty. I saw the light open up and wrap her face in that awe. I was mesmerized by this light and I grabbed my camera and photographed it. This image would not be as strong without this soft light. This light that is wrapping her face, the light that is highlighting her feeling of awe and rapture is bouncing it back from within her. There was no photoshop work done on this image, it just is. Just the way I took it. This image is to me, all about light. Hers. And it is a beautiful light.

This portrait is a photograph of my maternal grandfather:

While it is a lovely portrait of him, it does not say anything about who he is to me. You see, my Grandpa was a seed cleaning plant manager. He moved a lot and it was never near us. I saw my Grandpa twice a year, once in January when he came to Edmonton for the annual convention, and once in July, when he and my Grandma would come to the farm for a visit. In the span of a childhood, eight days every year is not very much. How do you carve a relationship out of that? I have vague memories of going to Edmonton to see him, of spying them in the hotel and being so excited to see them, but my stronger memory of those visits is walking through the pedway system to have lunch with all of my Aunts, Uncles and cousins as well. I’m a small town girl, it always befuddled me that we could walk through a tunnel and turn up somewhere else in the city.

My paternal grandparents on the other hand, I saw every single day growing up. I have thousands of memories of them, doing all sorts of things. But I have very few of this Grandpa. The memories of him that I do have, are all very distinct to me because there is something amazing about this man. He grew up in a family with 13 siblings, his family was very poor, and he only made it to about grade eight he figures. He stumbled onto the job for the grain co-op, he got lucky he says, but then he says he was smart enough to know a good thing when he saw it. He got married, had five children of his own and has 14 grandchildren, a whole mess of great grandchildren that he is immensely proud of, and two great great grandchildren! When I told him I was pregnant with our fifth baby, he patted my hand and said “it’s about time someone in this family matched Grandma and I”. He doesn’t need fancy things in his life, and has never had them, but to me, what is most amazing about him, is his natural gift with music.

You see, my grandfather can play any instrument you hand him, he’s built his own instruments, he’s played in countless bands and every Saturday night saw him up on the stage playing for a crowd. But, he knows not one note of music. He can’t read music. He can play any old time song, can pick up the tune of a new song within seconds, but he doesn’t know a single note. His music sheets are simply the title in my Grandmother’s hand writing, with the key the song is played in. Pages and pages of titles, and he only has to look at them, sit back and play it from his heart. My strongest memories of my grandfather from childhood, is of sitting down on the grass in front of him, listening to him play – usually the saxophone, but also the accordion, among others. Once he found a guitar, he brought it down and gave it to me. He held it in his arms and taught me how to play a few strands of Free Falling, when I repeated exactly what he did, he just grinned at me and declared “that girls got music too”.

I wanted to photograph my Grandpa, but I didn’t want just a portrait of him. I wanted to photograph him as he is in all my memories of him. I wanted to tell the story of how I see him, of what he is to me. For the first time in my life, I live near my Grandpa. I can go see him whenever I want, and I bring over to the studio just so he can sit and visit with me while I work. He especially likes it when I bring him over on “fish day”, and he enjoys his hot dog and “chips” (french fries) without any ketchup. He talks about life when he was growing up, and never in a bad way. He is wise, and I learn a lot from him. But my favorite time with him is still when he brings out his saxophone and plays for me. I always ask for the Log Rollers Waltz, it’s hands down my favorite and I sing along with him.

It was all this, that I wanted represented in his portrait. I wanted to tell the story of him, and what it means to have his music in my life. When I showed him this portrait, he said to me “that just about does it Kim”. Then he laughed and said “we did a good job, me and you, making that picture”.

This then, is my 91 year old Grandfather, a musician like none other that I know. His music fills every memory of him that I have and right beside him, is his music, titles only, written out by my Grandmother. This is his story.