A couple weeks ago, I went to see the movie Julie and Julia. I was less than enchanted with the storyline about the woman cooking through the cookbook (although it did inspire me to create a blog with some theme and, you know, get a book deal and make millions...but that is less-than-likely to happen), but I was very taken by the marriage between Julia Child and her husband, Paul. Aside from being an adorable couple (which I attribute in part to their real-life partnership and in part to the magic of Hollywood and amazing actors), they were just so functional together, which was quite nice to see. No doom and gloom and discord for them. Thank you for the change of pace, Hollywood.
Now, I've always been very pragmatic about marriage, even before I was a married woman myself. I have never been under the illusion that marriage is a cakewalk or that there won't be tough times. I subscribe to the philosophy that marriage involves a choice every day; that you wake up every morning and recommit to your spouse, regardless of the feelings or happiness or frustrations that are a part of the current nuptial milieu. I admit to stealing this philosophy from the movie "Keeping the Faith," but it seems sound advice. I think that recognizing this as a philosophy BEFORE I got married allowed me the chance to really commit to the decision I was making the day I got married. It wasn't a whim, it wasn't all romance and hearts a-flutter, it was me committing to choose marriage each day of my life. I know it sounds ridiculously pragmatic and void of emotion, but this frame of mind is, for me, a solid underpinning for a strong marriage.
The beauty of my marriage thus far is that, along with this boring and practical undercurrent, married life has been fun! I genuinely enjoy being around Andy. We have fun, we laugh, we joke, we understand each others humor. We like to do the same things (well, some of the same things), and those things that we don't share as hobbies, we're tolerant of when the other partakes. In the movie, Julia and Paul seemed to similarly enjoy each other, even after several years of marriage, which was just so darn pleasant to see. I hope that as I grow older, and come into my own (in that hopeful, morphing and growing as one ages kind of way), Andy and I continue to enjoy one another, and have fun together. If we don't always, I'll continue to choose marriage, but I think that we'll be far happier if we're able to maintain the humorous and enjoyable connection we have now in our relative youth.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Creativity
Once in awhile, I am filled with an urge to be creative. To literally create things. I'm feeling it now, burbling up from the inside, and screaming to come out.
The problem is channeling the creativity. When I was at home, I found Dad's old camera from middle school. Which is actually now MY camera because he gave it to me. When I was in high school, I went through a photography phases, and became slightly obsessed. And, if I do say myself, I was good, in an untrained kind of way.
But picking up the camera this time gave me a feeling of seeing things differently. I was amazed at the difference between digital and SLR photography. Not just the mechanics, which are, of course, different; rather, the mindset you must adopt in order to compose a shot with an old 35mm camera.
You cannot point and shoot. An SLR is designed in such a way that you must be patient to complete the act of taking a picture. First, you must compose a shot, looking with your naked eyes at the world around you, and figure out which small slice of what you see will make a photograph worth printing. Only then can you put the camera to your eye, and adjust the focus and the light. Sometimes, the picture you wish to take simply cannot be taken with the combination of light, film, location, and subject you have in front of you. You would end up with an overexposed negative, or perhaps a blur on the page. But if the light is workable (and oh, SLR, how much light you do require!), then you move onto the focus.
Dad's old Pentax came with a single lens. I have a zoom lens that I bought later, and it serves its purpose, but the non-zoom, simple lens forces you to work within limits, and use the constraints in a creative way. Often, in a single shot, you cannot focus on the entire scene in front of you, but must choose a foreground or background object on which to train your shot. These pictures have amazing depth.
I flitted around this past weekend shooting pictures of home, including many shots of my husband, and the surroundings I grew up in. In an act of sheer irony, I, forgetful about the processes involved with my beloved machine, popped open the door of the camera before rewinding the film, likely exposing the roll and ruining the pictures. I chalk it up as a learning experience, and hope to salvage a few from the beginning of the roll.
Off to Costco tomorrow, which I have been told does a quite nice job of developing. And then onto the magic of waiting for the prints.
The problem is channeling the creativity. When I was at home, I found Dad's old camera from middle school. Which is actually now MY camera because he gave it to me. When I was in high school, I went through a photography phases, and became slightly obsessed. And, if I do say myself, I was good, in an untrained kind of way.
But picking up the camera this time gave me a feeling of seeing things differently. I was amazed at the difference between digital and SLR photography. Not just the mechanics, which are, of course, different; rather, the mindset you must adopt in order to compose a shot with an old 35mm camera.
You cannot point and shoot. An SLR is designed in such a way that you must be patient to complete the act of taking a picture. First, you must compose a shot, looking with your naked eyes at the world around you, and figure out which small slice of what you see will make a photograph worth printing. Only then can you put the camera to your eye, and adjust the focus and the light. Sometimes, the picture you wish to take simply cannot be taken with the combination of light, film, location, and subject you have in front of you. You would end up with an overexposed negative, or perhaps a blur on the page. But if the light is workable (and oh, SLR, how much light you do require!), then you move onto the focus.
Dad's old Pentax came with a single lens. I have a zoom lens that I bought later, and it serves its purpose, but the non-zoom, simple lens forces you to work within limits, and use the constraints in a creative way. Often, in a single shot, you cannot focus on the entire scene in front of you, but must choose a foreground or background object on which to train your shot. These pictures have amazing depth.
I flitted around this past weekend shooting pictures of home, including many shots of my husband, and the surroundings I grew up in. In an act of sheer irony, I, forgetful about the processes involved with my beloved machine, popped open the door of the camera before rewinding the film, likely exposing the roll and ruining the pictures. I chalk it up as a learning experience, and hope to salvage a few from the beginning of the roll.
Off to Costco tomorrow, which I have been told does a quite nice job of developing. And then onto the magic of waiting for the prints.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)