Although this workshop was good for me professionally, I think it's also been good for my soul. The instructor, Cheryl Muhr, has an amazing way about her, and a compelling back story.
She lost her first child at one week old, for reasons they still don't know. She had taken some digital photos of him, but it was still too painful to print them. So they stayed on her laptop, which sat on the kitchen table. Until the day some person kicked in their back door and stole it, taking the photos with them.
When her daughter was born a year later, she became obsessed with photography, not knowing how much time they had with her. I'm happy to report she's now a happy, healthy five-year-old who spent a lot of time running around the workshop with her one-year-old sister. Good golly, they were cute.
But photos? They really are precious. I've always thought this as I somewhat obsessively take photos of my children, but between Cheryl's story and the recent events of Stephanie Nielson and her family, I feel this even more so. I vow to throw myself in front of the camera from time to time, despite the size of my thighs and the state of my crazy hair. And you people reading this? Get ready to be in a few photos yourself. I don't have anywhere near enough of family and friends.
The other refreshing thing I took away from the weekend was a new perspective.
Cheryl is not a trained photographer…she's actually a chiropractor. But she loves photography, so she began to do more of what she loves. She freely admits that her technique is less than perfect, that it is sometimes frowned upon by professionals in the industry. When people asked her how she metered or what her histogram looked like, she kind of waved her hands and laughed, "Yeah, I don't do that stuff. I just take pictures. I know my camera, I adjust my settings, and I shoot." And then she moved on, no apologies.
Clients that are unhappy with their shoot? She sends a simple note with an offer to refund their session fee, and a quick suggestion that perhaps they weren't the right fit. She apologizes for the fact that they were unhappy, but not for her work. She is confident in her work, and will stand by it.
She only works two days a week. After her son died, being a mother became a priority. She didn't want to miss any more than she had to. She does one or two sessions a week and edits after the kids are in bed. Her prices are high, which keeps her working schedule light. And she doesn't apologize for it. And, yes, she has a friends and family rate and does pro-bono, but her high rates make that possible.
She's a quick editor, and can finish a photo in just a few minutes. She doesn't obsess about the finer details. Making a photo perfect can take hours, when making it almost perfect can take a fraction of the time.
She doesn't get angry. She has a motto, "I either change my mind or change my business." If something bugs you enough that you can't change your mind, and you can't get over it, then you need to change how you do your business. It's a waste of time and energy to gnash teeth about things all the time.
I swear, I'm not building a shrine to this woman, and not all of us have the luxury to live our lives the way she does. But I think she makes some great points. We spend too much time apologizing. For our lack of experience. The times when our performance doesn't meet someone else's expectations. When we draw the line in the sand, a line that some might not approve of. When we choose to make something less than perfect in exchange for a little more wiggle room in our lives. We get angry, but we don't change how we operate.
So today, when school was canceled due to continuing power outages, I ignored the laundry. And thinking about dinner. And the other hundred things on my to-do list. I gathered up all three of my children and headed for the zoo. Neko rarely gets to join us on these trips this year, so I beamed as I looked at three children in my rear-view mirror. On this sunny, perfect-weather day, we danced our way through the zoo, and I breathed in every little bit of them I could.
Ironically, I forgot my camera. So you'll just have to imagine a photo here.