a million moths.

on the photography front. i found a mentor; a genius, a real life professional to meet with me weekly and answer the torrent of questions flooding my brain as of late. in return, i’ve promised this kind and patient man lots and lots of the world’s finest coffee and if necessary, some pan dulce.

anyone who’s been around me recently knows this photography thing has taken on a life of its own. like godzilla on crack in a girl’s gone wild video. godzilla on crack without an instruction manual. “how was your day?” my cousin asks. “glad you asked, let me show you my pictures!” …  ”can you hang out friday night?” my friend says on the phone.  ”why yes, that way i can take your picture!” … “do you want me to make you some flan?” my mom asks. “sure! that might make a good picture.”  

everything and everyone is unfolding before me in a new light. literally. and i’m like a moth bolting toward it. 

to what end? i have no idea. i just know that i carry my camera in its cute, little camera diaper in my purse every single day and when i walk down the street and see a photo in someone’s chiseled face, their leathery hands, neon-pink hat, toothless child or pudgy pup, i hear godzilla growl. i want to scream FREEEEEZE! like they do on movie sets (at least i figure that’s what they do on movie sets) zoom in with my feet and snap away. 

most of the time, i freeze. i swoon and sulk and quietly stalk the moment — the face, the hands, the hat — until it vanishes down the street. (two weeks ago in arizona i shadowed a little girl and her pink coat for three blocks, but couldn’t gather the nerve to kneel and shoot.) the travel abroad version of me would be ashamed. when i leave the U.S., a travel alter-ego takes over my eyes, my feet, my hands and my camera and i’m fearless. every flashing moment is mine, no exceptions.  

this might be my first question over coffee tomorrow. how do i channel that version of me at home? 

* photos: paris. spring 2006. shot with my old palm pilot