When my daughter was around three or four, I gave her an Instamatic camera. She had me tie a red ribbon on it for a strap, and she carried it around like the determined little artist she already was. The pictures she took were so revealing. I got to see things from her perspective: looking up at Eddie, looking straight into a low shrub, looking into the side of a mailbox, gazing down at a bug on the sidewalk.
She took pictures when we traveled mostly. They were interesting; we saved a lot of them. I taught her how to make prints in the darkroom. It was fun for us to share a love of photography. She was a yearbook photographer in high school and then went on to major in it in college. Like mother, like daughter. It was pretty cool.
My daughter became an art teacher once she graduated college and then proceeded to co-create three amazing little human beings. Once her youngest headed off to pre-school, Abbie decided to get back into photography as a family documentarian. She loves going into peoples' homes to document their daily routines and their lives together. She's making beautiful work, and I couldn't be more proud.
She's turned her camera toward her three little ones with careful and quiet observation. The pictures are gentle studies of the ephemeral moments of her kids' lives. She has a knack for good composition and wonderful use of the edges of the frame (spoken like a true mom, right?). But what I am loving most about Abbie's photographs of my grandchildren is her delicate use of light. There's a soft, fragile quality to the pictures that calls to mind just how fleeting these tender, lovely moments of childhood truly are.
I can't tell you how lucky I feel to find Abbie's pictures in my inbox every few days.