FamilyRyan EstesComment

the power of an image

FamilyRyan EstesComment
the power of an image

Granddad died when I was 10. Grandmom joined him about 11 years later. I loved them dearly, and miss them a lot. I don't have many photos of them, and the ones I have tend to be formals taken at weddings (suits and ties, dresses and flowers). Great pictures to have, certainly, but that wasn't really who they were. Granddad wore a suit every Sunday, I'm sure, but I honestly can never remember seeing him in one. A few weeks ago I saw this picture hanging in my parents's house. I'd never seen it before -- someone must have unearthed it from a box that smelled of mothballs and old coats. I don't know who took it. But this is the man who let me help him build things in his basement. This is the woman who always told me that I was Special.  Just like my seven siblings.

I love this picture.

Because it's them... more than any picture I've ever seen, this picture reminds me of who they are. It reminds me why I carry a camera, and why I take joy in photographing families, children, parents and grandparents. This is why I'm a photographer.

(And thanks, Holly, for sending it to me.)