I am a Photographer

Ok, so I have about 30 seconds to scribble out this post, as I have a million “to-dos” looming that have been screaming for my attention for weeks. I had a moment last night. A little burst of sunshine that must be shared.

A friend and I were joking about the crazy pace of our lives and the endless list of creative projects we had promised to tackle together only to watch a whole summer pass by with only one converging of our creative minds at a crazy cool underground art show. She remarked that maybe when we were eighty, we would have more time. I casually quipped back, “I sure as heck hope my life has slowed down a little bit by the time I’m eighty.” My professor, who was sorting papers quietly nearby, smiled and looked up,

“Your pace of life will never slow. You’re a photographer.”
And he laughed.

It was a passing comment, nothing special and certainly not delivered with some deeper meaning. It was a single solitary statement in friendly conversation, but it struck me. I, Katy Blevins, am a photographer.

In that moment, when my incredibly-renowned-photographer teacher acknowledged me as a part of the elite group he himself belongs to, like I was part of “the tribe,” I paused. I realized that photography was no longer something I was trying to achieve, working to discover, a disconnected task or hobby. For the first time I realized it is a lifeblood characteristic of Katy. A foundational piece of my inner being. True, deep art in my very fibers. I am a photographer. My eyes, my heart, my mind, my hands, my feet. My whole being. This is me. I belong here.

Cool.