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I was having a conversation yesterday with a friend about our love to tell stories, and the conversation veered into a question about why I chose photography.
I told him although I'm still not entirely sure, I also told him that sometimes, I'll get this drive to document a moment. Like something overtakes me, a sudden urgency to record something important happening right before our eyes, and I feel like I'm the only that sees it, and I have this mission to get the right shots no matter what it takes, whether it's to climb a tree for the shot, or to get down on my knees. Pride goes out the window, I just don't care how I look: I care about the moment when the father's hugging his daughter before he gives her away, the 1-year-old who will never been 1 again, the apartment I will never call home again.
In the Old Testament, there was a time when the Israelites would gather rocks together, and build an altar to commemorate a miraculous day. But it wasn't just for God Himself, it was for the people too, so that they would never forget the miracle God did for them that day. And when their children asked them what the rocks meant, they would recount the story and pass it on to the next generation.