I love mid-century abstract art, cooking and decorating. I am romantic and sentimental.

I often think about my grandfather’s red cardigan that hangs in my closet next to my great aunt’s crochet sweater or my grandmother Jessie’s wine glasses in my cupboard on the shelf above my grandmother Denise’s flower vase. And then, I think of my father.

I am my father’s child.

My older sister may have gotten her love of sports from him and my younger sister may have gotten her bright blue eyes, but I got his love for art and photography.

I said in my commencement speech, “just as waves wash up on the shore and each wave only hits us once, so is our effect upon each other. We have touched each other but for a fleeting moment in our lives and have effected each other in a way, perhaps, we will never know.” This is why a photograph is so important. Priceless. It captures the moment in time that can never be repeated yet records it forever. Whether it be a landscape or a portrait a photo captures history.

Like my grandfathers’ cardigan or my grandmother’s vase, they are precious mementos that can be passed on for generations and generations.
After my father died, I kept a few of his personal belongings. A hairbrush, a hankerchief, but also his camera. And although I don’t use it, whenever I look through mine, I feel that he is with me.