But stories aren’t always beautiful, are they? Sometimes that precious baby skin is rashy. Sometimes clothes are filthy and rumpled, hair is all screwed up. Light is bad. Moods are angry. Carpets are un-vacuumed.
I should know about ugly stories. Back in my early twenties, I worked as a newspaper reporter. Back then, I didn’t care about BEAUTY. I only cared about TRUTH.
But then along the way, I meandered into graphic design and learned how to make things beautiful. I grew to appreciate my artistic side and came to accept the fact that sometimes I’d create art frivolously, just for the sake of “pretty.”
For years now, I’ve worked as a designer. The very word suggests an arrangement. Careful placement. Respect for pleasing the eye. Say cheese? Ugh.
So onto my point.
One of my goals this year is to go beyond “pretty.” Capture my own life as a reporter would. Tell even the ugly stories. Work at new perspectives. Relax a little if all the dust bunnies can’t be cropped out. Breathe. Shoot even when the background is that horrible utility closet where all the shelves are falling down. Red-rimmed, tear-stained faces. And yes, even us, the paunchy, tired looking, saggy parents; hubby and I. Get us in there, too, double-chins be damned.
Clients? I’ll work really, really hard at getting natural. But baby skin rashes will always magically vanish.
My own children?
Stay tuned for boogers and butt cracks…