Photography or "Jeez, another pic of Carter?"

Hi. I'm an amateur photographer - "a person who engages in a study, sport, or other activity for pleasure rather than for financial benefit or professional reasons." That's me. I'm not half-bad; I've got a good eye. People have even given me awards for some of my photographs. I'm OK with saying that with a straight face - I'm proud of my work.

But I get teased a lot. "Really, Danica? More Carter?" I take a lot of photographs of my English Setter, Carter. He's gorgeous, he's always available, and he doesn't care if his hair's out of place, or he blinked, or his muffin-top is showing. Did I mention he was gorgeous?

I love my dog and he's pretty good looking so I take a lot of pictures of him. (I feel like I'm at an AA meeting announcing my addiction...)

Pets are easier to photograph than people in many ways.  In other ways, in a "could you please sit here calmly while I try to find the right light" ways, they're a nightmare. Don't think I'm copping out by photographing animals; it's its own kind of challenge.

My sister took this photo and I love it, if only because I rarely get to see myself interacting with Carter. In hindsight, I think this photo's pretty funny. Here we are, at Acadia National Park in Maine, arguably one of the most beautiful vistas in the country. We drove for 18 hours to get here, climbed out onto dangerous slippery rocks to get a better view, and what am I photographing? Yeah. My dog.

Here's my argument. Although I enjoy a good landscape photo just as much as anyone, it's static. To make that photo come alive, you need something that brings in another dimension - time. In the face of landscape that's been the same for centuries, the small blink of fragile life makes the image that much more powerful. Whether it's a crab scuttling across a beach or an English Setter running through a field at dawn.  Plus, it anchors the image to a particular period of time. This isn't just any photo of Acadia. This is the photo I was taking when I twisted my ankle sliding down the slick seaweed covered rocks the morning after we decided to take the dogs camping at Acadia. The trick is to make it look good and not like something your Uncle Bert's showing in that endless "Summer Vacation" slide show.

Here's another good example.  I took this photo on a cold winter morning. I think the drab chilly mood comes through in the minimal colors of the landscape. But what's this? A flash of gold. A small warm ember that brings life to that cold panorama.  This is the photo I took the day after my Flatcoat died and I was depressed as all get-out. But my Golden wandered into the frame and reminded me that there were others who needed and loved me.  That photograph suddenly becomes about hope to me. All because there's a dog in it.

In the end, it doesn't matter what others like. Photography is art; it's subjective. This is what I love to photograph.

So I do.