Photography and I: A Love Story
My aunt Ana gave me my first camera when I was 8 or 9. It was a Kodak point-and-shoot 110-format film camera. I used it to take photos of my barbies. Exciting, I know.
I’ve had a few cameras since and have learned a great deal along the way. But I will always love that first camera. It’s how it all started.
I remember visiting my aunt in Hannover, Germany. On the way up to her apartment, the staircase featured her photos from trips to Africa. Her portraits struck me. I wanted to meet people from entirely different worlds too.
She’s an anesthesiologist, and photography for her is like a journal. Instead of writing, she’s kept a visual diary of her life.
We share a passion for travel, food, and discovery. If I had to attribute my initial interest in photography to anyone, it would be her.
Years later, I discovered some photos my dad had taken around Bolivia. They were great images. Maybe my passion for photography is in my blood.
I’m a visual person. I am frequently taking photos in my head. I look at things and think, that’s a beautiful frame. I like how light hits objects and people. It’s as if my brain was a camera.
When I graduated from high school in 2003, my dad gifted me my first SLR camera. It was a Canon EOS, and it had a standard lens. I immediately began playing with it. My first images were of dead orange, yellow and brown leaves.
At the time, we were living in Nicaragua, and my former high school history teacher had become national newspaper La Prensa’s Photo Editor. He gave me an internship and let me use the paper’s digital cameras and lenses. He gave me books about photography and pushed me to try different angles and ways of telling a story.
During my internship, I was the youngest photographer and the only woman on the team. I became friends with some of the photographers and writers. Most of the photographers had learned on the job. Some had not gone to university or had higher education degrees. Some were good.
While working at La Prensa, I covered an intense university student protest against the police. The students were fighting against cuts in the education budget. Anti-riot agents confronted the students with tear gas, and they defended themselves with rocks.
I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body as a ran from side to side to take photos. I got back to the paper sweaty and dirty but strangely satisfied.
At the time, I thought I had found my calling, and I imagined myself going off to conflict areas to cover important issues.
During my time in college, I pursued photography and journalism. I signed up for several photography classes, and after earning my professor’s trust, I became a lab assistant. It was my job to keep the photography lab organized and the chemicals ready for other students. I spent entire afternoons and evenings in the darkroom.
While studying journalism, I discovered filmmaking and gender studies. I still wanted to be a photojournalist, but I also wanted to make films, be a writer, and study gender issues. I got lost and confused about what path to take.
I was naive, thinking that I could change the world as a journalist. The more I learned about how big media runs the news, the less I liked the industry. The U.S., mainly, with its 24-hour news cycle, has contributed to a desensitized public. News outlets in the United States don’t embody objectivity nor care about educating the audience.
There are still great reporters out there, but they’re competing against the rapid spread of fake news, social media, and clickbait. I enjoy reporting and miss it. However, I can’t see myself working for a paper or TV channel that isn’t interested in sharing all the sides to a story. I hate hidden agendas, and most publications have one.
Quite frankly, I don’t know if I’m good or not. But, at this point, I guess it doesn’t matter because I’m not going to stop taking photos.
I think I have a good eye, but I’m not a technical photographer. I don’t take advantage of all the features of my digital camera, nor do I know how to use photoshop. A fellow photographer taught me how to use Lightroom, and I only know the basics.
For some reason, I’ve never been a fan of retouching an image too much. You can call me a purist or whatever, but it’s not about that. Maybe it’s because I’m ignorant about the programs, and therefore, don’t retouch my images that much.
I should not assume what others think when looking at my photos. But I do. People must consider the worst of my work.
I have imposter syndrome, and I question the quality of my images all the time. I hesitated to create a website for a long time. What do I have to share? Why should people care?
But we all must start somewhere. I know what I want to do is tell stories through images, and hopefully, I’ll get to do that.
I’ve had a few cameras since and have learned a great deal along the way. But I will always love that first camera. It’s how it all started.
I remember visiting my aunt in Hannover, Germany. On the way up to her apartment, the staircase featured her photos from trips to Africa. Her portraits struck me. I wanted to meet people from entirely different worlds too.
She’s an anesthesiologist, and photography for her is like a journal. Instead of writing, she’s kept a visual diary of her life.
We share a passion for travel, food, and discovery. If I had to attribute my initial interest in photography to anyone, it would be her.
Years later, I discovered some photos my dad had taken around Bolivia. They were great images. Maybe my passion for photography is in my blood.
I’m a visual person. I am frequently taking photos in my head. I look at things and think, that’s a beautiful frame. I like how light hits objects and people. It’s as if my brain was a camera.
When I graduated from high school in 2003, my dad gifted me my first SLR camera. It was a Canon EOS, and it had a standard lens. I immediately began playing with it. My first images were of dead orange, yellow and brown leaves.
At the time, we were living in Nicaragua, and my former high school history teacher had become national newspaper La Prensa’s Photo Editor. He gave me an internship and let me use the paper’s digital cameras and lenses. He gave me books about photography and pushed me to try different angles and ways of telling a story.
During my internship, I was the youngest photographer and the only woman on the team. I became friends with some of the photographers and writers. Most of the photographers had learned on the job. Some had not gone to university or had higher education degrees. Some were good.
While working at La Prensa, I covered an intense university student protest against the police. The students were fighting against cuts in the education budget. Anti-riot agents confronted the students with tear gas, and they defended themselves with rocks.
I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body as a ran from side to side to take photos. I got back to the paper sweaty and dirty but strangely satisfied.
At the time, I thought I had found my calling, and I imagined myself going off to conflict areas to cover important issues.
During my time in college, I pursued photography and journalism. I signed up for several photography classes, and after earning my professor’s trust, I became a lab assistant. It was my job to keep the photography lab organized and the chemicals ready for other students. I spent entire afternoons and evenings in the darkroom.
While studying journalism, I discovered filmmaking and gender studies. I still wanted to be a photojournalist, but I also wanted to make films, be a writer, and study gender issues. I got lost and confused about what path to take.
I was naive, thinking that I could change the world as a journalist. The more I learned about how big media runs the news, the less I liked the industry. The U.S., mainly, with its 24-hour news cycle, has contributed to a desensitized public. News outlets in the United States don’t embody objectivity nor care about educating the audience.
There are still great reporters out there, but they’re competing against the rapid spread of fake news, social media, and clickbait. I enjoy reporting and miss it. However, I can’t see myself working for a paper or TV channel that isn’t interested in sharing all the sides to a story. I hate hidden agendas, and most publications have one.
Quite frankly, I don’t know if I’m good or not. But, at this point, I guess it doesn’t matter because I’m not going to stop taking photos.
I think I have a good eye, but I’m not a technical photographer. I don’t take advantage of all the features of my digital camera, nor do I know how to use photoshop. A fellow photographer taught me how to use Lightroom, and I only know the basics.
For some reason, I’ve never been a fan of retouching an image too much. You can call me a purist or whatever, but it’s not about that. Maybe it’s because I’m ignorant about the programs, and therefore, don’t retouch my images that much.
I should not assume what others think when looking at my photos. But I do. People must consider the worst of my work.
I have imposter syndrome, and I question the quality of my images all the time. I hesitated to create a website for a long time. What do I have to share? Why should people care?
But we all must start somewhere. I know what I want to do is tell stories through images, and hopefully, I’ll get to do that.