There was a time when I considered myself a serious photographer. I photographed landscapes, flowers, interesting buildings, unusual objects, and occasionally things that appeared to have some artistic significance. I had cameras, lenses, tripods, filters, memory cards, and all the other equipment required to convince myself that I knew what I was doing. Then, somewhere along the way, something went terribly wrong.
I started photographing food.
With a cell phone, no less. Not food in the grand, editorial sense, either. Iām not talking about beautifully arranged plates photographed under carefully controlled studio lighting by someone who knows what a food stylist does. I mean quick snapshots of my food. At home. My breakfast. My lunch. My dinner. Something I heated up in the microwave. Occasionally something that looked vaguely interesting sitting on a plate.
The worst part is that I don’t even have a good explanation for it. I’m not documenting culinary history. I’m not writing restaurant reviews. I’m not preparing a cookbook. I’m not even particularly interested in becoming a food photographer.
Apparently, I just like taking snapshots of things I’m about to eat.
Perhaps it goes back to the basic appeal of photography. Food is cooperative. It doesn’t wander away, change its mind, or suddenly disappear behind a tree. It generally stays exactly where I put it, at least until somebody eats it. The colors can be spectacular, the textures interesting, and the shapes surprisingly photogenic. A bowl of vegetables can provide more photographic possibilities than I probably deserve.
And unlike landscape photography, there is usually no hiking involved.
That may be the real attraction.
Over the years, I’ve become increasingly aware that my photography has taken some strange turns. I once imagined myself wandering through magnificent landscapes, waiting patiently for the perfect light. These days I may be sitting at our kitchen table, cell phone in hand, photographing a hamburger from three different directions.
The hamburger, incidentally, has no idea how lucky it is.
I tell myself that these snapshots are useful. They help me remember what I’ve eaten. They occasionally make me look at ordinary things differently. They provide another opportunity to experiment with composition, perspective, depth of field, light, and color. Mostly, though, I think I just enjoy taking snapshots.
And perhaps that’s not so embarrassing after all. Photography doesn’t always have to be about grand landscapes, exotic locations, or once-in-a-lifetime moments. Sometimes it’s about noticing something sitting in front of you and thinking, “That actually looks pretty good.” Then taking a picture before eating it. Which, when you think about it, is probably a perfectly respectable reason to own a cell phone. Although I probably don’t need to photograph the leftovers.