I had the good fortune to grow up in a very artistic family, surrounded by art and literature. Painters and photographers and artistic people were fixtures at my parent’s cocktail parties. I was one of those young kids you see running around art openings in New York, Provincetown and Wellfleet while their parents schmooze. And, of course, they made sure that I learned how to look at a piece and talk about it intelligently. It was not enough to say I liked or disliked it but to explain why.
There were always cameras in the house. I think my first was one of those Kodak Instamatic things with the cartridges. In the beginning, I wasn’t concerned with ‘taking pictures’ – it was more about liking the feel of the camera in my hand. As a little boy, I enjoyed the winding up and ‘click’ of the shutter, plus the little flashcube that you stuck on top. When I began to shoot, I suppose it allowed me to step back and think about the world as a ‘subject’ of sorts. So I took pictures of friends, summer camp … whatever I came across.
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