157. Awakening – Natasha Yglesias
Megan’s New Shoes by Keith Carter
Everything contained artistry, every place was waiting for me to unearth its potential. I remember the newness of authority, of power and purpose.
“Here,” my mother said, standing beside me in the kitchen, fridge open and fan running full force on our faces. It was hot, and I was eight. “Open your hand.”
The first time I ever received a camera—cheap and disposable and too bulky for my hands—I used up the film in minutes. I hurried outside, the chunky plastic in my fist fueling me with purpose. I was unleashed. Through the little lens, everything suddenly gained meaning. Each pebble contained grace; each bird became inquisitive and poetic. At the right angle, a crack in the sidewalk was a masterpiece.
I remember I was particularly interested in shadows and geometry. I rushed up and down our condo complex and took pictures of stairs and doors and windchimes cast in light. I snapped the branches of Joshua trees and the flowers of cacti. Everything contained artistry, every place was waiting for me to unearth its potential. I remember the newness of authority, of power and purpose.
When I finished, my mother was still in the kitchen deciding on dinner. “Already?” she asked, accepting the camera thrust out to her.
The thing is, I don’t know if she developed the film; I don’t remember any photos.
What I do remember, however, was the moment of awakening. The artist in me had been given the tools, context, and permission to come forth, imagine, and create. The camera was so different from the standard fare of crayons and colored pencils I had access to. Its specific mechanisms felt mystical and adult: I had been bestowed a holy tool. While I may not have the photo results of my artistic endeavor, the moment itself is like a photo, one I take out from time to time, turning it over in my hands fondly, revisiting it to see if I can discover something new.
– Natasha Yglesias
