When I took this photo, I didn’t have much of a clue about what I was doing.
I’ve never taken a class in photography. I’ve always been drawn to it — I enjoy being behind the lens much more than being in front of it — but I never bothered to study the “correct” way to shoot.
When I took this photo, I didn’t imagine that I’d be able to capture what I was seeing.
I adore finding ways to capture moments. It’s why I take photos with my smart phone all the time, and why I try to journal as close to daily as possible. I’m cursed with a terrible memory for detail, location, and chronology, so I’m somewhat intentional about keeping a log, a record. Evidence that yes, these things did happen, and look, there is that one place that I’d forgotten held so much magic.
When I took this photo, I glanced at the image on my small phone screen, and thought, yeesh, did I ever mess this one up.
It’s hard to see what you’ve captured, just looking at it on your phone. Late at night, after you’ve been taking photos of every step of your walk back to the BnB. Maybe a little tipsy, and definitely a lot tired. I tend to look at most of my wee-hours photos and shake my head at my silly past self.
When I took this photo, I had no idea it would be one of my favorite shots.
Messy, streaky, crumbly, and everything I remember Clarksdale to be.
I guess I still have a lot to learn about photography.
Shot on Google Pixel 3.
More photos and stories about Clarksdale in my previous post, Small Town Blues.