ABOUT ME
Coloring Outside the Lines
I purchased my first film SLR camera shortly after graduating from college, and I've been an avid enthusiast ever since. I have a BS in Chemical Engineering, an MBA, a certificate from NY Institute of Photography…, etc. Hey, but those things simply describe achievements, and they really don't provide insight on who I am. To accomplish that, I need to tell you a little story.
In Kindergarten (yeah, that far back), I loved to color, and I thought the outlines in a coloring book were just there to inspire my coloring, rather than constrain it. For example, if the task was to color in the outline of an apple tree, I enjoyed using every crayon in the box, and there wasn't a single line on that page that I would not dare to color over.
This was in stark contrast to the work of Sheila, the fair-skinned 5-year-old beauty that sat across from me. Her colorings were perfect, her crayon strokes never touched the outline of an object, she always used appropriate colors, and meticulously made sure that she had an even color density throughout her work. She was a rock star at our table and always got a “wonderful job” from our teacher, Mrs. Woods.
Even at that early age, I noticed something peculiar about Sheila. She was methodically in her approach to coloring, admiring her work when it had finished but seemingly never enjoying the effort. As I recall, she held the crayon delicately, as if it were a scalpel in the hands of a skilled surgeon, slowly and mechanically coloring whatever subject we were assigned to that day. I, on the other hand, held my crayon like a dagger, enjoying every heartfelt thrust as I enthusiastically attacked my coloring book. In fact, it was not unusual to even tear a few pages in zeal. While Sheila’s approach to coloring was the object of Mrs. Woods’ praise, my approach and product seemed to irritate Mrs. Woods to no end. She would always give me that “why can’t you be more like the other kids at the table” look. But no matter what, I so loved to color outside the lines.
One day, we had a more challenging project, a composition involving grass, trees, clouds, and farm animals. Shelia did her usually uninspired but technically perfect coloring. I attacked my project with my usual unrestrained enthusiasm, using bold colors and even adding in elements I thought were missing. Well, it was time for Mrs. Woods to look at our work. As she worked her way around the table, of course, Sheila received her usual praise. Then Mrs. Woods picked my drawing, and her expression changed, and not in a good way. She looked at me and then again my work of art. She repeated this process three times, each time seemingly more irritated. In retrospect, I am convinced that what happened next changed my life.
Now, when I was a child, corporal punishment was the norm. Every teacher had a weapon of choice, often a paddle or belt, which was used to “explain” the error of your ways. I'd never been punished in class but, I must admit, I did get a laugh out of watching others meet their fate. Apparently, Mrs. Woods had had enough of my freewheeling that day. She grabbed my arm and pulled me to the back of the room, where a paddle hung from a nail in the wall. My pleads for mercy were unheard, and she proceeded to beat me while the entire class watched. When she was done with me, I ran to my seat, rested my head into my arms on the table, too embarrassed to look at anyone, and continued to cry out loud until I got the dreaded warning; “Stop that crying or I’ll really give you something to cry about." I can’t say that paddling actually hurt. If it did, I can’t remember. What I do remember is the shame, the pure unadulterated shame of it all.
Well, I got the memo, as the saying goes. Perhaps there was something to be gained by Sheila’s approach to coloring after all, so I hijacked it. Not only did I copy Sheila’s style, but I also managed to surpass it. I created perfect and methodically executed colored scenes in my coloring book. My cows were brown, not blue; my skies were blue, not purple, and my crayon never touched the outline of a shape. I even gained the frequent praise of Mrs. Woods. I learned to appreciate the order, logic, and the conformity of staying inside the lines. Moreover, the lesson Mrs. Woods bestowed upon me with her paddle helped provide a foundation for an aptitude in math, discovered early in elementary school. That desire for order, and an aptitude for math, is what eventually led me to major in engineering in college and the rest is history...a challenging and financially rewarding career as an engineer and project manager. Yet, it was never fulfilling work; it was ...just work! That little boy, who joyfully attacked his coloring book, freewheeling his every stroke, had laid dormant for more years than I care to admit. We are all born free with little need for order or compliance or conformity. We are only taught these things shortly after birth (or, in my case, beaten into it).
So, who am I? I am that photographer who has rediscover the little child we all have in us and, more importantly, is once again free to Color Outside the Lines. Back then it was a crayon, but now I use a camera. Let's create something together.