UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL

For a long time, photography was a huge part of my life.

Then one day it stopped.

In a previous life, I was a photographer, and I was good at it. I was good because I spent hours every week going out and shooting photos, and more hours processing them so other people could see what I saw.

That life ended on September 18, 2018, when I pinched a nerve in my back. I’ve been permanently disabled ever since.

Recently I bought an electric wheelchair and a camera.

I’ve gotten out to shoot the sunrise from Petit Jean Mountain a couple of times. Watching the light roll across the landscape again felt like visiting an old friend.

But most of my photography these days happens much closer to home.

I spend a lot of time shooting macro photos at my art table. I have a growing collection of props—seashells, driftwood, marbles, fossils, bits of interesting rock—and I’m learning to use close-up lenses to capture tiny slivers of the world at a time.

This may sound like a small thing (no pun intended), but it’s actually one of my biggest victories since my injury.

I can’t drive or go anywhere on my own. Getting out at all takes planning, energy, and help.

But I do have one thing.

Time.

Buying a camera and setting up a little macro studio means I can take photos whenever the creative urge and the physical ability happen to overlap. No travel required.

This is more than doing something I used to enjoy. Photography gives me back the feeling of seeing.

It gives me a reason to get out of bed. It lets me focus completely on the light, the textures, and the tiny details in front of the lens.

For a little while, the rest of the world disappears.

When you spend most of your time in bed—as I do—something like that matters more than most people realize.

And if my world is smaller these days, that’s okay. Macro photography turns out to be very good at making small worlds look enormous.