Pictures say a lot

I love to take pictures, though I often forget my camera at the most opportune moments. I am a chronicler type of photographer, which means that I go more for the scrapbook moments than the art of it. Our daughter Emily, on the other hand, is a wonderful art photographer and has taken some astounding pictures over the years of such things as landscapes, architecture and, my favorite, food. We're all foodies at our house, and she has managed to immortalize the past several Thanksgiving feasts with magazine-worthy shots, course by course, that can make my mouth water--and I was there. But back to my pictures...As an example of my "type," I have many shots of Em as a little child that leave no doubt about the holiday or event that I was chronicling. Oh it must be Christmas: Em is all in red smiling in front of a decorated tree. Yes, it's Easter: Em is sitting primly on the grass with a stuffed rabbit and an overflowing basket. See what I mean? I leave nothing to the imagination or intelligence of the viewer. I go for the facts. For history. For truth. My Dad was a commercial artist, and much like Em (which is probably where her talent comes from) he always found the shot within the shot and elevated everyday life into something momentous. He took roll after roll of Em as a baby, perfectly capturing her sleep-heavy languidness just before nap, or her pure delight at the sandpaper tongue of a petting zoo lamb, or her intense wariness of a mall Santa. He never bothered with perfect hair or unruffled clothes or a centered background. He revealed her. And it just occurred to me that next Christmas I'll be photographing my 10-month old grandchild. I'll try something new. For Dad.