Boys, oh boys. What does it take to make us men? I don't have the answer so I just photograph mine while trying to help get them there. Maybe it's because I don't remember much about my own transition, or maybe I still haven't made it. I'm still using toy cameras, still listening to loud, obnoxious music, and don't even ask me about how I dress. So somewhere between soccer games, rain storms, and the drudgery of school work, there are these moments, brief, even forgettable — but nonetheless, photographable.
I love using old Diana-type cameras and Holgas. Unruly, unpredictable, and far from perfect. Could there be a better tool to photograph youth as it fades? Hell, the cameras are at their best when they do their worst. Vignetting, blurring, and slipshod framing. The results require that I remember the moment even better than it was in many instances. To the kids, these shots don't even make sense. They are so accustomed to the instant gratification of digital cameras that by the time they see themselves or their friend or these objects of theirs, they hardly recall the whens and wheres of it all — but I bet that someday they might. I guess that is what I'm trying for anyway.