Photographer Meets Writer (Pt. 1/2)
A Journalist’s Diary
I long for the writing process to feel just as I remember it when writing was all I cared about. The key to unlock that writer in me, I believe, is a journey through the writing I produced in those times. I started this journey with a look at my Yale writing and the aim to find my way back to effortless, joyful writing.
Similarly, I believe in the value of showing you (and me) the influences that dragged me into the visual world. Not because I need to rediscover the spark of creative wellbeing. Though, who knows what discoveries I’m bound to make. No, this is an exploration that explains the falling out I had with writing, and the new passions I welcomed.
That exploration begins with a glimpse at the early days where the visual world was a mere afterthought. The real attraction began when I came to the U.S. for the second time. And because this essay turned out longer than anticipated, in tomorrow’s second part, I’ll have details on how the affair turned serious when I returned and embarked on a mission of self-education, a mission that has two stages: studying the work of others and experimenting on my own.
Even before I slipped into the world of writing through a creative writing class in secondary school, a special class offered me a chance to explore the visual side of storytelling.
The whole affair isn’t worth writing about much. But I learned a few basics, from developing (goofy) storyboards and writing (even goofier) mini-scripts to hitting record on a stone-age VHS camcorder and cutting (literally) tape to edit the footage into a final masterpiece.
As lighthearted as that class might have been, my curiosity for visual storytelling probably originates right there.
Moving from motion pictures to stills, I’ve always been surrounded by cameras and pictures. The mountain of family pictures in various forms of prints, negatives, and slides can attest to that.
But I never felt a special connection to photography.
Not with the various disposal cameras that went through my hands as a kid. Not with the first point-and-shoot kids-camera I got as a present at one point.
The most fascinating memory that device imprinted on my mind is the astoundingly nostalgic beep that extends into eternity until the built-in flash has charged and a red light joins the newfound silence to signal that a low-light picture can be taken.
Not with my dad’s Pentax SLR that I remember accompanying us on family vacations.
And not even with my first somewhat proper camera, a Nikon Coolpix S500. Though, that light box might show up again when I reflect on my first point of contact with journalism on a different continent. Your patience will be rewarded with a unique police story.
Afterthought — that probably describes the role photography played in my life until I came to the United States for the second time.
Back To America Where The Photographer Slowly Emerges
Toward the end of my first time in the new world, I was warned that the path I wanted to walk (a path of a creative life) was a challenging one. Accordingly, I’ve had to navigate a rough open sea ever since.
I’ve come to embrace the struggles of a life spent in pursuit of writing (and now also photography) as challenges that make my life’s journey unique and worthwhile, and that make the moments when everything comes together all the sweeter.
And everything did come together during my time at Quinnipiac University. I’ve never been happier and more fulfilled in my life than during those 18 months pursuing my journalism master degree.
But I was insecure, anxious, and slightly irritated at the beginning of that chapter.
My first night at a spartan motel not far from campus foreshadowed some of the early days struggles that awaited me.
The dark streets of Hamden, Connecticut, showed the scars of winter when I arrived. A compacted mixture of snow and ice blocked the narrow corridors a pedestrian like me could somewhat safely wander. I was stuck and a first glimpse at the campus had to wait.
I expected to immerse myself in the world of words at Quinnipiac while not forgetting the need to be concerned with multimedia needs. The program description and course listings made that clear. I was looking forward to classes about feature writing, investigative reporting, and a capstone that tailored to students’ desired areas of expertise, from tv and radio to writing.
I spent a lot of time on writing and learned more about the craft than I could have dreamed of. That’s actually one of the reasons I lost my innocent writing easiness. I started to think more, be more aware of what I was doing, what was good vs. what was bad. I became a better writer.
But I became a slower writer who started to feel the struggles that are an inevitable part of the process. As I wrote in the first post, I started to enjoy the result more than the process.
But apart from changes on the writing side, Quinnipiac also awoke a visual, if not an audio-visual persona I had never seriously entertained as a part of who I am and what I do.
It began with my first day on campus. And a surprise by the name “Broadcast Journalism.”
Everything around me was new, foreign yet strangely familiar already. I was in a weird state of excitement and jumpiness. My first official duty as a full-time degree program student in the U.S. was a meeting with my advisor about which courses I would be taking for my first semester.
I didn’t have much personal contact during those early days of trying to arrive and navigate a new world without drowning. The warm and welcoming personality I met eased my tensions and uneasiness. I felt the same warm academic vibes that inspired me during my Yale summer.
But then…
… two small words sent my brain into panic mode. Everyone was expected to take “Broadcast Journalism” so that everyone would receive basic video training. Do it once, I was assured, and forget it if you wish. No one is going to bite you. You might even enjoy it, most do.
Oh boy. What had I gotten myself into now? I wanted to dabble in other media than writing, of course. That was one of the appeals of the program. But TV? In front of the camera? Me? Oh boy…
I was hesitant, slightly annoyed, and nervously looking forward to the first class meeting.
What unfolded over the next four months surprised me. We were eased into the on-camera glamour. A mock announcement, studying how to produce a “package,” and finally telling our first visual story. Every step along the way eased my apprehensions and intensified my curiosity.
I did enjoy working on my first story: the reporting, the camera work, the editing, even the on-camera time wasn’t as disastrous as I had feared. I was sad when the final package was finished and the class over. I was in love. Visual storytelling was not only fun to do, I realized the potential it had. I wanted more.
And I got more.
My visual side was inspired by more classes that strayed from the purity of writing. A multimedia storytelling experience, an audio storytelling extravaganza I’ll never forget. A deep dive into the history of journalism that began my fascination with photojournalism. Finally, a final semester that deepened the broadcast exposure beyond my scariest dreams: the production of 10 live newscasts where everyone had to assume every position within the team that made up our newsroom, from writer and reporter to editor, producer, and anchor.
I was uneasy at the beginning of that class; and that’s an understatement. But I adapted and learned to love the experience as much as I learned to love it a semester earlier.
Outside of the classroom (and inspired by the visual stimuli thrown at me from all directions), I slowly started my photography journey. I purchased my first smart phone (and phone with a somewhat decent camera) at that time. And a few months later, my first interchangeable lens camera. Little did I know how consuming the world of still pictures would be.
My return to the States had changed me. I exclusively cared about writing when I arrived. I left with a fascination and great affection for all things visual.
Read tomorrow’s second part for an insight into how my visual love affair continued to grow in the QU aftermath. Until then, thanks for reading if you’re still around.
