Happy birthday Vicki

My Photograph of Daddy

I am not a photographer. My teen years were spent with a photographer, and an architect, it seems, as my dad also built the darkroom in the basement of our house. I was allowed to witness the magic of his artistry under the red illumination in the room. A projector burned an image into existence and the trays of chemicals finished the process. I understood darkroom artistry. I was often part of the excitement in that little room. But I am not a photographer.

I taught photography for 15 years. Every year, a small class of would-be photographers happily walked around the school campus taking photos of each other, selfies in reflections of windows, and images they were assigned to find. They learned how to use a camera, and more importantly how to carry and care for a camera in their 9-year-old not so careful hands. They discovered how to be a photographer when everyone, these days, carries a handy camera around in their back pockets. But I am not a photographer.

I was asked to Photoshop Santas into living rooms, absentee students into yearbook photos, and braces off smiling faces. I taught 4th graders how to use the Liquify tool in Photoshop to do what models are transformed into for magazine covers. My classes used those same tools to make spiky hair, stretched out noses, and third eyes, all in jest, but in a classroom setting that demonstrated a possible future for them as a commercial artist. I know my way around the tools of a photo-retouching program. But I am not a photographer.

Robert Fisher

My dad is a photographer. For many years it was how he filled his creative soul. His images were repeated, constructed as 3D forms, and hand colored with dyes. The artist in him was never satisfied with a simple mounted image. He would explore the creative possibilities of every image he captured in his viewfinder. His 90th birthday was a retrospective of his art in a photography showroom he helped to build years ago. He is a photographer.

Rick Fisher

My brother, Rick, became a photographer in his retirement. Although he claims the creative gene skipped over him in the family, he proves himself wrong with his creative hands over and over again. He was or is a stained glass artist, a kitchen artist, a beer crafting artist, and a photography genius. The light through the camera lens he experiments with captures the motion of a tiny hummingbird with uncanny brilliance. He is a proud member of a photography club that he started. My brother is a photographer.

Vicki Windman
"Wonder Wheel with Wonder Woman"

Our very good friend, Vicki, also became a photographer in her retirement. I think she always was one. She experimented with new equipment every summer, capturing the joy in the faces of hundreds of campers without that ever being part of her job description. Now she carries a camera around her neck with a lens that seems to be much larger than she is. She walks the streets of New York and the beaches on Coney Island shooting the simple joys of life. Her captions on Instagram are as creative as the shots of the people she captures. Vicki is a photographer and a literary genius at that.

We just spent the day with Vicki and seeing her was our beacon of light in a day of parking hassles and traffic. Walking down 2nd Avenue, thinking about the milestone of her upcoming birthday and all the images she will soon be sharing from her trip to London, reminded me of how thrilled I am that she found her love of art. I am going through a similar redefinition of my life in retirement so I understand the happiness and fulfillment she finds in her new obsession. As for me, I paint, I write, I cook almost as well as my kitchen artist friend, Buber, and I often take pictures of whatever I create. I am an artist but I don't define myself as a photographer. Vicki is a photographer and she is finding her voice through her art.

Happy Birthday to our very talented friend, Vicki. I hope this will be a year full of camera opportunities, fun artistic adventures, and interesting people wherever you travel.