February 1, 2010

When a Child Leaves the Farm

We love the farming life. It is, more often than not, a hard life, but gratifying work. My son Brandon, on the cusp of 21, willingly helped out when asked to as he was growing up - putting up hay, going on weddings and hay rides, cleaning the barn - but his heart was always in the city, and the creativity it fosters.

Now three years a resident of Manhattan, he is coming into his own. I have pictures of him as a baby, maybe two or three years old, sucking his thumb and holding his blankie, at my first Mac computer, a Quadra 800. By the time he was in Junior High, he had his second Mac, a MacBook Pro. Photoshop became his favorite program, because with it he could create magic, editing his photographs. Funny, I don't remember his first camera - but he likely caught the shutterbug while borrowing mine. Almost two decades since that baby picture of him at my Quadra, I have jpgs of him on my computer, curious self portraits and fabulous shots taken by his many photographer friends. His own sharp compositions, almost always figurative, illustrate the world my son inhabits with glass, concrete and graffiti, the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, and strange, foreboding lofts with peeling paint and steam radiators. He is immersing himself in the BIZ, photographing fashion models, ballet dancers, and rock stars (Katie Perry is one example). He is following his dream, and making it real. Now he is in L.A. for a bit, filming a music video for VersaEmerge, and going to Grammy parties with the likes of Green Day and Jason Mraz. I always knew this little rooster would fly the coop - but who knew he would do so well so fast? Maybe I should have kicked his little butt off the farm even sooner...

Photos: Top: Self Portrait of Brandon with his iPhone, at the top of the world.
Bottom: Brandon at the Brooklyn Bridge, photo by his friend Insuh.

See some Brandon's work by visiting his websites (be sure to follow up with links to his Flikr page):

1 comment:

  1. What a beautiful reflection of a mother. So many reasons to be proud and so many times to remember with the love only as mother can understand.