Every time I eat dinner at my parent’s home, I bring along one — sometimes two — camera(s). It’s usually my Mamiya, typically greeted with chuckles and rolling eyes. “Here we go again,” is the resounding response. My family is used to me wanting to photograph them, but I think they still don’t quite understand why I find them interesting enough to photograph constantly.
To a fellow photographer, this want of mine probably makes sense. It’s not really that I find my family interesting (well, I do, but that’s not the main reason I want to photograph them), it’s that I love them. They’re how I make sense of the world, they’ve informed a lot of who I am (whether I like it or not), and it’s a hell of a lot less scary to ask them for a portrait than asking a stranger on the street.