Heaven help me, I have a new toy. I bought an Olympus Evolt 500 DSLR.

I had a little digital Canon – and I do mean ‘little’. The thing is about the size of my phone. There was nothing wrong with that camera. In fact, I love some of the photos that I took, but in a time before digital, I had an Olympus OM-1. During that time, I carried that camera everywhere I went – and I went some interesting places. 

I was, at one time, stage manager and occasional lighting manage for a modern dance company in Detroit. It was a fascinating time. The dancers were young and unbelievably enthusiastic. And they were all there for the photographing. Because I was always with my camera, they paid no attention to me. Add to that, the fact that the Olympus has the quietest shutter of its day; they rarely knew when I actually took a shot.

 I actually used an SLR for the first time while attending a dance conference in Minneapolis, Minnesota. A friend of mine had become fascinated with photography, purchased a camera and enrolled in a college course on photography. This had nothing to do with his major, but that’s another story.

 Somehow (I really don’t remember how it happened), I traded the use of my car for the period I would be gone for the use of his camera for the same length of time. I returned four days later with nine rolls of film.

 I was hooked!

 Shortly thereafter, my friend invited me to attend one of his photography classes. Later I discovered that there was an ulterior motive. My friend had taken a photograph of me while I was crocheting. (Remember the part about the quiet shutter?) I knew nothing about it until he showed to finished product in 16x20 glory.

 Ok, the problem? Friend presented the photograph of me to his instructor as completion of an assignment. His instructor loved the image. It was somewhat dramatic. I was seated at the end of a couch that had no arms, in front a lamp that was the only illumination in the room. Everything else was black.

 As I said, the instructor loved the image but he insisted that he had been printed backwards. That was the reason I was invited to class. I was there to prove that I was left-handed, but did everything just as a right-handed person. The only difference was I used a different hand.

 The class was interesting, although I was a little troubled by the images of one of the students. For me, it was hard to sit through class examination of, and comment on, four shots of what seemed to me to be the same bush. Not only did it appear to be the same vegetation, the bush was dead. Or, at the very least, it had dropped its leaves.

 There was another student whose muse led him to photograph sleeping derelicts. Thank God the photographs were in black-and-white.

 Anyway, two things came out of that visit. After learning that I was (A) a graduate of the university and (B) really interested in photography, the instruction invited me to take his class in the upcoming quarter. I really wanted to take the class, but I couldn’t afford the graduate fees.

 After a moment, the instructor the instructor invited me to sit in on the class.

I couldn’t refuse. It wasn't going to cost me a cent.

I was treated as a class member in the next quarter. He even took to the photography lab and introduced me to the attendants with an explanation – the truth. So, from that day forward, everyone who worked in the lab knew me and knew my special circumstances. They even took messages for me because, as I Iearned to develop and print my photographs, I could, and often did, stay in the lab for hours.

 To see one of the images I shot appear in the developing solution was always something of an exercise in magic. By the way, never, never, ever take a photograph of a blond, very pale child at high noon. (That’s a story for a later time.)

 One day, I had placed one of my photographs on a drying rack in the main room, outside of the darkroom. It was the photograph of the blond, very pale child at high noon that had taken me hours to tease into a photograph. I had returned to the darkroom to work on a photograph of sax player that I had taken at a concert in a local park. The image had to be worked and it was driving me mad. In the midst of questioning why I didn’t choose some other way to beat myself over the head.

 At that moment I heard a male voice express an interest in the photograph of the child. When he asked the name of the photographer, both of the attendants began what I like to think of as diversionary tactics. By any name, it worked.

 It seems that the voice I heard belonged to another photography instructor. It would have been a little difficult to explain why I was given access to the university photography lab and I wasn’t a student.

 For me, it was an exciting time.

 Oops, I just looked at the clock. I have got to go to bed and I’ve haven’t got to the new toy. I have to give you the rest of the story later. I’m trying to develop a real schedule.

 Pleasant dreams.