For Russ

There's a radio show called Echoes hosted by John Diliberto. It's my favorite two hours of radio every day; I strongly recommend listening. If you're in my area it's 91.7 fm at 8-10pm every weekday. But it's more than just a good radio show with relaxing music, an unobnoxious host, and refreshingly few interruptions. For me, at least.

Echoes transports me back to my second semester of college... to my Wednesday night darkroom 101 classes, specifically. They were taught by a man named Russ Hepworth and though Russ may never know it, he was the best teacher I have ever had. Russ had the gift of not only being an amazing photographer but he was always able to make you look at your mistakes in a different light and turn them into happy accidents or to push yourself as an artist and therefore as a person. Anyone reading this who's ever spent more than 5 minutes with him will know exactly what I'm talking about. Words will never be able to express the gratitude I have for him. Upon learning of his retirement a year and a half after that, I was devastated that I always took him for granted. The very last time I saw him all I could do was shake his hand. I had had weeks and weeks worth of words to tell him about how much I appreciated him but all I could say was "Thank you". And I barely got that out.

While driving home tonight Echoes came on the radio. There's an uncanny resemblance between John Diliberto's voice and Russ's... so much so that the first time I heard Echoes after meeting Russ I looked up a picture of John. I still think of the connection every time John's voice is just right and I imagine Russ giving me a new awesome way to look at some aspect of life. But tonight the memories came back stronger than usual. I remembered being in the large light-safe darkroom at CSI and the smells of all the chemicals while watching my images appear on the silver-laced paper. I could remember the excitement and peace I felt in all those classes with Russ; like I was exactly where I was meant to be - in the perfect creative environment. During that first semester of Wednesday night classes I would listen to Echoes on the drive home, usually while the nighttime spring rain would fall softly on my windshield and distort all the city lights into something a little more magical. Those were the moments I had to myself. For myself. Of myself. And I am eternally grateful for all of it.

I am a photographer.

Hi, my name is Shealyn.

This whole crazy journey that I'm on now started almost a year ago. Late one night I was roaming the internet like I always do and I stumbled upon Aperture Academy's website. As I started clicking around, my heart rate quickened. I'm sure my eyes dilated. I may not have remembered to breathe. After the initial shock was over I could feel an overwhelming rush of excitement, hope, and uncertainty. Was I daring to dream that I could actually do what I truly wanted to do but had always denied it in my heart because of everyone's voices telling me "photography doesn't make money" or "it's too competitive"? Could it be possible that my two greatest passions in the entire world (travel and photography) were attainable?

Of course it was. It was staring at me in the form of a black website, white words, and gorgeous pictures.

It had finally sparked something in me. I was no longer floating. I beamed at the idea of not being an underappreciated waitress for the rest of my life. I had a goal. I had something I finally, truly wanted. In fact, recalling that evening right now, still makes me feel giddy inside. Ever since that fateful night in April 2012 I have transformed into a sponge. I have absorbed every bit of knowledge I could get my eyes on. I've gravitated towards the "Photography" section of every bookstore I've entered. I've bought some of the most compelling books. I've YouTubed the hell out of photography tutorials. I've discovered my idols: Sue Bryce, Marcus Bell, Bambi Cantrell, among many others. My default smartphone activity became browsing new photographers and techniques. I've shadowed photographers in my area. I've watched, perhaps a little too intently, other professional photographers at weddings and other outings. I've bought into workshops and courses. I've driven two hours, exhausted after a long night of work, to be part of free workshops the next morning. I've researched new pieces of camera equipment like it was a life and death decision. I've recruited friends and family to be my guinea pi-- I mean models. I've seen thousands upon thousands of photographs. I've numbed my brain and my hand with marketing ideas. And now I'm finally sticking my neck out of there and yelling to the world:

I am a photographer.  I believe in the beauty and healing power of capturing precious slices of time into something tangible; something real. This is my passion. This is where my entire life has led me to be. I am no longer listening to the "no" inside my head.