On Thanksgiving, we spent the day with my parents. While there, they handed me a stack of prints and a pile of negatives I had completely forgotten about. Most of them are crap. They’re from 1971 for the most part and I was in the early stages of trying to learn photography. I was shooting a LOT of film and about 99% was ultimately junk. But this is the way I learn. I dive in and do a great deal of whatever it is I’m trying to do, largely ignoring instructions and books, which I consult only when I’m so hopelessly lost that I admit to needing expert help. It’s an absurd way to go about it, but when I do finally learn something it stays learned.
Anyway, among the negatives I found a couple shots my dad took of me at the keyboard. At this time I still hadn’t made up my mind what I wanted to do or be. Music was always a possibility, a big deal, but it turned out not to be. However, I had aspirations. (When you’re that young, you think you can do it all. At one time I simultaneously wanted to be an actor, a musician, a photographer, and a writer, and saw no reason why I couldn’t. The acting has, subsequently, faded completely from my list of ambitions.)
So, here I am being…well, I was getting my Keith Emerson on, clearly, as well as the serious composer bit.
Seems I couldn’t read my own notation…
