In the Beginning, There Was Light…

It started when I was about 15 — with a simple need to hold on to a moment. To keep it from fading, from changing, from disappearing with time. Photography became that quiet answer.
I bought a basic film camera—one whose name I can no longer remember. I shot black-and-white photos which, at the time, felt absolutely wonderful.
I took it with me on trips with friends. I photographed female friends I liked—the ones I could later look at freely, without embarrassment.
The goal was simple, and I achieved it. I was satisfied.

Unfortunately, I had to put photography aside for many years. As I entered what I now call my “difficult age,” conflicts with my parents began to grow—conflicts I only truly understood later, when I became a parent myself. At the time, though, I just wanted to leave and see the world.
To make a long story short, I ended up living in a foreign country, and my priorities changed completely.

Many years later, I returned to photography. I quickly realized that simply pressing the shutter wasn’t enough—and certainly not the only way to create a meaningful image. The “Auto” mode helped, of course, but it raised a question: who was really in control—the camera or me?

Around that time, one of my biggest flaws came into play: impatience. Whenever I started something new, I expected immediate results—within minutes, not months. If that didn’t happen, I would lose interest and give up.

And that’s exactly what happened with photography. I didn’t understand it right away (which, of course, is impossible), so I grew frustrated and walked away from it once again.

A few more years passed. The world changed, and so did I—but the desire to capture a moment forever never left me.

This time, I decided to be patient. I knew this would be my last attempt.

I was incredibly lucky to meet Sabine from Canada—a photographer and photo editor. I showed her some of my work. She praised certain elements, carefully and thoughtfully, but never with the intention of discouraging me.

She analyzed each image in detail, offering advice, explanations, and sometimes sharp criticism. I’ll admit—it was frustrating. I was proud of my photos, but she saw only the flaws.

Looking at those images today, I see exactly what she meant.

It felt like a very long road ahead. So why didn’t I give up again?

Again, one of my traits—this time, a useful one—made the difference: stubbornness. I’ve been stubborn since childhood, and this time it worked in my favor. Mixed with a sense of respect (and maybe a little embarrassment) toward Sabine, who was investing her time in my “masterpieces,” I simply couldn’t quit.

There were days when I was completely fed up with photography.

But I kept going.

Today, Sabine still criticizes me from time to time—but not as often, and not as harshly. Now, she praises me more.

And I’ve come to understand something important: the road ahead is still long.

And maybe, as photographers, we will be always only on our way to the goal.