CAPTURING ORDINARY BEAUTY
Kailee Parsons
When I first traded my hot pink point-and-shoot for a semi-professional camera, it was 2018 and I had recently returned from a study abroad course after high school. A few of my friends on the course were keen photographers, and I was jealous of how beautifully they had captured the experience—every picture was clear, well-lighted, masterfully composed; a perfectly told story. My first attempts with manual shooting looked, unsurprisingly, nothing like the practised shots of my friends. Of course, I knew that the right equipment was only a small part of the equation, but I had secretly hoped the art of photography would come naturally, no practice needed.
And there was another problem: I was learning too late. Instead of the adventures of gap year existence, I had only people and places I had known all my life for subject matter. When I began to practise, however, an extraordinary thing happened; I began to see my hometown in new colours. I noticed the way light shone through a coffee shop window, or the symmetry created between a faraway lamppost and an old man crossing the sidewalk. My co-workers became radiant models. By the time I moved to St Andrews for university, I was better with a camera, but more importantly, I had a knack for finding beauty in the ordinary.
St Andrews is, of course, anything but ordinary, but I gain satisfaction from photographing the same streets and buildings in new ways. Nowadays, my photographs are just as often taken with my phone on the way to class as with my camera. For me, photography isn’t just about the equipment or the subject matter, but about the few moments it takes to slow down and appreciate the world around me.
This article first appeared in PRISMA, Issue 2.