Raised in an era when children were to be seen but not heard, and photography something you only did on holidays, I kept to myself most of the time, but always I was creating. We lived in California's Mojave Desert, and nearly everything was covered in thick layers of dust. Though all of life appeared the same dull shade of taupe, I saw shapes, colors, and imagery everywhere. I wanted to capture it on film. I asked for and received my first camera on my seventh birthday. My father carefully loaded the roll of film, and I went outside for my first magical experience. I shot three photographs, then opened the back of the camera, so I could see them, which, of course, exposed it. I was chastised without explanation, and the camera taken away from me for years.

When I was ten, our family purchased a Polaroid "Swinger". After several unsuccessful attempts by others, my father handed me the camera, growling at my mother, "Give it to her; she's the only one who manages to take pictures without cutting everybody's heads off!" Those were the kindest words I'd ever heard spoken about me. They ring in my mind to this day.

At fourteen, I worked as the assistant photographer for the school newspaper and yearbook staff. A Travel Bureau in Utah needed a photograph of one of their billboards which had been erected just outside our town. They called the school to see if a someone would take a snapshot of it for them. I couldn't even drive yet, so my mother took me to the sign, and I remember not liking the look of it from the ground, and having her position our station wagon so I could climb on top of its roof to get a better angle, as the low setting sun had fully saturated it. I carefully developed the 120 mm B&W film from the school's Yashica Mat 124, made three 8" x 10" prints, and sent them off. A week later I received a neatly typed and signed letter, thanking me for my "excellent work" saying "it was the best picture we have ever received, far surpassing any done by professional photographers all over the west." It included a check for five dollars, made out to me. For a girl in 1968 who had never earned more than a buck-fifty (and that after babysitting five screaming kids for an entire Saturday), it was ethereal. I knew I had found my true calling in life.

After over forty years as a photojournalist, I look back thankful to those in my life like the person at the travel bureau who went out of his way to encourage a young and impressionable child who felt worthless in every way. He made me feel I might contribute something after all. I've always tried to follow his example and pay it forward.

I've lived and worked all over the world, and settled--you guessed it--in Utah; truly the most picturesque location on this planet. Every season is magnificent, and every face, beautiful.

My interests now are mainly in finding models willing to sign releases in exchange for digital images of their work. I hope to soon make enough money in stock photography to pay them what they are truly worth. I would also really like to improve my art enough to shoot headshots for models and actors. My daughter is an actor, and in spite of all my experience and equipment, I've never been able to shoot a decent headshot of her.

Here is her website, if you are interested: http://www.reallyrachel.com.
Only about four or five of the photos on her site are mine. She is my only daughter, and works very hard at her craft.

My husband and I also have three living sons, and one grandson.

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