Something strange happened to me this weekend. It was just after 1:00 am Sunday morning when my brother called to tell us not to go anywhere because of a large structural fire downtown. He's a firefighter, so he knows these things. As soon as I heard the words as my sister was relaying the message, I could feel my eyes light up. I put my shoes on, threw on a jacket, grabbed my keys and camera and stopped. Even though I am 26 years old, I still felt the need to ask my mom if I could go to the scene and take some pictures. Her only words to me were "don't get arrested," so I was out the door.
I drove downtown and got as close as I could without getting in the way. I stood across the street and started clicking away. Suddenly I felt something inside of me that hasn't been there in several years. I essentially gave up photojournalism when I graduated high school. I took a few classes in college and even had a photo land on the front page of the UofA student paper. However, it just wasn't the same feeling I had while capturing all those moments of life around Charles Page High. It seems the thing within me that drives my love of photography had been hibernating for the last eight years or so. While photographing the fire last night that part of me came alive again. I had no idea how much I missed that feeling.
I don't know what all this means, because I don't think working for a publication is in my future. Maybe it is and I'm not getting the message. Anyway, here are some shots from the fire.
