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<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\nOn a chilly, early fall afternoon, I drove to her house. I had my old Canon film camera on the seat next to me, with a fresh roll of black and white film. There she was, waiting for me on her porch, with her cat, Stephanie, in her lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I grabbed the camera and asked her if I could take her photo. She said no. (She always said no, for all the reasons many of us do. No one ever feels \u201cready.\u201d We say we\u2019re not wearing the right clothes, our hair isn\u2019t right, we\u2019re not the right weight, we\u2019re not even the right age!). <\/p>\n\n\n\n
For some reason, on this day, I pushed back a little. I asked again. \u201cPlease – for me,” I said. \u201cYou\u2019re my favorite person and I want to remember you just like this.\u201d She wasn\u2019t having it. Then I added, \u201cYou\u2019d be helping me with my photography class.\u201d This did the trick – she agreed. She understood my need for creativity\u2014for art.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My grandmother was a talented and accomplished artist. She recognized my passion for art when I was young. When I was nine years old, I made a pinhole camera. My mother bought an enlarger and film-developing supplies at a yard sale. My grandmother helped me convert her only bathroom into a makeshift darkroom for the day so I could develop the film. It was one of the most exciting days of my life. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
About ten days after I took this portrait of her, she had a stroke and never recovered. She died just before Christmas. I wonder if she knew how much this portrait would mean to me. I will always be thankful for her and for this, my favorite photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I know there\u2019s a lot going on these days. But I hope you\u2019ll make the choice to exist in portraits, too. If I can help you with that, it would be my honor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
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People often ask me, “What is your favorite photo?” Many photos could make that list, but the one that comes to my mind now is this. It\u2019s a black and white portrait of my grandmother, Dorothy Daly Bartholomew, that I took in 1997. On a chilly, early fall afternoon, I drove to her house. I had<\/p>\n