How does any serious hobby begin? Do we know? I was given a camera before I was 12. But did I become a photo artist at that time? I doubt it. I remember those first pictures showed people with heads cut off and others so blurred, it was impossible to tell what I had in mind. Still, I persisted. I have always made certain I had a very good camera at my disposal.

The breakthrough to photo artist began in California. I was asked to teach a night class in basic electronics at the local Junior. College. I saved all the money and bought a top of the line Canon film camera and built a darkroom. Today, Nikon digital makes my life easier, but the essential need for that unusual eye has not changed.

Some say you have to take 10,000 pictures before you take good ones. After a lifetime of taking pictures, I think I finally take pictures others will enjoy. The local arts association insists I am an artist and awarded me first place in several competitions. And local galleries and wineries have exhibited my work. I humbly take their word for it and call myself a photo artist.

I don’t refer to myself as a photographer. Nary a landscape, waterfall or portrait can I brag about. I extend adulation and applause to those who do because I know the intense learning required to master that skill. Those whom I admire create images I could never capture. So I do something different.

As a photo artist, I crave the old and decayed, the rusted and vintage. I have a passion for old cars, both restored and demolished. Occasionally, an amazing flower will catch my eye and I share a picture or two, sometimes, modified and morphed into something nature could only hope to have created.

Check back often to see what I saw.