Time Let Me Play

In about the third or fourth grade, late in the afternoon when I should have been doing homework, I would go to the backyard to play. I was a pioneer and I would ride my horse back and forth across the grass from my homestead to a river. When it got too dark, I'd be called into dinner and banished from this world for the day. By sixth grade, the time between visits to my backyard adventures grew longer. Now, as I look back, these make believe dramas, seem like a journey through the Garden of Eden, and as I grew up, without noticing, the gates to the garden closed. When children are deeply absorbed in play they seem far away. They create invisible worlds through conversations, dialogs and theatrics. Their young voices breathe life into stuffed animals, they see dinosaurs and dragons lurking behind trees and under beds. I observe the way they move their hands and feet, and they way they find and handle small creatures, the way they smell, touch, inspect and collect dirt, rocks, leaves- and more. At times, they will pause their game to allow a picture, proudly show a treasure they have found or constructed or perhaps show off a favorite toy. How do they so fully engage and immerse themselves in this rich life of childhood? I listen to my sons, and I watch them, but I do not always understand their stories, myths and secrets. When I photograph children, my own and others, I use the lens of the camera, a window if you will, to seek clues to the realms they have created. I am engaged once again in child's play, if only from a distance, and that I have made a connection between my childhood and theirs through my photographs.