The Local Valley Camera Club

I went to the Local Valley Camera Club meeting last month.

Nobody noticed.

Finally when it was all over I stood up and asked if anybody knew someone who did video in the Local Valley.

I have never seen such a sad group of blank faces. It was clear they felt sorry for me. Then Somebody spoke up. “There’s somebuddy ‘round here does video - but don’t know who.” The blank faces lost their focus on me and drifted back to each other and they brightened up a lot.

I went back a couple of weeks later. Same thing. Nobody noticed. I tried talking to a few people and they all talked like they wanted to be friendly. So I got the feeling that they weren’t angry with me for being there.

At the end I stood up again and asked about video. Somebody Else said he would check on it for me. So I gave Mr. Else one of my business cards. That was the last I saw of either one.

The club president later asked me if I had ever shot any “still pictures”. I told him that I had. I gave him my card too. That was the end of that conversation.

About two weeks later the Local Valley Camera Club had a booth at the Local Valley Oktoberfest, and they had a couple of display boxes of photographs that were matted and for sale.

I flipped through the browse boxes and my face became blank and sad. The images were poor things. Some had no color anywhere, and in some the color was wildly run amok. Some of them had no subject at all, others had ten subjects, all crowded together in the same tiny frame. There were no stories told, no hints of great romantic moments or tales of things now coming swiftly at us. No texture, depth, or resonating pulse, no surging blasts of wild surprise, no creative discovery to lift us up, or emotional crescendo of newly awakened life. No, looking through the browse boxes was like a long trip on a great cowpath littered with patties, each minimally different from the ones before and behind.

“Hi!” A man seated in a lawn chair shouted at me. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

He was the Local Valley Cameral Club president and he was sitting with a group of about four other guys.

“Yeah, hi!” I called back. “I’ve been to a couple of your meetings.”

“What’s that thing around your neck?” The president grinned, pointing to my camera.

“It’s my camera.” I proudly held it so he could clearly see my little Canon PowerShot S3.

“That thing’s your CAMERA?” The president laughed. He grimaced and shook his head, and then he pivoted in his seat so he could resume talking with his friends.

So I walked away with a feeling of relief. Thank God I didn’t join.

But then, as I reflected back on the issue later in the twilight of the day, I realized that they had already told me about who they were by their very name.

They are the Local Valley CAMERA Club. That’s it! They weren’t interested in good pictures - they were interested in good CAMERAS. They knew a good camera when they saw one but they had obviously not seen a good photograph in a long time. I should have made their picture for them.

© John Womack, 2008. All rights reserved.