Learning to See

In 2006, I flew to Paris. I arrived by way of Malawi and Belfast, but that is another story. I was there for a ten-day street photography class taught by Peter Turnley. Though a photographer most of my life, I had never actually been trained. I had no idea what street photography was, but—Paris.

On the first day, Peter asked us to bring in our favorite photos. I eagerly selected my best: a friend in the Dominican Republic posing playfully against a colorful wall, a mural in Palestine, a group of friends smiling wide for the lens.

Peter did not shame or criticize me. He simply suggested there was more to photography than I had encountered.

If you know street photography, you know those three photos didn’t stand a chance. They were posed. Static. They lacked the “real.”

Those ten days in Paris transformed me as a photographer—and as a person. I began to notice. To observe. To pay attention. By the time we held our exhibition, my eye had begun to develop. I wound up with two final portfolios because we couldn’t decide between them: one called Paris by Design, the other Paris Reflections—a series of selfies, before it was a thing, taken as reflections in bus stops, shop windows, and mirrored buildings.

Somehow, I had only just begun to “see.” It was both startling and inspiring. A new world opened up.

Two decades later—last week—it happened again. This time, it wasn’t my seeing, but my writing.

I have been a writer as long as I can remember. I’ve written books, articles, and essays. I’ve ghostwritten, marketed, and fundraised. Last week, I was in San Diego, not Paris, but the same magic transpired.

The teachers, Neal Allen and Anne Lamott, were on tour for their new book, Good Writing: 36 Ways to Improve Your Sentences. I bought a hardback copy at the event and began reading that night.

I’m only on chapter three. It has changed everything.

Peter’s class taught me to see—and showed me how much seeing I had been missing. Good Writing is teaching me to write.

Once again, I have that feeling: How did I miss this for so long? The question is more awe than criticism—the thrill of an entirely new world unfolding. It is a gift and a challenge, wrapped together.

Note: Please do not hold Neal Allen or Anne Lamott responsible for any weak verbs, poor transitions, or hackeneyed cliches - those are all mine. But, if you would like Good Writing for yourself by all means get the book!