A New Beginning

Kamakshee Kuchhal ’24 zooms into the definition of spring with her photography essay.

With a bad history of photographs and cameras (including accidentally breaking a few), I thought I was destined to never become a photographer. I never understood how some people can take a photo to remind strangers of things or emotions they might have never even been present for. Through the process, I had to learn the hard way that it isn’t just about the angle, aperture, or shutter speed. It’s also the vision you held while taking the photo, and the emotions the connections to the picture bring when picking your favorite.

I feel like this unit taught me the importance of capturing a moment. Over time, will you remember when your best friend thought it was a good idea to run into the water fountain? Or when your little brother dropped his ice cream and threw his first tantrum? Memories, even the good ones, fade away as the years go by. Only until now did freezing the present for a time in the future mean so much to me.

So why spring? Recently, I’ve noticed that I haven’t been as active with my favorite pastimes. Things were changing, and I could feel it; to be quite honest, I hated it. If it weren’t for this project, I’d probably still be cooped up in the corner of my room with my laptop. But as soon as I stepped out my door and felt the fresh breeze of morning air with a camera strap around my neck, I realized this was exactly what I was missing. Sure, things were changing. But right after the harsh winter awaits a beautiful spring. And that was the inspiration of my photoshoot.

Personally, I think it turned out better than I expected. When my mom walked up behind me choosing a select amount of photos and said, “those actually turned out really good,” it only reinforced my idea of the concept of photography: if you have the feeling, with a bit of time and practice, the skill will come by itself. I’ll never forget walking down the streets with the zephyr ruffling my hair. It reminded me of the joy of living: hold onto the present, or it’ll be gone in the flash of a camera.