Edit 59: FINALLY!
It took long enough didn’t it?
ONCE UPON A TIME…
There was a young mother expecting her long-awaited second child.
In the middle of preparing for him, of mothering her sweet daughter, of wifing her hard-working husband, and PTO’ing the heck out of her roles at her daughter’s Catholic school, a camera was put into her hands. It was a gift—and a heavy one (though only literally). But as she was pregnant, though she was thankful, she promptly forgot about it.
Until several months later.
Now a stay-at-home mother of two, she found herself looking at said camera on the over-sized ottoman and picked it up. She looked through the view finder, catching her daughter holding her newly born brother—a look of absolute adoration radiating from every fiber of her being—and felt this intense need to capture the moment before it passed. Her index finger pressed down quickly, a loud click followed, and as they like to say, the rest was history.
It was one moment, one picture, and several long minutes of staring at the product to tell this newly minted mother of two that something special had just happened—and she’d managed to immortalize it: two children caught in their first embrace as brother and sister, and an undeniable, inimitable warmth captured in that tender moment.
Capturing memories had always been important to her. She’d made photo books of her eldest daughter through the years, attempted to make a scrapbook when they’d been all the rage. But this time, something felt different. A feeling had moved through her before she’d even taken the picture, and it would grow stronger after she moved halfway across the world with her family a year later.
Japan is where her journey into photography shifted. In the bottom of her large Kate Spade diaper bag or her son’s stroller, the large Nikon would sit. She’d pull it out to take pictures of the festivals and the markets, her wrists would ache after holding it for long afternoons at the playgrounds. They were lovely, colorful shots capturing their new life, one that was mostly unknown to family and friends. But her favorite things to take pictures of were the Japanese protesters outside of the Russian embassy.
Though it was a regular and protected occurrence in their new home, to her, it was something she’d never seen up close before, and she didn’t want to ever forget the grave, tired expressions, or the well-executed precision of the police.
Her habits of snapping the quick movements of her children began to slow. She learned to steady her hands, hold her position, and began to trust her instincts when the pictures needed to be taken. Patience became a new and growing asset—though she still had miles to go.
After the Tohoku earthquake in 2011, she moved with her family to Southern California, and for seven years the good (and still ridiculously heavy) camera was mostly set aside. She fell back into the rhythm of an American life, and now, she began relying on her phone. Thus began a relationship with a new camera—and many, many, many bad editing choices. She dabbled in some light blogging, picked up the Nikon to showcase a beautifully made meal or a backyard birthday party. But once again, it wasn’t until a second return to Japan that the gift of time was given back to her, and with it, a new, lighter camera. The Canon Rebel t8i.
We do love a Rebel in this house.
Most of you know the rest of this story. Or maybe you don’t. You may not know that with the new camera (and a newer iPhone) I was learning constantly about new editing apps. I went through seasons of overly saturating images, then going in the complete opposite direction, but over time I found my style. I discovered what I loved most in front of my lens.
Yes, it was a bit of everything—and still is— but it was always about the feeling in a moment. Soon I became the go-to for pictures at parties, on outings and trips, and each time I felt myself exploring something a little different: perspective, light, mood, subject. Sometimes someone would send me a photo with the simple request: “When you have a moment, could you make this look better?” I was having fun with my cameras, playing around, but I never felt like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t. I was simply doing what I loved, and I enjoyed being able to bring happiness to others through it.
It wasn’t until I was sitting at a table with a few expat friends, sipping wine at my last mahjong game before we repatriated, that I said something out loud. “After a year back, I’m going to create a website and start doing this for real.”
It was a case of heart knowing before head, because the words came well before I was ready to put myself out there. Even so, it felt right, and I knew it would happen at the right time. With some kind words of encouragement from friends (Thanks Mandy and Jen!), I tucked those words, and that promise to myself, in my back pocket.
I took the next few years to settle into life in Charlotte, finding my footing before picking up my camera more and more. I captured vacations and everyday life, friends and family. Headshots were new, but fun, and during my son’s senior year I found myself behind the lens for the band, capturing moments that mattered to people I cared about. And as I began writing again with Life, Edited, I realized something else was happening.
There was a momentum building.
There were people in my life, new and old friends, who had been telling me for years to do something with my photography. I always assured them that I would. I was going to do it. I was doing it. Soon.
I’m pretty sure by the time I began building the website last December, at least a handful thought my words were hollow. And I understand why. But I’m not one to move fast on things important to me. This is photography. And because it matters so much to me, I did what I tend to do with the things I love most: I took my time to nurture before revealing anything. It was important to me that I knew what I wanted to share and say, that the photographs best represented what I could do. I wanted to feel prepared for whatever happened once I finally put myself—and my work—out into the world.
My husband loves to cook meals that often require them to be prepared low and slow. Apparently I prefer to begin a business the same way.
I tinkered and photographed and edited and rewrote. I changed things many, many times. But on Stepember 1st, I finally launched E.D. Quon Photography (and promptly heard a collective sigh of relief from several corners of the globe).
FINALLY!
And that’s when something lovely happened.
People showed up. Opportunities began appearing and encouragement came from places both expected and surprising. I’ve been welcomed into new spaces, trusted with moments that matter to people, and am now being given opportunities to keep doing the thing I had spent so long preparing myself to do.
That promise I made over wine and Mahjong four years ago was tucked away for a reason. It deserved to be handled with time and care, and maybe it didn’t sit with a timeline some might expect, but that’s alright. I did it in a way that felt right. It took a little longer than expected, but as I look at my fall calendar and the dates beginning to fill, I can now say this: I did it.
Finally.
