So You Are a Photographer and Gave Away a Few Prints?

So you gave away a few prints. No big deal. Don’t sweat it.

I probably would have done the same thing.

You did a sales session, the husband wasn't very kind to mom.

You did a reveal session and showed them your beautiful prints.

Mom looked stunning. The kids were great. Even dad looked fantastic.

Then dad opens his mouth and says really horrible things to the mom right there in front of you. He was condescending and put her down in front of the children.

I read this over and over in my photo groups. It is really starting to alarm me that in the 21st century things are still this way.

You had empathy for the mom after her husband denigrated her self esteem. You gave her a few extra prints dad wasn't going to spring for.

And if I’m wrong and you got played. No big deal. Just a few prints you gave away.

I suspect you may have stumbled into a domestic violence situation where the husband is all controlling.

Google “battered women’s syndrome”.

I am 58. My spouse handles all the money. I get $100 every two weeks for incidentals. $200 per month and sometimes a bit more if I have to fill up the gas tank. But I have to say — "honey I need to fill up the gas tank next week."

Don’t ask me how I got to this point. I don’t know.

I busted my ass and put myself through college. I worked all my life. Took care of my mom for ten years after her stroke.

I finally get married at 55 for the first time in my life. Shortly after the courthouse ceremony, the rules came out.

Thank God for social media so I can stay in touch with my friends and escape this nightmare.

I quit not one, but two full time jobs. Then we moved 12 hours from where I spent the last 30 years of my life.

It is isolation, lack of income. Lack of power. They wear you down.

They make all the decisions. The changes after marriage were stunning.

The positive side is I have been able to learn a great deal from these groups on FB about running a business.

My spouse has a great job. We are both educated people. I swear something snapped, this old way of life mindset is like my grandparents. My spouse was reared by the grandparents.

I feel like I am living my grandparents life and then my moms life.

I read a book about lifetraps. Clearly the pattern is repeating in my life.

Enough about my story, but to all of you when you see and hear comments like this from your clients, remember what I just told you.

What you have just read was written by me on June 9th. here is an update since I was not able to get back to writing after I started the original piece.

We are now nearly at the end of August. The summer has mostly passed. I find myself sinking deeper into an abyss and depression. I have spent most of the summer holed up inside this tin can. We live in an RV. The summer heat and humidity are awful. I hate to go outside, it is brutal. I walk three dogs and run back inside to the AC.

We have three vehicles, two of them sit in the driveway. One jalopy won't start at all, I think it's the transmission. No forward speed before it died in the driveway. The van kept stalling out, maybe the damp weather from all the rain? Then the dry rotted tires make it a safety issue. The fuel gauge stopped working a few months back. We replaced the starter and battery a few months before that.

It's one week until the end of August. The tires have not been replaced on my old jalopy of a van. It's been five or six months now. My spouse doesn't think it's necessary.

In fact, a few weeks ago, while we were trying to get the electricity restored to the camper after a lightening strike, we here this pop and then loud hissing. The tire blew a leak from the valve stem. It was so hot outside the black part of the tire was mushy and gummy like an old silly putty blob.

It took nearly a week and a thousand dollars to restore electricity to the RV.

I slept in a beach chair, woke up with a stiff neck and back. It was awful. I am too old for this sh*t!

So still no wheels, nowhere to go, nothing to do. The dogs and I wait everyday for the master to come home from work and then the drinking begins again and out to the tv my better half runs. It's like not having a partner. I go hours on end everyday not speaking to anyone; then I go into the evening with the same silence. I fill my days by doing a few chores and reading and occasionally getting on the computer. Sometimes I go out to the tv cave to visit and find a snoring spouse, so why bother?

I had one friend that lived here and she moved to Arizona to care for her ailing mom. Having already been down that road I understand. She texts me every morning to make sure I am ok. She doesn't understand how I put up with all that I do. I tell her repeatedly, I have lived through so much worse in my life, this is easy to survive. Their are no beatings. I am free to come and go so to speak when the truck is available to me. My dogs and I have food, clean running water and a roof over our heads. I have had it much worse. Many people have it much worse. I don't see a way out.

I don't see a way out, I told her this morning.

The bills are piling up. I can't get to work, get to an interview. I am stuck in this rural hell of southern Redneck Riviera.

My next thought is how the hell did I get here and how the hell am I going to get out? The dogs need to come with me as well. I am too old to be starting over. I must start over. I try to keep a positive outlook on this marriage and my survival. I have talked until I am blue in the face. It does no good. All I hear is “I love it here.” Well, I don't.

I certainly do not love sitting in an RV all day long and all night long by myself and three dogs. My big treat is going out to the laundromat on wash day.

Ya know, when my mom passed away, eight years ago, the social workers in the hospital were concerned about me. They set up these counseling sessions for me. What are you going to do with yourself after all this? You have spent your entire 40s caring for your mom. You are single, you have no family left, who are you going to lean on for support? I don't know. I told them I had been dreaming of a road trip, me my cameras, my Jeep and 300 rolls of film.

It has been almost eight years since my mom passed away, she passed away on Christmas Eve and honestly, I don't think I have bounced back yet from it all. My career path certainly has not, nor has my financial situation. Nor my mental and emotional state of mind. Those folks in the hospital were right to be concerned about me.

The Jeep was sold off because my spouse damaged it moving to this hell hole.

But I do still have my film cameras. Now I just have to find 300 rolls of film, money for processing 300 rolls of film at the lab and a safe vehicle to drive around in.

As you can tell this morning, well this month of August has been very tough on me. I was sinking fast this morning until I remembered my dream. Once again the dream will save my sanity!

I am going to gather up my old books and notes and set my sights on turning that photo trip into reality. Don't worry it isn't much, just a few journals that are half written in about my future plans. Most of my things were stolen from me when the drug addicts broke into my place years ago. They stole anything you could hock for drug money. They even stole my socks, soap and shampoo. What they didn't steal they destroyed. they even took the metal pipe from the woodstove, so when you looked up you saw that Carolina blue sky.

Well, let me close and get off of here. I need to see what I can do to finally turn this dream into a reality.

And to get back to all of you in the photo studio business when you find out a client is in a domestic situation, find a way to help out. Kindness goes a long way. Be discreet if necessary, it can be the difference between life, death or survival. Be on the lookout if someone slips you a note, asking for help. Stay true to yourself, your craft of photography and remember why we pick up the camera in the first place. To make memories and heirloom artwork for the generations to pass down to the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Long Live The Print Movement!