By Bev Jackson Cotter

Bev Jackson Cotter is a member of the Albert Lea Art Center, 226 W. Clark St. in Albert Lea.

Do still have your first camera? Did you ever think that it was magic?

My first camera was a little square brownie. Its pictures were black and white and about two by three inches in size. Now I can smile at the process of installing the rolled up film, the time waiting to finish the film — only one picture at a time and sometimes months between events worthy of picture taking — then stopping at the local drug store to send the film in for developing, and even the horror when a set of vacation photos was lost somewhere in the processing. I can also look back at my old albums and remember the days when Dad fishing on the shore of the Mississippi and junior high slumber parties were memorable times in my life. Those pictures are treasured today. Where would we be without those wonderful family photographs reminding us of who we were, who we are and how far we have come?

There has been a radical change in photography since those times — changes we never could have imagined, such as cell phones, cameras and the Earth from outer space. Who would have thought? Yet, the images we preserve today are precious and will remain so as years pass.

This nostalgia for and amazement in the advances in technology are my kind of meandering path toward the promotion of the upcoming show at The Albert Lea Art Center. Thanks to the Albert Lea Lens and Shutter Club, a display titled “Favorite Personal Photographs” will be shown from Oct. 23 through Nov. 23. I am so looking forward to the exhibition. This is a group of talented photographers with the ability to find unusual pictures in such things as a lone tree or the spray painting on railroad box cars or even a puddle, places that we see often and usually ignore.

Recently the Lens and Shutter Club displayed boxcar art photos in city hall. I don’t know how many times I’ve waited for a train, briefly glancing at the spray painting on the passing cars, yet never considering it to be an art form, much less one worthy of a special exhibition. I don’t know how often you check out the art displays in city hall, but every month there is a new exhibit featuring one of many art disciplines. These shows are a fun way to explore the local art scene.

Years ago there was young man living in Albert Lea who biked around town carrying his camera. One day I noticed him near the channel bridge on West Richway Drive. He was relaxing, seeming to enjoy the nature setting, yet holding his camera. Two hours later, when I drove by again, he was still there. 

The next time I visited with him, I commented, “You must have taken lots of beautiful pictures that day.” 

He responded, “No, I only took one — when the sunlight on the water was just right.” 

It was an award winning photo.

Our new technology offers so many ways to produce photographs, yet there is a huge difference between a photo and a piece of art.   

There are beautiful landscape photographs of a sunset over Fountain Lake or a close up of rose petals in your garden.

There is the lucky selfie taken with a presidential candidate when there are thousands of people with their phones held high, hoping for a more personal picture. 

There are the horrible pictures of the devastation caused by Hurricane Matthew as it destroyed homes and communities on our east coast and the tragic personal photos connected to it.

Then there was that absolutely delightful picture of three sets of twins taken by Rebecca Lynne Photography. It was in the May/June issue of the Albert Lea magazine — the one where one of the girls was having a no-holds-barred tantrum and the other five kids were reacting in totally different ways, some shocked, some vulnerable and some oblivious. That’s one magazine that didn’t make its way to the recycling stack. Every time I look at that picture I smile. 

The camera preserves and reminds and explains and it sometimes questions.

It is a magnificent instrument, capturing a moment in time that will never again occur. A camera is a bit of magic in the hands of an artist.