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Fischer, Ansel K.asdfghjkl
Fischer, Ansel K.asdfghjkl
- Hello, my name is : Ansel Klaus Fischer
I am a : homme
I like : women
In short, my life : I was conceived in March, in a honeymoon suite in a small hotel in Berlin, Germany, and as a result I was born nine months later, in December. I was born very slightly premature, and I was a small child. Even from a small age I expressed an interest in 'capturing' things in their truest form. I seeked small insects to examine inthe last seconds of their lives. I searched down trees as they began the very start of a long, wooden life. I sought out my parents to watch them through the parts of their lives I could witness; the mornings, the evenings, their days off of work. My mother was a waitress, a simple job with simple wages, but she made a fair amount in tips. My father was an electronics engineer at the local power company. How they found the time to conceive my sister, Liesl Marie, is beyond me to this day. Two adults with such busy lives have time for so futile acts as procreation? At any rate, my initial thoughts about my new sister were slight annoyance. As an only child I had gotten most things that I wanted. To have that taken away at the ripe age of three might be devastating to a child's mind. And so I was annoyed at this pink little human who cried and smelled. But as I watched her, she cried less and smiled more. And so I realized, at the young age of three, the wonder of new life. Although, to this day, I will not hold a small child. They don't seem to like me. In fact to my knowledge, the only child that liked me was my sister.
When I was seven, and she four, we moved. My father had lost his job - he was laid off, possibly because he had asked for a pay raise to support his growing family - and we moved. Across the Atlantic ocean, we landed in New York. We settled in New York City for a year, moved again to Albany, and settled there for two years when my younger brother was born. Unlike with my sister, I found this small child obnoxious. I was now eight going on nine, and I hardly had the time to play with another baby. My sister was five. We were a dynamic duo, we were. I picked up crayons and drew what I saw whenever I could, but I grew frustrated because I couldn't capture exactly what I saw. When it came time for a family portrait to send back to Germany for my omas and opas, we went to a photographer in mall. He arranged us on a box, hid behind a large black thing with a glass circle, and there was a huge flash. I was shocked, what was this thing? I didn't rememer it from Germany - possibly because the only family portraits we took there were when I was too young to remember them. When I saw the pictures, I fell in love. In the picture I saw myself, my mother, my father, my sister, and my brother. My mother, she looked so beautiful. Aging slowly, gracefully, she had the face of an angel to me. It seemed to radiate her tender, smiling personality. My father, he looked stern, but you could see the smile in his eyes. The face of a man who worked his way to where he was today. My sister, mid-laugh at the toy the photographer had been waving to distract her. You could see her twinkling blue eyes, the constant laughter in her smile. Me, you could see my frustrated look. I clearly did not want to be there that day, but there was a twinkle of intrigue in my expression. My younger brother, Everett Jaeger - we called him E.J. after he learned his name - looking up at my mother with all of the love a child can muster for this woman who cared for him so.
I fell in love with cameras, with pictures, with posing for pictures and with taking pictures, from that moment. My mother bought me a waterproof film camera for my tenth birthday, shortly before we moved to Carnation. I took pictures of the road, of the car, of our things piled around it, of the hotels we stayed in, of the house we moved into. But when I went with my mother to get them developed, I grew frustrated. You couldn't see anything that I had intended to capture. The old, weather-worn look and feel of the road, as though it had seen and experienced more wary travelers than it cared to admit. The loving care with which all of our possessions were packed carefully around us. The cramped yet comfortable positions we all had in the vehicle. The worn yet hardy look of the car, parked in the parking lot. The hopeful feel of the hotels, the bottled excitement of my sister, the weary look of my mother, the stressed look of my father, and the carefree child look of my brother. You couldn't see it at all. I tore up every single one of those pictures. After that experience I gave up on photography until middle school. Thirteen years old, and considerably taller than I was expected to be, a friend of mine got a nice digital camera for his birthday - oddly enough the same friend whose friend introduced me to a few people who I regularly visit with to this day - and allowed me to use it to take pictures of his presents as he opened them. When I saw the pictures, I fell in love all over again. I felt I had captured perfectly the hopeful gleam in my friend's eye, of the excited tension in the room as the wrapping was ripped unceremoniously from the presents, of the gleeful laughter captured mid-gulp-for-air after opening a present that contained the videogame console he had always wanted. I wanted to do this more. So for my birthday I asked for a camera, any kind of camera. I was given an old-fashioned polaroid camera. It became my baby. I still have it, up on a shelf in my room surrounded by the pictures taken with it.
When high school came along, I took every single photography and related class that I could. I won the art show, twice, with what seem like innocent shots of a flower with a bee, or perhaps a paper doll leaning against some jars of knick-knacks in my sister's bedroom. I got a job at the mall that I still have today. I graduated, with medium grades in such things as English and mathematics, but with top scores in visual arts and the like. My parents were proud, my sister was beaming, and my brother was looking surly. I was six feet and two inches tall on the day of my graduation, yet still very slender and fit.
My sister is my best friend to this day. I moved into a small apartment complex not far from my family's home. I visit home frequently, to see my sister and my brother grow up. But recently, I've stopped taking random pictures. I feel as though I've taken all of the pictures of every emotion that I've found. Glee, joy, frustration, anger, depression, sadness, mourning, almost everything. I've even captured love, the love between my parents. I took their portrait for a wedding anniversary. But yet, I feel uninspired. I'm not sure what triggered it all. I had one fleeting relationship in high school, but that's all. I'm not sure if that's why I'm uninspired, but I haven't taken pictures really since she left. I continue to take portraits of families looking to send out Christmas greetings and the like, but my heart isn't in it. What I need is something new. Something original. Something to spark again my love for photography and modeling, which is more of a side passion than a profession. I was planning on going to school for photography as soon as I have saved up enough money to pay for four years of tuition, but I ended up getting in a horrible car accident last winter and had to spend a good chunk of that money on a new car. Insurance helped, of course, but there's still a serious dent in my funds. College will have to wait a while longer.
My friends would say, in a word, that I am : Analytical. In another, dramatic.
But in long terms, that means : One of my good friends - he is no longer here with us, what a pity - once described my personality thusly: "Klaus, you are a scientist. Other people are your specimens. You place them upon the exam table, and you pry them apart to glean every little bit of information from them that you can. I don't see how you manage to do that without creating loads of enemies, but you do it." People I have shared that with agree, and are equally confused about it as he who said it. I suppose you could say I'm an analytic. I analyze everything I see. People, plants, buildings. I like to observe, to watch and learn. Perhaps it's because of this that my photography skills are so yearned for that I work at such a small company. I am one that believes everyone has talent, all they need to do is find it and present it in a way that other people can see it properly. I don't mean that in the literal sense, of course. I'm not one to judge anyone by the way that they look. As a photographer I seek to grasp and capture that part of people that makes them appealing without editing the picture in any way. It could be the colour of their eyes, it could be the way that a certain bit of hair brushes across their face. It could also be a part of their personality. As a model I seek to present myself in a way that shows who and what I truly feel that I am. The pitiful part of all of this is the sheer lack of interest I have in most things. Human interaction has always been hard for me. People think I am too cold and unfeeling. Perhaps if someone could grasp that part of me I wish to present, a beautiful, shimmering blossom will burst forth from this ugly duckling of a personality shell. I'm also a bit of a drama llama.
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Enjoy
Apples
Blue
Sunny days
Hands
Cameras, duh
Detest
Lack of originally
Small children
Green
Cats
Oranges
Apples
Blue
Sunny days
Hands
Cameras, duh
Detest
Lack of originally
Small children
Green
Cats
Oranges
