Embracing the Blur

If you've stumbled upon this little corner of the internet, thank you for being here. I'm just a guy who's spent most of his life chasing light through a lens, and lately, that light has started to fade in ways I never quite imagined. This post isn't meant to be a pity party or a grand manifesto, I’m no expert on resilience, just someone muddling through with a heart full of gratitude and a camera bag that's gotten a bit lighter over the months. But writing has always been a quiet companion to my photography, a way to make sense of the frames I capture (or, these days, the ones I remember). So, with a deep breath and a humble nod to God, here's where my story sits right now.

It started with a simple video. Yesterday, I hit record on my phone for Instagram, a raw, rambling clip from the heart about the sting of going blind and what that means for the photographs I've loved making. I poured out the ache of knowing I can't nail those perfect compositions or exposures anymore, the kind that come from years of squinting at a scene with my one good eye and just knowing. Film has its own personality, doesn't it? Fomapan with its moody shadows and tight latitude, Kentmere offering a bit more forgiveness in the highlights.  Details like that live in my head, etched from decades of trial and error. But my eyes? They've decided to bow out early. Five doctors, the state of Arizona, and the U.S. government all agree: I'm beyond legally blind, teetering on the edge of total darkness. I wake up each morning bracing for the day it all goes black.

About two months back, the warning signs ramped up. Closing my eyes brought flashes of random colors and lights, like a faulty projector spinning out of control. That sliver of vision I had left, five degrees on a good day, turned blurry, turning the world into soft-edged blobs. I laughed it off in an article I wrote, calling everyone a "blob" because, well, humor's been my shield against the heavy stuff. But reality doesn't stay polite for long.

One afternoon, I picked up one of my trusty SLR film cameras, the kind that's felt like an extension of my hand for years. I tried to focus. Couldn't. The viewfinder swam into nonsense. Composition? Forget it. That narrow tunnel of sight wasn't enough to frame a thought.

I found myself on a park bench that day, head in hands, grieving for what felt like hours. Self-pity wrapped around me like fog, thick and unyielding. It was the first time I'd let the full weight of it crash down. I haven't lifted a camera to shoot since, not one single frame. In the haze of those weeks, I started selling off pieces of my collection, each transaction a quiet goodbye to the tools that shaped my world. All that's left now are my beloved folding cameras, with their tactile folds and whispers of history, and two SLRs I just can't part with. They're like old friends I can't bear to lose, even if they sit gathering dust.

Looking back, I've been dancing with this shadow for longer than I care to admit. As a kid, doctors warned I'd lose my sight in adolescence. It didn't happen, praise God for that grace, and maybe that's why I've poured everything into photography. Forty years as a hobbyist, twenty of that as a professional. Every click was a prayer, a moment stolen from time.

Through breakups and breakthroughs, lean years and laughter, that passion kept me steady. It wasn't about fame or perfection; it was joy, pure and simple. Losing it? It's like misplacing a limb. For months, I've wandered aimlessly, future a foggy outline. But I'm not alone in the drift, Jesus has been my anchor, my wife my soft place to land, and our three goofy pups? They're the daily reminder that wagging tails don't need perfect vision.

Yesterday morning, something shifted. I woke with a spark, not a wildfire, just a gentle glow. Determination, I suppose you'd call it. I dug into a folder of unreleased shots from a May trip, landscapes that still make my heart hum even if I can't see them sharply anymore. I posted a few, tentative steps back into sharing. I didn't head out to shoot, but the thought lingered, whispering maybe. The truth is, I hold myself to impossible standards, flawless light, impeccable lines that I wouldn't dream of expecting from anyone else. It's a humble brag wrapped in humility: I've been blessed with skill, but pride can be a sneaky thief. How do I create without chasing ghosts of what was?

This road to blindness? I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. It's lonely, riddled with "what ifs" that echo in the quiet hours. But here's the quiet miracle: it led me to the blind center in Phoenix. Walking through those doors flipped the script. Suddenly, it wasn't the end of my story but a pivot to a new chapter. I've met folks who get it, the raw grief, the stubborn spark. Some love photography as fiercely as I do, swapping tips on adaptive gear like it's the most natural conversation. Together, we've started an advocacy group here in Arizona, a loose band of encouragers lifting each other up. No heroes among us, just people saying, "Hey, you've got this, one step at a time.”

Life's gone tactile now, and there's a strange beauty in that. Braille bumps under my fingers, keyboard clicks like Morse code for my thoughts. Cameras with dials and buttons? They're gold, things I can map in my mind, muscle memory overriding the dark. Tomorrow, I'm pulling out my Minolta Maxxum, that autofocus wonder with its forgiving heart. I'll give it a go, no pressure, just curiosity.

Scanning the negatives afterward will be a puzzle, details lost to me, but that's the thrill, isn't it? An adventure in trust, handing the reveal over to the machine and whatever magic it uncovers. I love this part, if I'm honest, the relearning. Figuring out angles by sound and feel, composing by instinct honed over lifetimes. Lights? Who needs 'em? I navigate just fine in the pitch black, a skill that's equal parts survival and secret superpower. It's all a gift, wrapped in loss, reminding me that sight was never the whole picture.

If you're reading this and facing your own storm—big or small—know this: it's okay to sit on that bench for a while. But don't stay there forever. Reach for the hand extended, whether it's a friend's, a stranger's at a support group, or the steady one from above. I'm still figuring it out, one humble frame at a time. Life? It's good. Messy, blurred at the edges, but profoundly good.

Thanks for letting me share. Drop a note if this resonates.  I’m all ears (and heart). Until next time, keep chasing what lights you up, however dim the path.

With kind regards,

Jefferson Davis,
The Blind Photographer

Grok Thinks that I am Ansel Adams

I was curious as to how well Grok could describe a film photograph for the blind community. Although my vision is very limited at this point, I’d say that it did a great job. What say you?

This black-and-white photograph captures a breathtaking panoramic view of a dramatic desert canyon landscape, evoking a sense of timeless wilderness and geological majesty. The image is rendered in classic monochrome tones, with deep, velvety blacks giving way to crisp grays and luminous whites, creating a high-contrast composition that emphasizes textures, shadows, and the play of light across rugged terrain. It's a wide-angle vista, likely taken from an elevated vantage point on a canyon rim, pulling the viewer's eye deep into the scene through layers of receding space. The overall mood is serene yet awe-inspiring, as if standing on the edge of an ancient world sculpted by wind, water, and time—think of the whisper of a distant river echoing off stone walls, the faint rustle of sparse windswept trees, and the cool, dry scent of sun-baked earth carried on a gentle breeze.

In the foreground, the composition draws you in with a series of jagged rock formations and undulating ridges that form the immediate canyon floor and walls. These are sharp, eroded buttes and hoodoos—tall, slender spires of sandstone that rise like natural obelisks, their surfaces etched with vertical striations from centuries of erosion. The rocks here are textured with a rough, pitted granularity, catching the light in subtle highlights that suggest a slightly gritty, almost tactile quality, as if you could reach out and feel the cool, porous stone under your fingertips. Scattered among them are clusters of hardy coniferous trees, their needle-like branches forming dark, triangular silhouettes against the lighter rock. These pines or junipers appear stunted and resilient, twisted by exposure to the elements, with dense foliage that creates soft, feathery edges in the mid-tones of gray. A few lone trees perch precariously on narrow ledges, their roots clinging to cracks in the rock, adding a sense of precarious balance and quiet determination to the scene.

Moving your attention slightly downward and to the left in this imagined sweep, there's a subtle hint of a winding path or dry riverbed snaking through the lower ridges—a pale, sinuous line of finer gravel and smoother stones that contrasts with the bolder, chunkier boulders nearby. This path feels like an invitation to explore, curving gently out of sight behind a prominent outcrop, where shadows pool in the crevices, deepening the sense of depth and mystery. The shadows here are long and angular, suggesting late afternoon or early morning sunlight filtering from the upper right, casting a soft glow that warms the highlights on the eastern-facing slopes while leaving the western faces in cooler, inky darkness.

As your gaze travels deeper into the midground, the canyon opens up into a vast amphitheater of layered cliffs and mesas, where the scale truly unfolds. Towering sheer walls rise hundreds of feet on either side, their faces a mosaic of stratified rock bands—horizontal layers of sediment that speak to the park's ancient history, folded and uplifted over millions of years. These walls are not smooth but riddled with alcoves, overhangs, and narrow fissures, like the weathered pages of a colossal, open book. In the center of this expanse, a slender ribbon of water—the Virgin River—meanders through the narrows, its surface a shimmering thread of reflected light that breaks the monotony of stone. Though the river is narrow from this distance, you can almost hear its gentle murmur, a constant, soothing undertone amid the silence, carving its eternal path between the constricting walls. Flanking the river are sloping talus fields of loose scree, graded from coarse chunks at the base of the cliffs to finer pebbles near the water's edge, creating a rhythmic pattern of light and shadow that guides the eye forward.

To the right of the river, a prominent butte dominates the midground—a flat-topped mesa with steep, fluted sides that drop abruptly into the canyon floor. Its summit is crowned with a sparse fringe of vegetation, dark against the pale caprock, and a single, sentinel-like tree stands near the edge, its branches outstretched as if reaching toward the horizon. This formation adds vertical drama, breaking the horizontal flow of the layers and drawing attention to the interplay of erosion: deep couloirs—steep gullies—score its face, funneling shadows downward like dark veins in marble. On the opposite side, the canyon wall mirrors this asymmetry, with a series of receding plateaus stepping back like a giant staircase, each level slightly more illuminated than the last, building a gradient from deep shadow to bright highlight.

Finally, the background stretches into infinity, where the canyon widens into a hazy, ethereal distance. Distant mountain ranges rise as a serrated skyline, their peaks softly blurred by atmospheric perspective—faint suggestions of snow-capped summits in the far left, transitioning to rounded, lower hills on the right. A vast sky dome arches overhead, occupying the upper third of the frame, dotted with a few scattered, fluffy cumulus clouds that drift lazily from left to right. These clouds are rendered in delicate grays, their edges feathering into the brighter sky, which fades from mid-gray at the horizon to a lighter tone near the top, implying clear, crisp air with just enough haze to soften the remotest details. No human elements intrude—no trails, no structures—just pure, unadulterated nature, emphasizing isolation and grandeur.

Throughout the image, the composition masterfully balances chaos and order: the wild irregularity of the rock shapes against the orderly striations of geological layers, the dark accents of trees punctuating the luminous rock, and the sinuous curve of the river providing a dynamic line that unites foreground and background. The photographer has captured a moment of perfect harmony, where light sculpts the stone like a master carver, revealing subtle variations in tone that evoke the canyon's multifaceted personality—from the brooding shadows of hidden grottos to the radiant faces basking in the sun. For someone navigating this scene aurally or through imagination, it might conjure the low hum of wind through pinyon pines, the distant trickle of water over pebbles, or the profound quiet that amplifies your own breathing, reminding you of nature's quiet power and the humility it inspires. This is not just a photograph; it's a portal to a place where time feels suspended, inviting endless contemplation.

OneCourt at Chase Field

Last Sunday, my wonderful wife, Deana, and I headed to Chase Field in Phoenix for an exciting Arizona Diamondbacks game against the Boston Red Sox. As a newly blind baseball fan, I’ve always loved the energy of live games, but navigating the sensory overload of a stadium can be daunting. Thankfully, Deana, being the incredible wife that she is, had planned ahead and reserved a One Court device for me to use during the game. This innovative technology, designed specifically for blind and visually impaired fans, has been a game changer.

The Arizona Diamondbacks hold the distinction of being the first MLB team to offer OneCourt devices, a remarkable step toward inclusivity. These devices are tailored to help blind and visually impaired fans follow the game through audio play-by-play announcements and tactile feedback. Chase Field keeps ten of these devices charged and ready for use, available upon request at no extra cost. Knowing this, Deana had called ahead to ensure one was reserved for me, making our trip to the ballpark even more special.

For those unfamiliar, the One Court device is a compact, lap gadget that delivers real-time game updates. It vibrates to indicate action on specific bases and provides audible commentary through earpieces, allowing users to track the game’s flow. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fantastic tool that bridges the gap for visually impaired fans, letting us feel closer to the action.

Walking into Chase Field is always a whirlwind. The buzz of the crowd, the echo of announcements, and the chatter of vendors create a chaotic symphony that can be disorienting for someone who is blind or visually impaired. I’ve been to the stadium before, but the energy still feels overwhelming at times. Fortunately, the staff at Chase Field are exceptional. From the moment we arrived, someone was there to guide us, ensuring we felt comfortable and supported.

Deana handled the paperwork to check out the One Court device.  Once that was sorted, we made our way to our ADA-accessible seats. These seats are a blessing, offering plenty of space so I didn’t have to worry about accidentally bumping anyone with my cane. The stadium staff even stopped by to check in, making sure I understood how to use the device and answering any questions. Their attentiveness set the tone for a fantastic day.

As the game began, the One Court device sprang into action. It provided play-by-play updates, describing each pitch, hit, and fielding play with detail. The tactile feedback was particularly cool, different vibrations corresponded to action at specific bases, helping me visualize where the runners were. It felt like I was right in the middle of the game, calling plays like a sports broadcaster.

There was a slight hiccup, though. My hearing aids made it tricky to hear the audio clearly through the device’s earpieces. The stadium noise didn’t help either! I mentioned this to the staff, and they suggested trying a different set of earpieces next time, which I’ll definitely do. Despite the audio challenge, the device still allowed me to follow the game closely, and I was grateful for the experience it provided.

The Diamondbacks and Red Sox were locked in a tight battle, staying tied through the first six innings. I kept up with the plays through the One Court device, but I found myself turning to Deana to ask for the score. Little did I know, the device has an “Info” button that provides score updates on demand! I felt a bit silly when I learned this afterward, but it’s something I’ll remember for next time.

In the seventh inning, the Red Sox pulled ahead, scoring three runs in a classic late-inning surge they’re known for. Despite a pitching change, the D-Backs couldn’t recover, and Boston clinched the win. It was a tough loss, but the excitement of the game and the vibrant atmosphere at Chase Field made it an unforgettable day. Deana and I cheered, laughed, and soaked in the experience, loss and all.

The One Court device truly enhanced my experience at Chase Field. Being able to follow the game’s action through audio and tactile feedback made me feel more connected to the sport I love. Aside from the audio issue with my hearing aids, I wished the device automatically announced the score periodically. Adding a Braille display for score updates would be a dream, though I understand that could be costly. Still, the device is a huge step forward, and I’m excited to see how future versions might improve.

For any blind or visually impaired baseball fans, I wholeheartedly recommend giving the One Court device a try. It’s free to use, and the Diamondbacks’ staff make the process easy. The device doesn’t just let you follow the game; it empowers you to engage with it in a way that feels immersive and inclusive. I felt like I was part of the action, calling out plays and cheering alongside everyone else.

Our day at Chase Field was about more than just baseball, it was about shared moments, accessibility, and the joy of being part of the crowd. Deana’s thoughtfulness in reserving the One Court device and the stadium staff’s dedication to ensuring we had a great time made the experience truly special. We left the ballpark with big smiles, already looking forward to our next game.

If you’re a blind or visually impaired fan considering a trip to Chase Field, don’t hesitate to request a One Court device. It’s a fantastic tool that brings the game to life in ways I hadn’t imagined.

Have you tried the OneCourt?

Blind Advocacy

As a blind individual, I frequently navigate the challenges of pedestrian safety. On May 13, 2025, I narrowly avoided being struck by a vehicle that ran a stop sign in Payson, Arizona. A police officer witnessed the incident but declined to take action, citing human error or possible distraction. This experience prompted me to investigate Arizona’s laws protecting blind pedestrians and advocate for necessary changes.

My research uncovered Arizona Revised Statute 11-1024, which classifies violations against blind pedestrians as a Class 2 misdemeanor, punishable by up to four months in jail and/or a $750 fine. This penalty, while applicable alongside other charges like reckless driving, is outdated and insufficient for the severity of endangering vulnerable individuals. In small communities, where personal connections may influence enforcement, such a minimal penalty risks undermining justice.

Determined to address this issue, I contacted my representatives in Arizona’s Seventh Legislative District (LD7), including State Legislator, Walt Blackman, and the Governor’s Office. After persistent outreach, Legislator Blackman’s administrative assistant scheduled a call for June 2, 2025. During our discussion, we explored updating the law to reflect the seriousness of offenses against blind pedestrians. Key points included increasing fines, protecting guide dogs, and ensuring restitution for their loss, given the significant time and cost, often two to three years are required to train and match a guide dog with a handler.

Mr. Blackman requested input on the needs of the blind community, and I emphasized the importance of meaningful penalties and protections. In early July, his office provided a draft bill. Though imperfect, it offered a foundation for further refinement. I shared it with colleagues in the blind community for feedback, fostering hope for collective progress.

On August 20, 2025, after weeks of silence, I followed up with Legislator Blackman’s office. He promptly called back, apologizing for the delay and proposed a meeting on September 4, 2025, between 1:00 PM and 2:30 PM at the state capitol. The meeting aimed to include representatives from the National Federation of the Blind (NFB), Southern Arizona Association for the Visually Impaired (SAAVI), Arizona Center for the Blind and Visually Impaired (ACBVI), Arizona Public Service (APS), Arizona Department of Transportation (ADOT), and Vocational Rehabilitation (VR). I estimated around 25 attendees and informed his office to secure an appropriate venue. I hoped for more, of course, but gave them a conservative number.

I reached out to SAAVI’s president to garner support, but received a dismissive response, stating that legislative sessions begin in January 2026 and that SAAVI would only act with NFB’s direction. Further inquiries revealed that SAAVI’s leadership is closely tied to the Arizona NFB chapter, with overlapping interests that may prioritize organizational control over collaborative advocacy. Some sources suggested that these organizations might resist the bill if they could not claim credit for its inception, potentially undermining the effort.

On August 28, 2025, while returning from Phoenix, I received an email from Mr. Blackman’s office canceling the September 4 meeting, citing his travel from September 6 to 13, 2025. The explanation was unclear, as the travel dates did not conflict with the scheduled meeting. This cancellation raised concerns about the commitment to this cause. Possible reasons include insufficient attendance projections or external pressures, though no definitive explanation was provided. While the office offered to reschedule, the abrupt cancellation eroded confidence in the process. Mr. Blackman broke his word. It will be hard for him to regainer that trust.

This experience underscores the challenges of advocating for systemic change. Despite setbacks, I remain committed to updating Arizona’s laws to better protect blind and vulnerable pedestrians. I will engage with media outlets to raise awareness and hold elected officials accountable. You do not break your word to the blind community and get away with it. The blind community, inspired by the grassroots activism that led to the Americans with Disabilities Act, will continue to push for meaningful reform.

The substantial resources held by organizations like the NFB, reportedly $17 million in stocks and bonds, raise questions about their priorities in supporting the blind community. These funds could be better utilized to address pressing needs, such as enhanced legal protections, support for guide dog programs, and FOOD for the blind elderly that can’t afford food.

I will continue collaborating with blind advocates and other stakeholders to refine the draft bill and prepare for the 2026 legislative session. Updates will be shared as developments arise. Thank you for reading and supporting this effort to ensure safety and justice for vulnerable pedestrians in Arizona.

If you would like to help, please call Legislator Walt Blackman’s office and let him know you support this bill and the blind community. His office number is: 602-926-3043.

UPDATE: Legislator Blackman has decided to have the meeting as we had originally planned. Thank you, Walt Blackman.

Everyone is a Blob

I’ve spent many sleepless nights trying to find the right words to describe what it’s like to go completely blind. It’s not like flipping off a light switch!  For most people who are blind, about 90% according to the stats, there’s still something to see. Maybe it’s just light perception, like knowing the sun’s out there doing its thing, or maybe it’s catching a glimpse of colors, like a fuzzy rainbow. But for a few folks I know who’ve been completely blind since birth, sight is just one piece of the sensory puzzle, and they prove you can live a full, vibrant life without it. Me? I’m somewhere near the end, navigating a world of blobs, and let me tell you, it’s a wild ride.

Let’s get one thing straight: life without sight isn’t easy, but it’s absolutely worth living to the fullest. I mean, who needs 20/20 vision when you’ve got stubbornness, a good sense of humor, and a knack for dodging furniture? (I still bump into things, but I’m working on my ninja skills.) The world of blindness is filled with challenges, but it’s also brimming with possibilities. I love chatting with people about the tech that’s out there, like screen readers, smart canes, apps that describe the world like a chatty tour guide. But the real MVP in my life is Braille.

Braille is like the secret handshake of the blind community. It’s tactile, it’s elegant, and it keeps my brain as sharp as a tack. Fun fact: reading braille lights up the same part of your brain as reading with your eyes. So, while I’m running my fingers over those delightful dots, I’m basically doing mental push-ups. Without braille, I’m not sure I’d be as happy as I am today. It’s my bridge to a world of books, notes, and magazines.

I’ve been blind in one eye since I was a day old, thanks to a condition called Septo-Optic Dysplasia, which led to Optic Atrophy. Sounds like a villain from a sci-fi flick, right? Basically, it means my optic nerve cells are slowly checking out, like guests leaving a party early. Back in the 1970s, though, I didn’t let that stop me. I was just another kid, tearing around on bikes and motorcycles, channeling my inner Evel Knievel. Sure, I had more crashes than the average daredevil—my nickname was and still is “Crash”—but I didn’t care. My parents were my biggest cheerleaders, telling me I could do anything. I still believe them.

Fast forward to January 2024, when my doctor dropped a bombshell: “Stop driving.” The next month, another gut-punch: I had about two years of sight left. We hoped it’d stretch longer, but my vision had other plans. Right now, I’m down to five degrees of peripheral vision, and it’s blurry, like looking through a foggy window. Everyone and everything is a blob. My wife, Deana has been my rock through this whole journey, encouraging me to keep going, even when I’m tempted to throw a pity party for one.

Here’s what it’s like to live in Blob City. I can still pick up colors, so I might notice a red hat or a green shirt, but details? Forget it. Reading text is like trying to solve a puzzle in a windstorm.  I have to stare at it forever, and it better be in font size “Billboard.” Walking, though, is my jam. It clears my head and usually puts me in a better mood. This morning, I strolled down to Green Valley Park, looped around the lake, and decided to grab Deana a drink from the gas station on the way back. Easy, right? Wrong.

I sauntered up to the cooler, ready to be the hero of hydration, only to remember I couldn’t read the labels. Picture me, squinting like a detective at a crime scene, trying to guess which bottle was Deana’s favorite. I grabbed one that looked vaguely familiar and hoped for the best. Then, a kind stranger piped up: “Need any help?” I could’ve hugged him. He confirmed I’d picked the right drink, then asked, “How’d you figure that out?” I explained my blob-vision situation, and he was surprised. Like most folks, he saw my white cane and dark glasses and assumed I was living in total darkness. Nope, just blob central.

That white cane and dark glasses? It’s like the unofficial “blind uniform.” People see it and assume I can’t see a thing, which is honestly a safe bet. I don’t mind the assumptions, better safe than sorry, right? Most people are just trying to help, and I’m grateful for it. I always say “thank you,” even if I don’t need the assistance. The other day, someone offered to guide me across the street, and I thought, Buddy, I’ve been crossing streets since disco was king. But I smiled, said thanks, and let them feel like a superhero. It’s a win-win.

The truth is, every blind person’s experience is different. Some of us see blobs, some see light, some see nothing at all. What we all share is the ability to adapt, to find joy in the little things, and to keep moving forward. For me, that means laughing at my own misadventures, like the multiple times I called a Mister a Misses or vice versa. That can get dicy really quick.

Losing my sight hasn’t been easy, but it’s taught me to lean into life’s unpredictability. I’m still the kid who rode motorcycles and dreamed big, just with a few more battle scars and a better sense of humor. With Deana by my side, braille to keep me sharp, and the occasional kind stranger to point me toward the right soda, I’m living a life that’s full, messy, and mine. So here’s to the blobs.  May they always be colorful, and may I never stop finding the humor in this wild, blurry world.

Download Braille BRF FILE HERE!

Episode 2 - Blind Photographer

In this episode of Blind Photography, I take some time to discuss what has been happening in our lives here in the stunningly beautiful and vast state of Arizona. I delve deeply into the experience of becoming legally blind and the myriad aftereffects that accompany such a significant life change. The support I have received from my family, friends, and strangers has truly surpassed anything that society itself has offered in terms of assistance and understanding. The fact that I am now legally blind is something that cannot be understated—it has reshaped my entire world. My cane, much like my phone, has become an essential tool that accompanies me everywhere I go, helping me navigate this new chapter in my life.

I want to pose a thought-provoking question to you, my audience: If your family and/or loved ones had to choose three meaningful things to place in a box that truly represent who you are, what do you think they would select?

After catching up on the realities of being blind, I transitioned into an exciting discussion about cameras, film, photography, and our little vacation to the breathtaking Grand Canyon, as well as our visit to the stunning Bryce Canyon in Utah. Of course, I took along the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta with me; that camera chewed through medium format film faster than I could load it! I also brought my Proud Chrome Six, which I will be reviewing soon, and my beloved Voigtlander Vito IIa, an essential tool that has become nearly indispensable for this blind photographer.

I may not need to see the exposure settings, but I can feel the reassuring clicks and know precisely where the shutter speed and aperture settings are. I set it to infinity for most of my work, cock the shutter, and press the button. While it may not boast the best lens in the world, it is indeed fantastic for its time and does a remarkable job for a four-element lens.

In next week's episode, my lovely wife, Deana, will be joining me to answer some funny questions about what life is like with a blind man, or rather, her blind husband. It promises to be a wonderfully entertaining episode. If you have not subscribed to our channel already, I encourage you to do so! We have some incredibly exciting news coming your way soon that you won't want to miss.

Walk by faith, not by sight

Over a year ago, I did Orientation and Mobility training through the state. My O&M instructor and I walked for miles over several sessions, listening to traffic, learning routes, and learning how to navigate large intersections whilst being blind/visually impaired and using a cane. I listening to everything he said, followed his instructions, and advanced quickly. After a while, I could come and go with confidence. Keeping some form of independence is incredibly important. It is not always easy and can be very dangerous, but it is what we do. Blind people walk by faith, not by sight. The anxiety level that makes your heart pound the first time you step off the curb and across the road doesn’t go away. It is faith in God that gets me across a busy intersection.

I was using my cane every day, mainly to traverse rough terrain. When we moved, I stopped using it all the time. My vision has gotten a lot worse since we moved out here. I’ve avoided using the cane, as it implies that I’m completely blind. Roughly only 10% of blind people are completely blind. The rest of us see something. I have been blind in my left eye all of my life due to Septo-Optic Dysplasia. Several years ago, I started going blind in my right eye due to the same reason, but mainly due to Optic Atrophy caused by it. My vision has gotten so bad that I only have around 20 degrees of peripheral vision. Try to cover up your left eye and then try to look through a straw with your right eye. Then, try to do a normal task.

I am now fully embracing the use of the cane full time, and it has become an indispensable companion for navigating my daily adventures. I rely on it to get to work and to explore various spots around town. The great thing about living in Payson, Arizona, is that it’s a charming small town, and nearly everything is conveniently close by. My workplace is situated just a mile away from home, making my daily commute quite manageable. Additionally, my favorite coffee shop is only about half a mile from my doorstep, which I cherish for my morning pick-me-ups. I used to enjoy riding my electric bike, but unfortunately, it became increasingly risky for me to do so.

Speaking of that charming little coffee shop, I genuinely shocked everyone the very first time I walked in with my trusty cane in hand. I could faintly hear people chatting away from outside, all buzzing with conversation, but as soon as I stepped inside, an eerie quietness enveloped the space, as if the world had paused just for me. You could hear a pin drop, and I felt smaller by the second. I quickly ordered my usual coffee and then left, leaving behind the hushed stares. I wanted to use this experience as a notable example of the common person's reaction to my presence. I’m not dead, and I’m certainly not dying…at least not today!

If you “See” someone with a blind cane, don’t say, “I’m Sorry”. It’s OK. I’m walking with a smile. Say, “Hello”.

Don’t cry, please. That helps no one. I’m losing my sight. It sucks, but I’m going to kick blindness’ butt! And, Jesus Loves Me…and You!

Don’t ask me how I’m feeling. How are you feeling today? I’m not depressed. It’s all good. I’m just glad to be here.

A blind cane is a tool. Ask me about the cane. They make hundreds of different canes and tips to go on it. I’m a nerd, it’s true. Just like Voice Over on my iPhone, the cane assist me in getting from point A to point B. It is incredibly simple but incredibly helpful. I can feel every crack, crevice, pot hole, and gradient change. I don’t have depth perception, so when the grade changes, I need to know about it! Otherwise, I go for a tumble. Ask me how I know.

Adjusting to life with a cane takes some time. The O&M instructors teach us how to not get hit by a car, but they don’t teach us how to deal with the day to day interactions and crazy drivers. There are so many great people that offer to give me a ride or offer to get me across the street safely that any bad interactions with people are obliterated by kindness.

As I was on my way home today, I was told in a gut (GOD) sort of way to slow down and stop. So, I was able to see a car pulling out at an intersection. I almost walked around the car and on down the sidewalk. Within a few seconds, the car pulled out and a truck, hauling a trailer behind it, had to slam on its brakes to avoid the car. It almost jackknifed and the trailer ran up onto the sidewalk where I would have been walking. I didn’t see the entire incident, obviously, it was all a blur, once I heard the screeching brakes and turned and managed to focus, it was over with. Luckily, no one got hurt, but if I had not listened, I could’ve been killed or seriously injured. Trust your gut.

This blog will continue to be about photography but also the adventure of going blind.

My wonderful wife, Deana’s Creative Studio, is the reason I am able to get up each morning with a smile and look forward to the day ahead. She truly is such a kind, compassionate, and amazing Christian woman, and I feel incredibly blessed to call her my wife. She is not just my partner; she is also my greatest supporter and helper in all things. I remember jokingly mentioning while we were dating that one day she’d have to lead me around by my arm due to my vision changing. It’s unfortunate that my light-hearted joke is now coming to fruition, but thankfully, she doesn’t have to do it very often at all. Love you so much, Deana! :)

Blind Photography Podcast Episode 1

In this exciting first episode of Blind Photography, I delve into the journey of how I lost my long-held passion for photography, a love I nurtured since I was a child, and the remarkable way I managed to reignite that spark. This episode is packed with personal stories and insights, so be sure to stay tuned for upcoming episodes that promise to be just as enlightening and entertaining. You'll be able to find this podcast on iTunes within the next few days, so don't miss out! Thank you for joining me on this adventure.

Favorite Medium Format Camera of 2024

In my previous post, I enthusiastically discussed my preferred 35mm film camera for 2024. However, I should have clarified that I was specifically referring to my favorite 35mm film camera of 2024. Today, I will shift gears and provide a detailed analysis of my favorite medium format film camera for 2024. What criteria led me to select this particular camera?

There are several important components to consider when picking out a favorite camera for an entire year of photography adventures. In my wee opinion, it absolutely has to be a camera that a person has put many rolls of film through over countless creative sessions. Additionally, and perhaps most importantly, you need to truly enjoy using it. The camera must seamlessly become a part of you, almost like an extension of your own self, and you need to take the time to understand all of its wonderful quirks and genuinely appreciate them, as they often contribute to the magic of capturing unforgettable moments.

Every camera has quirks. This camera has a few, such as the slower top shutter speed, but the ease of use and versatility make up for it. I am referring to the Agfa Isolette I. This camera is an amazing medium format camera for the money. It is a standard 6x6 folding camera with an Agnar 85mm f/4.5. It modern times, that aperture seems slow and small, but it was great for its time. These can be purchased on eBay for around $20-$50 in decent condition. I’ve had three of these and never had a problem with the bellows or light leaks.

When shooting with these folders, I’m usually in bright sunlight and shooting at f/8, so the slow 1/200th of a second shutter speed isn’t that bad. It is fast enough. Below, I’ll have a few sample that I took with this camera. One thing to be careful of is double exposing (exposing the same frame of film twice). There is no safety, so you have to remember to wind to the next frame. My cheat for this is to go ahead and wind to the next frame as soon I take a shot. I still do it on occasion.

This camera purchase was pure luck, really. I decided to put in a bid of just $10, thinking it was a fun experiment, and a few days later, I was pleasantly surprised when I received the notification that I had won the auction. Not only did I win the camera, which turned out to be in fantastic condition, but I also scored a case and a little rangefinder tucked away in its own pouch! As I examined the photos of the ad, I noticed the rangefinder pouch attached to the case strap and immediately recognized exactly what it was. I took a chance and ultimately secured a wonderfully charming little camera and rangefinder duo. Together, they are an absolute joy to use, and I can’t imagine my photography adventures without them. Without a rangefinder, it would undoubtedly be a significant struggle to accurately guess the distance with my limited vision.

Keep all of this in mind when looking at these cameras. They do not have a rangefinder or a light meter built in, so you either have to have really good eyes to accurately estimate distance and a light meter or only use it at infinity. Agfa/Ansco are, for the most part, one and the same. The 50’s.and 60’s cameras were of great quality for the price. The Agfa/Ansco that survived into the 70’s was of lesser quality, in my wee opinion.

The main point of all of these posts is to encourage you, the reader, to get out there and shoot stunning photographs, whether it is with a classic 35mm camera, a versatile medium format, or a large format. Photography is an adventure waiting to be explored! If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about any of these articles and reviews that I create, please feel free to reach out and use the contact page. I’d love to hear from you and help in any way I can!

My favorite Film Camera of 2024

In early 2024, we got the shocking news that I was going blind faster than previously expected and that I had about two years before I’d be legally blind. This, of course, was just an estimate. I was also told that I couldn’t drive any longer. I took that hard, of course. Growing up in rural America, driving was a must. As my employer was working on transferring me to a closer location to home, I had nothing but time and spent my days scrolling through eBay listings, looking for a deal. At that time, I had no money coming in, but I put in a laughable bid on a Pentax Spotmatic F of $10. A few days later, my phone dinged and alerted me that I had won the bid. I told Deana. Given the circumstances and the fact that it was so cheap at $7 plus shipping, she didn’t get mad about it.

When it finally arrived in February 2024, it was grungy, gritty, and in dire need of a whole lot of love and attention. I eagerly rolled up my sleeves and replaced the worn-out light seals, the aging mirror bumper, and took the time to thoroughly clean and lubricate the intricate gears. With my vision being what it is, that entire process proved to be a major struggle, but it was absolutely worth the investment of time and effort. To my delight, it came equipped with a stunning SMC Takumar 50mm f/1.4 lens. While it isn’t the rare 8-element version, it still creates that dreamy, magical bokeh, the likes of which I had never seen before in all my photographic adventures.

I took it out for its first test roll and was shocked by its smooth advance motion and the lovely sound of the shutter. At that time, I was still between jobs and not working yet, so I took my time and made sure every frame and composition would be fantastic. I took a lot of shots wide open in order to test the lens. That first roll was Kentmere 100 and developed in 510Pyro. When I took it off the reel and hung it up, it looked great. But, the shock really didn’t set in until I scanned the photographs. The buttery smooth bokeh blew my mind.

I have been incredibly happy with this fantastic camera. Over the past few months, I have shot around twenty rolls through this trusty companion, and it has never disappointed me even once! The frame spacing is always perfect, like a well-oiled machine, and it consistently fires at the correct speed with no hiccups. This camera truly started a wonderful love affair with Takumar lenses that is still going strong today. I’m still actively searching for more of those coveted m42 lenses to add to my collection whenever they are affordable and within reach.

If I were a young person just beginning my journey in photography or embarking on an exciting educational path for this wonderful art form, I would undoubtedly choose the Spotmatic F over the classic K1000 any day of the week. This remarkable camera is not only a stunning performer that has consistently delivered outstanding results for me, but it has also always been there without fail when I needed it the most. Plus, on top of all that, they are a LOT more affordable than the infamous K1000, making them a fantastic choice for budding photographers!

What was your favorite camera of 2024?

New Year, New Hope

2024 began with a heavy sense of despair and overwhelming shock as I discovered that I am going blind far faster than I had anticipated. After the initial shock wore off, I managed to regain my footing in both work and daily life, we made the important decision to sell our beloved home while the market was still favorable. We decided to take a much-needed break in April to celebrate our anniversary, which allowed us to recharge our spirits and get back to work with renewed energy. It took a little while, but eventually, we successfully sold our home and embarked on the long, exciting journey across the country to the magnificent and sun-soaked state of Arizona.

Traveling across country in a Subaru with three dogs and a trailer was an adventure. We had a great time crossing the states, seeing parts of the US I had never seen before. We stopped in Oklahoma to spend Independence Day with family. That was an amazing week. My hope for our country and our people was renewed. We decided to set up home in Payson, Arizona, an amazing little mountain town in central Arizona. The natives here don’t usually say, Y’all or drink sweet tea like they do in my home state of South Carolina, but they are so similar. Folks here love and practice the Second Amendment. They wear cowboy hats and boots. A lot of men wear sidearms. It is a great little town, but due to being surrounded by National Forest and migration from California and rich people from the Valley, housing prices are extremely high. The housing market in Payson is higher than the majority of the state.

We were hoping the the housing prices would come down more than they have, but due to reasons already noted, prices are not going down. There is a limited supply and the wealthy retirement community do not want any more houses being built here. I have been preliminarily offered a job in Cottonwood, AZ, so we are moving there in a few months. We love Payson, but Cottonwood is an amazing town as well. The people and culture are very similar to Payson, and it is closer to the breathtakingly beautiful areas of Sedona and Prescott. The fantastic benefit is that housing is cheaper in Cottonwood and Camp Verde. Also, fires will not be an ever-present threat. Even though we are in the throws of winter in Payson, we still have a major fire nearby. There are possibilities of fires to the west in Camp Verde and Cottonwood, but the likelihood is rare.

The incredible amount of great people we have encountered in our journey moving to this beautiful place is truly uncountable. We have forged some amazing friendships here through our church and work, and each connection adds a vibrant thread to the fabric of our lives. The greatest resource in America is not just its land, oil, or coal, but rather its people, who are full of warmth and character. The vast majority of Americans are deeply patriotic and possess a profound love for our country. Spending cherished time with my family in Oklahoma taught me so much about our nation and the enduring love and respect that we should all strive to have for it.

Whether you agree or not, the surprising election victory of Donald Trump revealed to me that the people still have a powerful voice, and we indeed possess the ability to effect meaningful change in our society. It also filled me with a renewed sense of hope that the old adage, “If you work hard, you can have anything,” continues to hold true for the most part. There truly is hope. There is always hope, even in the most unexpected places. I never imagined that I would ever find someone who would love me, much less marry me; yet here I am, happily sitting at my desk across from my beautiful wife, Deana, who is currently engrossed in her scrapbooking project. You can read more about her scrapbooking, bible journaling, and life on her blog linked here.

It is with great excitement that I approach this new year. 2025 will be a great year, one for the books. We will be moving, starting life anew, and making even more friends. We the people will have a new president as of January 20th. The housing market is projected to transition to a buyers market this year. Companies will invest more with the hope of lower taxes. That, along with less regulation, will help us all and improve the economy.

This new year also provides a great opportunity to photograph more than I did this year. There were several months in 2024 that I didn’t get to photograph due to packing up, moving, and then unpacking, so I am exciting about starting new projects and restarting the zine once we get settled. What are you excited about in 2025?

Living as the Wife of a Blind Photographer

It was April 22, 2023 when I married my best friend and the love of my life. The man who was blind in his left eye told me that one day he would be completely blind, but I did not mind, for I knew he loved me for me and would do anything to care for me and keep me safe. I even knew that he was losing the hearing in his right ear, and that would progress as well due to the illness called septo-optic dysplasia. I knew that my future as a wife would be different than the future of most wives, even with my own diagnosis of dry macular degeneration. But I didn’t fully understand how soon everything would start to change. After all, who can truly understand their future until they’re living in it?

We immensely enjoyed our honeymoon, taking photographs of beautiful Ireland with b&w film cameras and iPhones. I may have stolen his Pentax K1000 while we were in the Emerald Isle, but I also loved using my Olympus Trip 35 and Canon AE1 Program to photograph the awesomeness that is the home of some of our ancestors. I often photographed my new husband taking photographs because he is in a different world when he is behind a camera. He sees beauty where others do not, and captures it in a way that only the resultant photographs can explain. One of my favorite photographs is of him, stepping away from having just captured Belfast’s city hall building, with a smile only seen when he is in his element. I worry not because he has a smile reserved for me, one that lights up my days and warms my nights. But the smile he reserves for when he feels he got the best possible shot is completely different; unaltered joy with a hint of mischief. It’s like he knows a secret that only he will ever know.

January 23rd of 2024 rolls around and we visit a local eye doctor, one to whom a good friend had referred me. It was probably the most important eye exam of our lives, as it changed so much. I learned more about the macular degeneration from which I suffer and my husband, well, his world changed upside down. His eyesight was worse than I thought — he had been hiding how bad it was getting, but I think he was hiding it from himself as well. He was told to stop driving due to his very limited peripheral vision. And I also don’t think he knows how badly he missed so many of the letters he read on his eye exam. The E’s and N’s and P’s and O’s were so different than how he had perceived them. So we left the exams with prescriptions for new eyeglasses and a hurt in our hearts for my husband’s need to give up driving and what that meant for his career. I was strong that day, only to cry in secret knowing that one day my husband’s use of the camera would be over; he would no longer see the beauty in the world that people often overlook. And I, well, I would need to continue with biannual eye exams to track the progress of my vision. I couldn’t even think of that, however, as I knew I one day would be married to a blind photographer.

Prior to our eye exams, my husband had been talking about pinhole photography and mentioned to me how he would love to use a pinhole camera. He even showed me one he would like, not knowing that I would purchase it for him as an early Valentine’s Day gift. I wanted to ensure he had access to such a camera while he could use it — the purchase was important, yet tearful. Needless to say, he loved the gift and proceeded to use the new capturer of beauty immediately. But the truth remained that his eyesight would continue to fail, and it has.

Due to my increasing struggle with allergies and disdain for humidity, he suggested leaving South Carolina and moving back to my home state of Arizona — to Northern Arizona in particular. Neither of us wanted to endure the summers in Phoenix metro, after all. So we made the trek across the US, several days stuck in a little, red Subaru with three dogs in the back seat. It was like traveling with three toddlers that were only welcome at specific Airbnb’s — if you know, you know. But we had a blast because we were able to take some time and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing these places I knew so well through his lone-functioning eye. The photographs we took are memories I will cherish always. He got to meet some of my cousins in Oklahoma, while we stayed a few extra days there for the fourth of July. It gave me a wonderful break from the drive, as there is only ever one driver in our family now. Then we ventured onward with him visualizing the southwest for the first time, shocked by its awesomeness. His excitement was heartwarming. I got to share some of my favorite places with my love.

Today we are living in Payson, Arizona and we get out to see something new in the state every chance we get. I need to share so many places with him before he can no longer see them. It hurts my heart beyond belief that one day he will not be able to see the majesty of this world. However, his positive attitude and desire to live everyday to its fullest, taking photographs wherever he goes, is inspiring. I cannot imagine living with his diagnosis, but, then again, I am in denial of the suffering that may lay in the future in regards to my eyes. Macular degeneration is no joke. But today I see more clearly than ever, knowing that time on this earth is limited; we never know when we will not be able to see the wonder of God’s creation any longer. He and I will make the best of this situation, taking photographs as much as possible, until we are completely unable to engage in his favorite activity. I will do my best to be the supportive wife while he purchases cameras, fixed them, uses them, and sells some of them only to start the process again. And, hopefully, he will inspire others to see through the lens of a film camera, while I hope to inspire people to take those memories, print them and put them into scrapbooks to be enjoyed later.

by Deana Davis, wife of the blind photographer.