Welcome to the Webbpage Blog. Home of Tim Webb Photography. Here is where you can see what really goes on in my life. Enjoy!
Little Miss Magic Turns 8
I’m a few hours late with this. Laura turned 8 years old Saturday. I know this sounds like a cliche, but it’s hard to believe that my little baby girl is growing up so fast. In true Laura fashion she planned her own birthday party, which included calling her grandmothers and telling them what they needed to cook and bring.
Laura and I have decided that Little Miss Magic by Jimmy Buffett is our song. Here are a few lyrics and pictures of my Little Miss Magic over the past 8 years.
Constantly amazed by the blades of the fan on the ceiling
The clever little glances she gives me can’t help but be appealing
She loves to ride into town with the top down
Feel that warm breeze on her gentle skin
She is my next of kin
Chorus:
I see a little more of me everyday
I catch a little more moustache turning gray
Your mother is the only other woman for me
Little miss magic, what you gonna be?
Sometimes I catch her dreamin and wonder where that little mind meanders
Is she strollin along the shore or cruisin oer the broad savannah
I know someday she’ll learn to make up her own rhymes
Someday she’s gonna learn how to fly
Oh that I wont deny
Chorus:
I catch a little more dialogue comin my way
I see those big brown eyes just start to lookin astray
Your mothers still the only other woman for me
Little miss magic, what you gonna be?
Yes she loves to ride into town with the top down
Feel that warm breeze on her gentle skin
She is my next of kin
Constantly amazed by the blades of the fan on the ceiling
Those clever little looks she gives just can’t help but be appealing
I know someday shell learn to make up her own rhymes
One day she’s gonna learn how to fly
That I wont deny
Chorus:
I see a little more of me everyday
I feel a little more moustache turning gray
Your mother’s still the only other woman for me
Little miss magic, what you gonna be?
Little miss magic, what you gonna be?
Little miss magic, just can’t wait to see
Its raining, it’s pouring
Your old man is snoring
It all started here, December 20, 2002
We took Laura to the beach with us the summer before she was born.
August 6, 2003
Big brothers checked out all the equipment before she was born.
I bought her this little pink bear at the hospital gift shop the day she was born, and she still sleeps with it 8 years later.
Helping Mom make a grocery list
Angie gives Laura her first haircut.
She spent Christmas Eve 2003 in the same gown that Natalie wore on her first Christmas in 1973.
Laura shares some of her first birthday cake with me.
Playing war games with her brothers
When we moved to our new house in 2005, she didn’t want to sleep in her new bedroom, and spent the next nine months sleeping on
a recliner in our bedroom.
Little Mary Poppins
Kissing mommy
In the shadows with Nolan
Her little pink bear still in tow
You’re all grown up now (or at least it seems that way)
Happy Birthday Laura Kathryn!!!!
Along The Way… Kentucky Fiddler John Harrod
I was pleasantly surprised to come home from church camp this week and see the August issue of Kentucky Living. I had put a lot of work and mileage into the August and September issues of Kentucky Living. While September is still on the editing table, August is in the mailbox with Kentucky Fiddler and music historian John Harrod gracing its cover. I did the shoot with John and his wife Tona at their home, on a beautiful, green ridge in Owen County. Their home is the epitome of sustainable living with rain barrels, compost, a garden, and solar panels in the works. The house on the hill even comes equipped with a separate library, and John’s vast collection of Kentucky traditional music. In his early years, John was a Rhodes Scholar from Centre College, even making the basketball team at Oxford.
I pretty much pulled out all of my lighting gear for this shoot. I did a Joe McNally special on the outside shots, including the cover shot, with several smaller speed lights, then I set up three strobes with beauty dishes, and a spot grid for the inside shots. For the outside shots, I ramped up my shutter speed to darken the background, and then darkened the corners even more in Lightroom. It had just rained that morning, and the overcast skies made it easier to use my lights, because I wasn’t fighting with the sun or shadows.
As a Kentucky deer hunter, I looked forward to making this trip to Owen County, because it’s the deer hunting capital of Kentucky. By the time I left, I had spied eleven deer.
Along The Way…The Alltech Symposium
This was my 8th year of covering the annual Alltech Symposium at Lexington Center for Kentucky’s best kept secret, Pearce Lyons and Alltech, the natural bio feed company. I’m always amazed at the international flavor of Lexington’s largest conference, with an audience of over 2,000 people from around the world this past May.
Along The Way… Chevrolet Self Portrait
I love doing unique self portraits when I can a canvas outside the box. I shot this at the Licking Valley RECC Annual Meeting, near West Liberty, in May. In addition to scholarships, and a beauty contest, they have a really nice car show. It looks like I really need to lose weight!
Along The Way… State Tournament Baseball
It took me nearly 25 years, but I finally made it to the state tournament baseball championship. Getting there wasn’t at all how I imagined it would be. This wasn’t what I imagined during all those evenings of passing ball with my Dad in the front yard, or playing whiffle ball games with Darby, Dustin, and Shim in the summers, or playing four years of high school baseball at Powell County from 1985-1988.
I always imagined me in my Powell County uniform, wearing #3 of course, being carried off the field on the shoulders of my teammates after throwing a no-hitter… no, no, a perfect game in the championship. Of course my championship performance would’ve been against one of those big city teams from Louisville or Lexington. My baseball fantasy was always based on a David vs. Goliath scenario. All the while, the ultimate championship songs like We Are The Champions, by Queen, and Don’t Stop Believing, by Journey, would be ringing out through ball park.
I don’t think there has ever been a kid who was serious about baseball who hasn’t dreamed this dream. And there is an equally impressive fantasy about doing equal major league feats in the World Series, for the Cincinnati Reds of course. Except in that dream, Pete Rose and Johnny Bench, are let onto the field afterwards to personally congratulate me for defeating the Yankees in Game 7.
But in reality, I made it to the state championship, as one of the official photographer’s for the Kentucky High School Athletic Association, along with my buddy Jim Osborn. I made it to the state tournament as a 41-year-old who is technically overweight, according to my daughter’s Wii Fit game, and I now have more gray hair than black. I’ve traded my Wilson A-2000 ball glove, which was top shelf during Christmas 1986, in for my Nikon camera and lenses. I traded my cleats and uniform in for a fanny pack full of camera equipment. Darrell and Dustin Billings were in the stands for the championship game and texted me saying I “looked like I was going into combat.” I feel like that sometimes. A photographer’s fanny pack system is like a woman’s purse, you stuff it full of crap, never knowing when you might need something. Preparation is the key to success in my business.
When it was all said and done, two Cinderella teams played for the championship after a week of great baseball. Unfortunately, Mercer County ran out pitching in the 6-day tournament, and got pounded 21-3 by Central Hardin. It felt great to run out on the field with Central Hardin and document their celebration, with Journey and Queen as the house bands.
Whether its a soap opera, a great movie, novel, or yes, even wrestling, the human spirit needs to fantasize and dream about something other than waking up on Monday mornings and going to work, paying bills, and taxes. Photography is good to me. It allows me to live my dreams everyday.
