I take and make pictures wherever I am, of whatever begs to be captured, with whatever equipment I happen to have.

I often take candid shots of people, strictly adhering to both local laws and my own ethical standards. I try to portray people in a kind light, emphasizing their unique beauty and humanity. That said, if you happen to see yourself in one of my photos and object to its being posted here, please email me at andyatzertphotos@icloud.com and I'll remove it immediately and delete it from my files. I'll even mail you a printed copy if you'd like one.

I started taking photos as a kind of medicine. At the time I felt that I had somehow learned to relate to the world too narrowly, through logic and words, and that this was causing me to miss many good things in life, particularly visual experience. I imagined that by practicing photography I would strengthen the visual side of my brain. I went about it haphazardly, with a cheap point and shoot camera and no technical knowledge, and didn't make much progress. Then my friend and fellow photographer, Kondo-san, gave me his old Nikon D70. He had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I felt deeply honored to accept Kondo-san's gift, and vowed to learn how to properly use it. Every time I raised the camera to my eyes I was mindful that I was using the same viewfinder through which Kondo-san had seen a world that he knew all too well was temporary -- and not only for him.

I've been through a lot since then, including a few cameras. Kondo-san is long gone, and I've lost others as well, but I've also gained much. The most important thing I've discovered is that the seeing mind is much bigger than the mind that reasons and talks. The seeing mind operates independently, under its own rules. Think about it. Our eyes cannot project light; they can only receive it. In fact, they cannot not receive it. Similarly, we possess a kind of attention -- distinct from the kind that we consciously direct at things -- that is always registering everything we see, below the level of conscious awareness. My practice of taking and making pictures is essentially a practice of becoming increasingly attuned to whatever that more expansive form of visual awareness finds interesting. It reveals itself in physical reactions in my body and an impulse to press the shutter button in a certain moment. Only later, when I review the images I've captured, am I able to see what was so interesting to that mysterious photographer who is always hanging out with me.

Of course, it doesn't always work that way. Sometimes I see something and my thinking mind knows it's interesting and I take a shot of it in an intentional way, and it turns out more or less exactly as planned, for better or worse. Still, I don't think I'd be able to do that without the ongoing practice of tuning in to that broader form of awareness. Most of my "keepers" are accidents of one kind or another. Over time, my photography practice has become directed -- if it has any direction at all -- towards expanding the range of fortunate accidents that happen to me (as with my life in general, but that's another story).

I've heard people compliment photographers by saying that their work is instantly recognizable as theirs. I've never understood why that's always considered a good thing and something to strive for. Maybe it's because I've never taken photos for a living, but I haven't felt compelled to develop a unique style or to limit my subject matter. I don't mean that as a criticism of those who do. Many of my favorite photographers, both professional and amateur, are what I would affectionately call accomplished monomaniacs. My own monomaniacal impulse is to express the beauty of the varied world as it is revealed to me. To achieve this, I always shoot raw images and process each image uniquely to bring out its essence as I see it, avoiding the habitual use of any particular filters or settings. As a result, my body of work (I hesitate to call it that) amounts to an eclectic mess -- just like the world we live in.

Perhaps what I've just said is no more than a flimsy excuse for my lack of style. Interestingly, however, a renowned photographer, with whom I've become personally acquainted, kindly viewed my Flickr photostream and declared, unsolicited, that I do have a distinct style. He even said some things to describe it -- all of which was lost on me. Whatever threads he sees in my work, I simply can't see them. Maybe we can't see our own styles in the same way we can't see our own eyes, which would mean that it's useless to try to cultivate a personal style (not to be confused, as it often is these days, with a personal brand). Perhaps one's unique style can only emerge on its own and, if and when it does, it's meant to be appreciated by others and not by oneself.

But please don't take anything I say too seriously. The longer I do this, the less I'm certain of. All I know is that I really enjoy taking and making pictures. I hope you enjoy viewing them, and I welcome your feedback. Thanks for visiting.