Photography has kept pace in our world of always advancing technology. As a photographer, the introduction of digital photography brought with it nearly boundless possibility. Other than a large cut in cost (I have not bought a roll of film in four years.), digital photography has fulfilled two basic desires in human nature: Immediate gratification and perfection. But, at what point do we rely too heavily on digital tools?    

I personally welcome a bit of digital retouching around the eyes now that I am 42 years old. Incorrect lighting, of course, is always the reason for my pronounced wrinkles . . . or the angle of the camera . . . or the way I applied my makeup that day . . . or, etc . . .  I have also digitally moved one of my children's heads in one picture to replace one of their heads in another, but only for the annual holiday card, of course.

I believe strongly in the practice of digitally removing acne from a senior portrait. Mothers of seniors in high school, however, can often be a bit too fanatic. "I'd like you to change the color of Suzie's green sweater to blue . . . so that it matches her eyes." Or, "I'd like you to digitally remove Timmy's braces from his mouth so you can see his teeth." They seem to lose their sense of logic; in a photograph, there are no teeth behind "Timmy's" braces.

My venture as a digital photographer has been nothing less than exciting and rewarding, both as a professional and as an artist. But, I have also had experiences that I hoped would someday make me laugh rather than yank out my hair. For instance, there was what I call the "jigsaw puzzle family portrait," which is now legendary.

I arrived at the location for this portrait to meet 10 adults and 6 children, all members of an extended family. The woman in charge gave me complete creative control, except that I needed to leave four open spaces. "I have two sons who live in Florida and they were unable to get here. I also have two sons-in-law who could not leave work." I thought to myself, does this woman realize that it's Sunday?

The woman told me each of the absentees would email me digital images of themselves to be placed in the portrait. (O.K., I thought, as long as she pays me the sitting fee today.) I positioned the adults and children, and left spaces for the phantom family members.

Just as the woman promised, I received four digital images via email, each of a different man. I had to be sure to place each one with the correct spouse. I contacted the woman to tell her that two of the faces were in stark sunlight. This presented a problem since her family portrait was in the shade. So, the two sunlit men sent me new images, but both forgot to wear their blue golf shirts that were intended for this portrait. Two more images were sent my way, each in the shade and each with a blue golf shirt.

One of the children in the portrait was crying, so her mother asked that I replace her head with one from a picture in which she was crying least. First, I successfully placed each of the men next to their respective spouses. Then, I replaced the crying child's head with another.

When the woman came to my home to pick up her 16- x 20-inch print that she ordered, she told me it was beautiful. "But," she said "there's a tiny problem. Both of my sons from Florida are six-foot two-inches tall. You placed them in the portrait as though they are about five-foot nine-inches tall." The woman left the print with me and I went back to Photoshop.

When she came to pick up the reprinted photograph, the woman was very happy. As I closed the door behind her, I was very happy. One hour later, the telephone rang. It was the mother of the crying child. "That's not my child's head! That's my nieces head!" Well, I thought to myself, they do look alike. Couldn't she just pretend it was her daughter's head? Not likely. But, three years later, I'm laughing.

By Erin Heffernan

Erin Heffernan is a photographer in Scituate. Her Wink South series, "Shutter to Think", explains how looking at life from a different angle, even if it's via the viewfinder, can offer valuable lessons (and sometimes comic relief!).