I Have Moved!

Happy Fall!

I have moved this blog to a new location.  I hope you will come visit over here! 

I look forward to sharing my new space with you.

Clarice

These Years

 

I am finding these young teenage years challenging.  Don't get me wrong, she's still as sweet as can be and funny, too.  But friendships are paramount now, and I'm not sure at times where I fit into the scene.  

I provide what she needs and take her where she wants to go.  I fine-tune the logistics and oversee her responsibilities.  She's really in charge of it all, though.  

I tell her often how proud I am of her accomplishments and efforts.  

I miss the days when my job was to keep her safe on the neighborhood playground and hold her in my lap so she would take an afternoon rest.  

I miss being her world.

Rebirth

 

My copies arrived on Monday.  Kindred Issue Six is a beautiful issue!  

I am thrilled and honored to have my essay, The Porch Light Is On, and an accompanying photograph, included in this issue's theme of rebirth.

I can't wait to find the perfect spot to sit down with a cup of tea and be inspired by all the other writing and photos.  I hope that you will join me!

So Many Ways To Tell A Story

I have been thinking a lot recently about telling stories. Specifically, how many methods there are to tell them.

I tell mine through essays and blog posts.  Sometimes I try to let the photographs do the telling, with a few sentences for support.

 

I am hoping at the end of the summer to have a year's worth of photos capturing the seasons to make a photo book for myself.  Having discovered the self-caring qualities of self-portraiture, I would love to capture this evolution in a different book.

But since the fall, scrapbooking keeps whispering to me. I'm realizing that I want a method that combines text and images in a way that goes beyond the vertical and scrolling of a blog page.  Beyond the limited text that can be incorporated into a photo book. 

I want to use this sophisticated form of scrapbooking as way to journal. 

A different voice emerges from each medium, so why can't the story of a trip, for example, be told in a blog post, a photo book, and then again on a scrapbook page? 

The only real problem is how many hours there are in any given day to thoughtfully express ourselves in words, images, and scraps of handmade paper.  Far too few, in my opinion.

A Peephole

 

I need to cut a peephole to look out from this close space I have wiggled myself into that has no windows or doors.  

A small hole through which I can squint and say, I think I see a way I can make that connection back to that place and those people.  If I place the phone number in front of me today, I can make the call tomorrow.  If I give myself stationary and a time limit, I can sit down and write that letter start to finish.  

If I say, just thirty minutes a day and press the timer, I can make my way slowly through the revisions on that essay.

Defined as such, a peephole isn't so scary.  It's just enough of a view to begin to make my way towards what I want to do, but don't yet know how to, or if I am courageous enough to go the distance.

A Strategy

 

I want to stop procrastinating.  

I'm breaking a number of the difficult tasks down now into 15 minute increments in an attempt to make them less overwhelming. 

I feel a bit better.  We'll see how it goes.  Anything has to be an improvement over avoidance, no?

 

Finding Myself In The Closet

Last month I took a self-portraiture class, and I found that I responded to some of the prompts by reaching into my closet and dressing up. 

I wasn't trying to play a character, if anything I was allowing myself to be more me. 

I reached for two coats that I never wear because I'm not sure how to wear them, but I thought they would look pretty in photographs.

The funny thing is, that once I wore them around at home, I felt so comfortable in them.  Perhaps it's because they brought out a part of myself I wanted to express. They captured a delight I rarely allow myself to feel with clothing.

I tend to go for the daily "uniform" that serves as the backbone of my wardrobe. 

The green alpaca coat in the first photo, I knit a number of years ago.  I wrote about that process at the time, and also mentioned why I don't wear it more often on my "about" page.

The velvet coat was a gift from Mr. Savory one Christmas.  I have never worn it, not being sure if it was an indoor garment or an outer layer, but when I put it on with jeans, it clicked.  It felt elegant but not fancy, and it was fun to twirl around in on a frigid winter day. 

I hope I experiment like this more often.  The class offered me a comfortable environment to come out and play.  Life can't be all parkas and black wool overcoats!