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.

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!

Toadstool Village

 

Yesterday, as I left the house with Harry and Charlie for their afternoon walk, we ran into our next door neighbor who commented on our mushroom garden.

I looked over to where she was gesturing and gasped. 

 

Overnight a toadstool village sprang up from the previous day's heavy rain!

 

I felt so grateful because I likely would have missed it in the front corner of our yard.  These mushroom were a perfect subject for a photo prompt on texture.

 

 It was one of those moments of synchronicity where everything fits together and gets delivered to your door. 

Getting Comfortable

 

The self-portrait above was a response to a photo prompt.  

The funny thing is that it wasn't until I spent a considerable amount of time setting the self-timer on my camera placed at the end of the table and running back to my chair and posing, that I realized that I had missed the point entirely.

The context of the prompt was a seasonal one: to include a few details giving clues to autumn.  To make yourself comfortable, say on the couch or in an armchair, with a mug of tea and a bowl of popcorn.  Think about what texture and camera angles can convey...Now, popcorn may not be my quintessential autumnal snack, but no matter, it could be an apple, apple pie, a cider donut.

I seized on the get comfortable part and tried to be natural about it.  I log very little couch time, and never by day.  Occasionally, on a weekend, I grab an hour with a glass of wine and a book if Mr. Savory is cooking dinner.

But up there in that photo is me in my spot at the kitchen table.  I suppose it is where I am most comfortable, not necessarily physically, but creatively.  And while that capture was posed, it looks completely natural and familiar to me.  I habitually sit right there, with my Moleskine, clutching my coffee.

This prompt got me thinking about being comfortable.  Somehow, through culture or being a list-maker, I've taken to equating being comfortable with laziness or relaxation.  What you do in your down time.

But really, they are not the same thing.  Being comfortable can be making sure you are not hot or cold, hungry or thirsty to the point of distraction.  It can mean wearing clothes that make you feel confident or support your activity for the day, not tight or baggy, nor shoes that give you blisters.

It can mean preparing food that nourishes you in the season, and consuming enough but not so much that your stomach hurts.  

I think it's time for me to take a seat in my living room, on the couch or in that armchair we picked up by the curb and had new springs put in.  When it's daylight.  Thirty minutes to read or knit.

 A few years ago, Olivia and I took needlework outings, where we went to our local yarn store and sat upstairs in their comfy seating area.  I brought my knitting and she her needlepoint.  I commented one day to the shop owner how I never knit at home during the day, only on the couch in the evenings.  She understood and said, "I know, that guilty pleasure, right?"

Maybe October is my month to explore getting comfortable.  Tease apart the notion that it means I'm a slouch. I'll be back later, in a new pose, with my camera and a snack.

The Signs Tell You

A short walk from our Cape May rental house is a tiny community garden lushly planted and curated with a mulched pathway.  Those who tend have kindly offered guides to what is planted.  It is a shady retreat from the relentlessly sunny sidewalks along Madison Avenue.

 

 I am rather taken with the signs.  They are charming yet helpful indicators of what one might find along the way.  

Right now, today, I wish for my own little metaphorical garden to have such signage.  Brightly colored ones amidst the greenery that would show me the way, with arrows pointing to which photography or writing class is right for me at present.  Which cookbooks I might learn most from.  What direction to take my dog training.

How bold am I now in regards to wading through my grief?

 

Every day recently, a writer, photographer, blogger, I follow, links to a class or course being offered.  Soon!  Registration is open!  I have spent considerable time checking each one out.  Each teacher offers inspiration or new sets of skills to learn.  Most are e-courses, available through a series of clicks with credit card at the ready.  Some are highly interactive, some are self-paced and more solitary, with support available.  The two that nailed me in between the eyes are in real time and place, on separate weekends, mornings only, six-plus hours away...

Do I want to sign myself up for something that offers to take me way deep, or do I want to stay closer to the surface and learn in comfort?  Do I want to be immersed, consumed, or is it best to make sure I have ample space for a little of everything?

I could and desperately want to ask you your opinion.  What do you think I should choose?  But most likely, you would say it depends, it depends on what you want, what you are looking for.  All the choices look promising, don't they?

Street Art

I found a little art around my neighborhood this week.

Moving Arts Studio Window

School Mosaic

 

please plant something in me

Knitted pole

Co-op building

Check out more street art in the 52 Photos gallery this week!

Squares

 

 Just fooling around.

Making a few photos square.

Sometimes it's inspiring to look at things in a different way.

It doesn't feel like being inside a box if this is actually an outside the box way of seeing for me.

Light

I am enjoying the longer days since gaining an hour this week.  It's surprising how such a small shift in the grand scheme of a day can seem so disorienting.

Yesterday morning after bringing Olivia to school, I took advantage of the later sunrise and stepped out for a photo walk near 8:30.  I've been lamenting not being more adventurous in the mornings, but it's not easy to muster the motivation to walk about in the early morning cold.

 

Thanks for sharing the late winter light of my neighborhood!

Vintage

Holga

On Saturday afternoon I walked up the street to one of my favorite local spots.  It seemed like the perfect place to snap a few for our 52 Photos Project theme, Vintage.

Dusk

Perhaps I was trying too hard to fit the theme, but my photos fell a bit flat to me.  Not normally one for using effects much, as I favor working on my basic skills, I had some fun in Picmonkey. 

Orton

Yester-Color

I must browse the Philadelphia Salvage every couple weeks, and I have yet to make a purchase.  One day, I hope I will find an item that is just right for our old house!

Looking For Color

On Friday I was ready to go in search of some color.

 

 

I hope you are finding some brightness, too, wherever you may be this long weekend.

Houses At Sunset

I went out for a photo walk on Saturday before sunset.  Houses seemed to catch my eye.

 

Right Here and Right Now

So our next photo prompt is about embracing and recognizing how each moment is a new one. It's a place we've never been, it's something we've never tried ... it's about attempting ~ beginning ~ savoring the right here and now.

from 52 Photos Project

Yesterday I took myself to a loose interpretation of "a place I've never been", which was the other side of the wetlands at The Morris Arboretum.  I can't say there was too much on that other side that worked out photographically speaking, especially since it was Noon by the time I arrived.

But the sun was warming, and I meandered over to the more interesting side after a spell.  While walking, I pushed myself to ask if I would want to make this a place for a year-long project.

I'm hovering over a "no" to that idea as what I realized is that for me recording a place through the seasons may be too scientific.  I dug down to the core of what sparks the thrill for me, and I came up with adventure and discovery.  

The unknown is what drives me; the combination of possibility and probability.  Knowing each time I set off with my camera around my neck, I will probably return with something pleasing or at least acceptable, even though I have no idea what it will be. Yet there is the possibility I will come home disappointed with nothing to show for my time and exertion. 

Since December, I have been looking for a project.  I've made a list of ideas, starting on some and crossing out others. I seem to want to be part of a story, and recording a tree through the seasons, well, I'm not sure, yet, if I can fit into that specific story.    

I've begun doing breakfast diptychs, a before and after sort of story, not every morning, but, when my meal is different than the day before and the light on the table is sufficient.  It serves a purpose some days of focusing me into my thoughts and feelings.

A couple days ago, I began an up/down diptych at sunset.  My feet and something beyond the horizon line.  If it doesn't stick, I'll let it go, but no harm in trying these ideas out.  I rather like capturing the near-beginning and end of daylight, knowing that a tale of a day unfolded in-between. 

I have one story, however, that I desperately want to tell.  It's the story of me and my pups.  I have been studying the map of hiking trails of our Wissahickon valley and considering trying to hike the main trails with my "boys" over the year and photograph our journey.  Really, it's the story of friendship: between them, between us, and the sharing of an activity and place that if I had a tail, I'd be wagging, too.

So, the place I have never been turns out to be the unknown story within.  The leaning towards telling it free-form yet toying with controls and variables.

The right here and right now is simply nothing more than a moment's new idea.