Breathing and Being

These days I often feel like I'm living in a dream. The air is thick and heavy and I have a hard time keeping my thoughts together. They travel in waves, in circles. They travel on the wind. It’s not so much a lack of focus as a feeling of drifting through a galaxy of thoughts and ideas – everything connected but not yet solid. As much as I want to put down roots I feel like I'm being pulled in and out in the tides. Floating and untethered. And so I do things that help ground me: baking, dancing, petting a cat, reading. And I feel myself connected to the earth again. There are so many ways that we weigh and measure time. These days, I'm learning to be. To pause and measure life not by how much I'm doing, but by the quality of the moment. Allowing the smell of wood smoke and the vibrant red of a too-ripe tomato fill my world. Learning to prioritize, some days better than others, what's really important. Learning what truly adds value to my life and what just takes up time.

I've been thinking a lot about history, memory, patterns, and how we learn to acknowledge, name, and accept all of the pieces of our experiences. Of ourselves. And so today I send this wish to all of you.

May there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.

Breathing and Being

These days I often feel like I'm living in a dream. The air is thick and heavy and I have a hard time keeping my thoughts together. They travel in waves, in circles. They travel on the wind. It’s not so much a lack of focus as a feeling of drifting through a galaxy of thoughts and ideas – everything connected but not yet solid. As much as I want to put down roots I feel like I'm being pulled in and out in the tides. Floating and untethered. And so I do things that help ground me: baking, dancing, petting a cat, reading. And I feel myself connected to the earth again. There are so many ways that we weigh and measure time. These days, I'm learning to be. To pause and measure life not by how much I'm doing, but by the quality of the moment. Allowing the smell of wood smoke and the vibrant red of a too-ripe tomato fill my world. Learning to prioritize, some days better than others, what's really important. Learning what truly adds value to my life and what just takes up time.

I've been thinking a lot about history, memory, patterns, and how we learn to acknowledge, name, and accept all of the pieces of our experiences. Of ourselves. And so today I send this wish to all of you.

May there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.

Seven Days: June 29

Joy is fearless.

Seven Days: June 29

Joy is fearless.

The Comfort of Uncertainty

Art and life are never static. Never the same from one moment to the next – this holds true for the way the window light illuminates my desk, the expression on a person’s face in an unguarded moment, and even the chaotic tangle of my curly hair. Much of my work is based on a desire to look behind the masks we create in order to show the world we are doing "just fine." I ask my subject to trust me enough to reveal a personal truth; to bring the best of themselves to the work in that moment.

Every image that is created is a new beginning – an object that didn’t previously exist. A record of an experience that is then shared with the world. A series of questions. I often create because the need is there, the energy is powerful - and can be dangerous if ignored for too long. Yet my work is completed by the viewer. The photograph continues to evolve and become something new for every person who interacts with it.

Jack Gilbert says, "...anything worth doing is worth doing badly." Creating anything with lasting meaning and impact requires risking the safety and comfort of knowing what will come next. My challenge is to continue picking up the camera, questioning everything I think I know, seeing the world again and again. And finally, allowing myself to be seen. Your challenge is to look.

"In the end it all comes down to this: you have a choice (or more accurately a rolling tangle of choices) between giving your work your best shot and risking that it will not make you happy, or not giving it your best shot -- and thereby guaranteeing that it will not make you happy. It becomes a choice between certainty and uncertainty. And curiously, uncertainty is the comforting choice." - Ted Orland and David Bayles, Art & Fear

The Comfort of Uncertainty

Art and life are never static. Never the same from one moment to the next – this holds true for the way the window light illuminates my desk, the expression on a person’s face in an unguarded moment, and even the chaotic tangle of my curly hair. Much of my work is based on a desire to look behind the masks we create in order to show the world we are doing "just fine." I ask my subject to trust me enough to reveal a personal truth; to bring the best of themselves to the work in that moment.

Every image that is created is a new beginning – an object that didn’t previously exist. A record of an experience that is then shared with the world. A series of questions. I often create because the need is there, the energy is powerful - and can be dangerous if ignored for too long. Yet my work is completed by the viewer. The photograph continues to evolve and become something new for every person who interacts with it.

Jack Gilbert says, "...anything worth doing is worth doing badly." Creating anything with lasting meaning and impact requires risking the safety and comfort of knowing what will come next. My challenge is to continue picking up the camera, questioning everything I think I know, seeing the world again and again. And finally, allowing myself to be seen. Your challenge is to look.

"In the end it all comes down to this: you have a choice (or more accurately a rolling tangle of choices) between giving your work your best shot and risking that it will not make you happy, or not giving it your best shot -- and thereby guaranteeing that it will not make you happy. It becomes a choice between certainty and uncertainty. And curiously, uncertainty is the comforting choice." - Ted Orland and David Bayles, Art & Fear

The Taste of Memory

I’m reflecting a lot this week - looking back over images and words from the past year. Remembering countries, people, projects, conversation. One thing is particularly obvious: I remember in food. (And shoes, but I haven’t been capturing pictures of those, whereas I seem have hundreds of ubiquitous food shots.) At first I questioned the sheer quantity of food I have eaten over the past eleven months. Then I realized that far from being a boring, daily necessity food is - for me - a marker of important moments with multiple sensory triggers that transport me backward through time to the first meeting, a reunion, solitary meals in a new city, pancakes as big as my head.

Through food, I share love. Create experiences. Connect with new acquaintances and delight in the act of preparing a meal with good friends. What gathering doesn’t include food? We use it to comfort, to connect, to forget.

I use it to remember.

The Taste of Memory

I’m reflecting a lot this week - looking back over images and words from the past year. Remembering countries, people, projects, conversation. One thing is particularly obvious: I remember in food. (And shoes, but I haven’t been capturing pictures of those, whereas I seem have hundreds of ubiquitous food shots.) At first I questioned the sheer quantity of food I have eaten over the past eleven months. Then I realized that far from being a boring, daily necessity food is - for me - a marker of important moments with multiple sensory triggers that transport me backward through time to the first meeting, a reunion, solitary meals in a new city, pancakes as big as my head.

Through food, I share love. Create experiences. Connect with new acquaintances and delight in the act of preparing a meal with good friends. What gathering doesn’t include food? We use it to comfort, to connect, to forget.

I use it to remember.

In Gratitude

On this day, two years ago, my life changed. It has continued to change many times since, in big ways and small, but that was one beginning. Every day I am grateful for the life I am building - the surprises, the challenges, the community, the adventures. Through laughter, so much laughter, and through tears. With plenty of dancing, some long nights, rooftop meals, and many incredible friends to support me along the way.

Each day I create this life in gratitude and awe, and each day I look for what more I can do - how I can be more open, giving, joyful, compassionate, present, and brave. Though the days and the locations shift and flow, there are a few core elements that I know establish the foundation for everything else that follows: connection, inspiration, curiosity, and the need to do something in the world that matters.

I am never on this journey alone. I thank you. All of you. You inspire and encourage me every day to live fearlessly, to work harder, to continue becoming.

Between now and the end of the year, I would like to share some of the incredible collaborations and adventures that made up 2013. So, in case you haven't yet met, this is Charlie. Last summer, we had the fantastic experience of shooting a series for [FRAMED] with Brooke Shaden.

In Gratitude

On this day, two years ago, my life changed. It has continued to change many times since, in big ways and small, but that was one beginning. Every day I am grateful for the life I am building - the surprises, the challenges, the community, the adventures. Through laughter, so much laughter, and through tears. With plenty of dancing, some long nights, rooftop meals, and many incredible friends to support me along the way.

Each day I create this life in gratitude and awe, and each day I look for what more I can do - how I can be more open, giving, joyful, compassionate, present, and brave. Though the days and the locations shift and flow, there are a few core elements that I know establish the foundation for everything else that follows: connection, inspiration, curiosity, and the need to do something in the world that matters.

I am never on this journey alone. I thank you. All of you. You inspire and encourage me every day to live fearlessly, to work harder, to continue becoming.

Between now and the end of the year, I would like to share some of the incredible collaborations and adventures that made up 2013. So, in case you haven't yet met, this is Charlie. Last summer, we had the fantastic experience of shooting a series for [FRAMED] with Brooke Shaden.

At Home in Motion

they can call me crazy if i fail all the chance that i need is one-in-a-million and they can call me brilliant if i succeed gravity is nothing to me, moving at the speed of sound i'm just going to get my feet wet until i drown - from "Swan Song" by Ani Difranco

In familiarity there is inspiration, and also the potential for stagnation. I left home at 18 (and again at 29) to seek new types of creative expression and to find out how much bigger the world could be. Now I return to my roots for respite and the freedom that comes from working with a place and a subject that I feel in my core. Creating in Oregon is intuitive and natural. I know the light. I have traversed the landscape from stark beaches to mountain overlooks. Discovering new places to photograph feels like coming home again and again.

For years I created work about searching - for belonging, for home, for purpose. I wanted an escape and I found it in photography. My endless quest found resolution not by finding the answer but by redefining the meaning of home - instead of a physical location it became a feeling, a sense of internal peace and belonging. I think I fully realized the importance of this redefinition when I stopped dreaming about losing things.

Now the importance of place allows me to tell stories, share my world, and remember that I never travel so far that I cannot go back to the beginning.

At Home in Motion

they can call me crazy if i failall the chance that i need is one-in-a-million and they can call me brilliant if i succeed gravity is nothing to me, moving at the speed of sound i'm just going to get my feet wet until i drown - from "Swan Song" by Ani Difranco

In familiarity there is inspiration, and also the potential for stagnation. I left home at 18 (and again at 29) to seek new types of creative expression and to find out how much bigger the world could be. Now I return to my roots for respite and the freedom that comes from working with a place and a subject that I feel in my core. Creating in Oregon is intuitive and natural. I know the light. I have traversed the landscape from stark beaches to mountain overlooks. Discovering new places to photograph feels like coming home again and again.

For years I created work about searching - for belonging, for home, for purpose. I wanted an escape and I found it in photography. My endless quest found resolution not by finding the answer but by redefining the meaning of home - instead of a physical location it became a feeling, a sense of internal peace and belonging. I think I fully realized the importance of this redefinition when I stopped dreaming about losing things.

Now the importance of place allows me to tell stories, share my world, and remember that I never travel so far that I cannot go back to the beginning.

Notes to Remember

The hope in mid-day sun. The feel of weathered tempera. The weight of language. The warmth of community. The sound of fireworks, so close you can touch the sparks. The layering of freckles. The treachery of cobblestones. The look and feel of tradition. The bond of music. The taste of mango juice on sun-warmed skin. The texture of shadow. The evolution of colors. The audacity of pigeons. The grace in a smile. The heat of the dance floor. The freedom of nights alone. The opportunities in a breath. The luxury of water. The influence of rooftop mojitos. The inspiration of transformation. The solidarity of women. The possibilities of light.

Reflections

I’ve gone from creating worlds to describing them - exploring the nuances of color and texture, the changes in meaning that occur with every shift of light. I no longer feel the need to record my presence in the world - the act of creating is proof enough. I was here. I saw. This.

Learning to Soar

For years I loved reading books about women who left their mundane and confining lives behind to re-establish themselves in unfamiliar territory, from the snow drifts of Sweden to the dust of eastern Texas, the islands of the Mediterranean, or the cafes of Paris. Each left something important behind and emerged, transformed. I envied their transformations, thinking my life too set, too happy for such a brutal awakening. Perhaps this is why it took me so long to recognize the Fool’s precipice at my feet, and then to knowingly and intentionally leap off the edge. I forgot my literary lessons. I forgot that on the way down, you grow wings.

Necessary Inventions

Nothing on this adventure is simple or straight-forward. A house with no doors. A fridge full of food but a pantry without recognizable ingredients. A furnished kitchen that includes a dozens pots and pans, all lacking lids, and none large enough to boil potatoes. Perhaps this builds character. Though, strangely, it reminded me that I actually know how to utilize whatever ingredients happen to be on hand. Beet salad with orange dressing and crushed pistachios. Potato salad with green beans, tomato, egg, olives, and anything else that needs to be used before I make the weekly foray to the market tomorrow. And plenty of homemade cheese, which I am happy to add to pretty much anything.

Coming Home?

High-rises and brownstones. Highways and greenways. Everything laid out in a vastly miniature grid. Everything I left, was it only two months ago, so distinctly American, and I no longer know if it is familiar or foreign.