NEW WORK: Cartographers of Memory

I was raised on stories I didn’t believe, but wanted to. Fairy tales and family histories that changed with every retelling. Through empty roads and conversations around kitchen tables, I learned that every moment is both a discovery and a loss. The facts of our lives become history, until we have only pieces of memory woven into a personal mythology.

My grandmother, Tutu, had a stroke last February, at the age of 92. Four months later she told me that she could no longer laugh or cry, but that she still had a universe of thoughts inside her mind. For this woman of passion and chaos, a house was never enough space for all of her paper sculptures, her pianos and violins, her inventions and ideas. Now she sits in a chair in her daughter’s house, surrounded by beige walls, her mind filled with emotions and desires she struggles to express.

When I was a child her life existed for me as a series of unbelievable tales: training as a concert violinist in New York and drawing maps during WWII. Building a house in southern California out of barn doors and stained glass windows. Intentionally burning toast every morning. Befriending movie stars and opera singers and getting married four times to three husbands, but raising five daughters on her own.

At 30 I realized the stories were real. Without knowing it, I spent three years retracing many of my grandmother’s dreams – from New York City to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Adventure is her legacy.

These images, captured during my travels to San Miguel, are part family album, memoir, poem, and prayer. In the high desert, all of our masks and facades are scoured away in the wind and the dust, washed clean in the afternoon rain. The land here is made of light. It is sunbaked stone and agave plants and women emerging from their old lives like butterflies into the sharp sunlight.

This is a map of my search for my family’s history and my own home. The photographs show the expansion of a life, of becoming part of a world vaster and more fantastic than the books that fed my childhood dreams. But pause and reverse, see the images backwards, and they tell the story of a life that now turns inward, contained within four walls. And the universe of her mind. My world is now the one expanding, while Tutu’s becomes ever more still.

...You can see the full body of work on my website, maricofayre.com...

NEW WORK: Cartographers of Memory

CofM_025     CofM_026 I was raised on stories I didn’t believe, but wanted to. Fairy tales and family histories that changed with every retelling. Through empty roads and conversations around kitchen tables, I learned that every moment is both a discovery and a loss. The facts of our lives become history, until we have only pieces of memory woven into a personal mythology.

My grandmother, Tutu, had a stroke last February, at the age of 92. Four months later she told me that she could no longer laugh or cry, but that she still had a universe of thoughts inside her mind. For this woman of passion and chaos, a house was never enough space for all of her paper sculptures, her pianos and violins, her inventions and ideas. Now she sits in a chair in her daughter’s house, surrounded by beige walls, her mind filled with emotions and desires she struggles to express.

When I was a child her life existed for me as a series of unbelievable tales: training as a concert violinist in New York and drawing maps during WWII. Building a house in southern California out of barn doors and stained glass windows. Intentionally burning toast every morning. Befriending movie stars and opera singers and getting married four times to three husbands, but raising five daughters on her own.

At 30 I realized the stories were real. Without knowing it, I spent three years retracing many of my grandmother’s dreams – from New York City to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Adventure is her legacy.

These images, captured during my travels to San Miguel, are part family album, memoir, poem, and prayer. In the high desert, all of our masks and facades are scoured away in the wind and the dust, washed clean in the afternoon rain. The land here is made of light. It is sunbaked stone and agave plants and women emerging from their old lives like butterflies into the sharp sunlight.

This is a map of my search for my family’s history and my own home. The photographs show the expansion of a life, of becoming part of a world vaster and more fantastic than the books that fed my childhood dreams. But pause and reverse, see the images backwards, and they tell the story of a life that now turns inward, contained within four walls. And the universe of her mind. My world is now the one expanding, while Tutu’s becomes ever more still.

...You can see the full body of work on my website, maricofayre.com...

Finding Your Inner Story.

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This year is a time of personal expansion. I am saying "yes!" to new opportunities and collaborations, and I am so excited to share the journey with you! When the world feels like it is spinning too quickly, when the energy of New York builds higher and higher, when I feel like questioning every thing I make and what it all means, I return the deep places inside myself, so full of both darkness and light. Yoga and meditation prepare for insight, even revelation. Photography and writing give me the tools to record that process.

When Liza Keogh asked me to work with her to develop a retreat that incorporates all of these experiences, I felt like I won the lottery.

Retreats invite us to shed our daily habits and enter spaces that can feel very different from what we are used to experiencing on any given day. In this new space we are open to personal and professional change, enhanced creativity, awakened awareness, even deep transformation. The retreats Liza and I are developing encourage the integration of creative and mindful practices to uncover, discover and reveal your inner story, under the artful guidance of two long-time teachers.

Upcoming retreats include: Finding the Inner Story Photography, Yoga, and Meditation Retreat with Marico Fayre & Liza Keogh. August 7-10, 2014 in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico - and - October 17-19, 2014 at Nine Mountain Retreat Center in Plainfield, MA.

More information & additional retreats and workshops are coming soon!

Finding Your Inner Story.

img_7265.jpg

This year is a time of personal expansion. I am saying "yes!" to new opportunities and collaborations, and I am so excited to share the journey with you! When the world feels like it is spinning too quickly, when the energy of New York builds higher and higher, when I feel like questioning every thing I make and what it all means, I return the deep places inside myself, so full of both darkness and light. Yoga and meditation prepare for insight, even revelation. Photography and writing give me the tools to record that process.

When Liza Keogh asked me to work with her to develop a retreat that incorporates all of these experiences, I felt like I won the lottery.

Retreats invite us to shed our daily habits and enter spaces that can feel very different from what we are used to experiencing on any given day. In this new space we are open to personal and professional change, enhanced creativity, awakened awareness, even deep transformation. The retreats Liza and I are developing encourage the integration of creative and mindful practices to uncover, discover and reveal your inner story, under the artful guidance of two long-time teachers.

Upcoming retreats include: Finding the Inner Story Photography, Yoga, and Meditation Retreat with Marico Fayre & Liza Keogh. August 7-10, 2014 in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico - and - October 17-19, 2014 at Nine Mountain Retreat Center in Plainfield, MA.

More information & additional retreats and workshops are coming soon!

The Taste of Memory

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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

img_5523.jpg

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.

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.

The Beginning of a Transformation

It is just after sunrise and I sit in a hotel in Idaho, looking through the images I was too tired to be excited by last night. Each shot brings back memories of the day before, but other thoughts as well. Each reminds me of other road trips, other drives through the rough beauty of the gorge, other sunsets along other highways. Is this how the entire journey will be, a remembrance as well as a rebirth? Or, once I leave behind the diffused light of overcast skies and the states I traversed in another life, will I feel the freedom of the desert wind without the strings of past attachments? Are these memories a tether or a trap?

One thing that will not change - I am still lulled into bliss by the movement of just driving.