#MakeItHappen

kat_oct13_8237.jpg

Today - write a book, start a band, start a company, rebuild a motorcycle, bake a cake, pack a suitcase and board a train. Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes.

Love each other.

Love yourselves.

And celebrate!

#MakeItHappen

kat_oct13_8237.jpg

Today - write a book, start a band, start a company, rebuild a motorcycle, bake a cake, pack a suitcase and board a train. Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes.

Love each other.

Love yourselves.

And celebrate!

Bringing our whole selves to what we create...

pozos_july14_5993-e1408232248667.jpg

It’s true that I overthink everything. Including this post, which is why I blog infrequently, at least when there are words involved. I have a somewhat simpler time communicating with images, though only marginally. Recently I’ve had so many conversations about what I create and why - friends, other artists, strangers at theater performances...The “why” really is key for me, and it’s a big part of what I ask students to define in their thesis work. And yet, perhaps I sometimes overthink even that. (If I'm honest, there’s no perhaps about it.) I can often become immobilized by my need to create work with a deep and lasting purpose – work that will change the world and connect with people emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually. It’s a tall order.

When it comes right down to it, why do I pick up the camera at a given moment? Because I have to do it. I want to remember. I am curious by nature and I use photography as a way of capturing experiences and sharing them with others. I also use photography as an integral part of my explorations and process. Through the images I create, I begin to see myself more clearly, to understand my experiences, to communicate my feelings.

Looking at a series of images, I see the journey. Sometimes images that began with one story develop into something new – in hindsight.

Often, the act of pausing and opening myself up in order to create allows me to pause and to fully be present in my experience. Like many of us, I learned to numb my emotions from an early age and present a pretty picture (pardon the pun). I was “nice,” and so “happy,” and “mature for my age.” The compliments that I collected as a child turned into a cage woven from good intentions. After three decades I am only now beginning to fully embrace the vast array of feelings and reactions I have every day. The anger. Fear. Grief. Uncertainty. And I am finding that the emotions I was so terrified would eat me alive or turn me into a brittle shell are, in fact, opening the doors to joy, gratitude, exuberance, and imagination.

Beauty and darkness exist in everything – the two sides of the human experience. Attempting to ignore one inherently diminishes the other. This is a lesson I captured in images for years without really seeing it.

Every fleeting moment is a discovery and a loss. A way to remember and a temptation to live in the past. A search and a recognition. Each image shows where I have been - how I became the person I am - at the same time that it allows me to move forward and decide where I am going.

Bringing our whole selves to what we create...

pozos_july14_5993-e1408232248667.jpg

It’s true that I overthink everything. Including this post, which is why I blog infrequently, at least when there are words involved. I have a somewhat simpler time communicating with images, though only marginally. Recently I’ve had so many conversations about what I create and why - friends, other artists, strangers at theater performances...The “why” really is key for me, and it’s a big part of what I ask students to define in their thesis work. And yet, perhaps I sometimes overthink even that. (If I'm honest, there’s no perhaps about it.) I can often become immobilized by my need to create work with a deep and lasting purpose – work that will change the world and connect with people emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually. It’s a tall order.

When it comes right down to it, why do I pick up the camera at a given moment? Because I have to do it. I want to remember. I am curious by nature and I use photography as a way of capturing experiences and sharing them with others. I also use photography as an integral part of my explorations and process. Through the images I create, I begin to see myself more clearly, to understand my experiences, to communicate my feelings.

Looking at a series of images, I see the journey. Sometimes images that began with one story develop into something new – in hindsight.

Often, the act of pausing and opening myself up in order to create allows me to pause and to fully be present in my experience. Like many of us, I learned to numb my emotions from an early age and present a pretty picture (pardon the pun). I was “nice,” and so “happy,” and “mature for my age.” The compliments that I collected as a child turned into a cage woven from good intentions. After three decades I am only now beginning to fully embrace the vast array of feelings and reactions I have every day. The anger. Fear. Grief. Uncertainty. And I am finding that the emotions I was so terrified would eat me alive or turn me into a brittle shell are, in fact, opening the doors to joy, gratitude, exuberance, and imagination.

Beauty and darkness exist in everything – the two sides of the human experience. Attempting to ignore one inherently diminishes the other. This is a lesson I captured in images for years without really seeing it.

Every fleeting moment is a discovery and a loss. A way to remember and a temptation to live in the past. A search and a recognition. Each image shows where I have been - how I became the person I am - at the same time that it allows me to move forward and decide where I am going.

Speaking of Identity...

kat_oct13_8186.jpg

After yesterday's post and a few recent conversations, I decided to elaborate further on this subject. I notice patterns. Serendipity? More than mere coincidence, though it is fair to note that once you begin looking for something, you find it everywhere. In letting go of one identity, or, perhaps, the need for a clearly defined and quantified self, I have found the conversation, the search for definition coming up in many conversation throughout the last year.

We all wear masks - the question is whether you will allow me to see behind yours. Or, more importantly, whether you know you wear one in the first place. I forgot, for awhile. For years it fit so tightly, so smoothly, that it became a mark of honor. Ingrained. I counted the mask as an accomplishment - look how quickly and quietly I can become...anyone. When I looked in the mirror I saw skin, but on camera the mask was inescapable. Staring back at myself, I knew all I had given up. All I had become. Through dedication and loyalty, hope and expectation. Through fear and love. Once I finally saw her, I was more terrified than any hero faced with the snake-crowned Medusa. I was already stone. It took 4000 miles, two months of sunlight, humor, patience, and whole lot of pop music to finally crack the marble mask.

The the question of identity - a quest for understanding and acceptance of ourselves at the best moments, and by society when we feel less sure and strong. We all take up armor and accessories. The clothing we wear to hide or reveal, the books we read, the hair, shoes, house, job, car (or conscious lack thereof), the food, even the company we keep. Is our very outlook an accessory? Do we feel what we think we should? If told we are happy, would we be convinced? When told we are depressed, we rarely argue.

I think there is a time in our lives - and it is different for everyone - when we have to become fearless. We are still afraid of things (I will scream and run away when I see a snake - every time), but we develop an internal knowing that looks back at us when we stand in front of the mirror, that counteracts the silent voices of doubt and insecurity. It says, “You’ve got this.” It says, “Be brave. Be bold.” It says, “You are worthy. You are loved.”

I fall a little in love with everyone I photograph because we share the act of seeing and being seen, revealing aspects of both artist and subject, and finally of the viewer.

Pause. Look. What do you see?

Speaking of Identity...

kat_oct13_8186.jpg

After yesterday's post and a few recent conversations, I decided to elaborate further on this subject. I notice patterns. Serendipity? More than mere coincidence, though it is fair to note that once you begin looking for something, you find it everywhere. In letting go of one identity, or, perhaps, the need for a clearly defined and quantified self, I have found the conversation, the search for definition coming up in many conversation throughout the last year.

We all wear masks - the question is whether you will allow me to see behind yours. Or, more importantly, whether you know you wear one in the first place. I forgot, for awhile. For years it fit so tightly, so smoothly, that it became a mark of honor. Ingrained. I counted the mask as an accomplishment - look how quickly and quietly I can become...anyone. When I looked in the mirror I saw skin, but on camera the mask was inescapable. Staring back at myself, I knew all I had given up. All I had become. Through dedication and loyalty, hope and expectation. Through fear and love. Once I finally saw her, I was more terrified than any hero faced with the snake-crowned Medusa. I was already stone. It took 4000 miles, two months of sunlight, humor, patience, and whole lot of pop music to finally crack the marble mask.

The the question of identity - a quest for understanding and acceptance of ourselves at the best moments, and by society when we feel less sure and strong. We all take up armor and accessories. The clothing we wear to hide or reveal, the books we read, the hair, shoes, house, job, car (or conscious lack thereof), the food, even the company we keep. Is our very outlook an accessory? Do we feel what we think we should? If told we are happy, would we be convinced? When told we are depressed, we rarely argue.

I think there is a time in our lives - and it is different for everyone - when we have to become fearless. We are still afraid of things (I will scream and run away when I see a snake - every time), but we develop an internal knowing that looks back at us when we stand in front of the mirror, that counteracts the silent voices of doubt and insecurity. It says, “You’ve got this.” It says, “Be brave. Be bold.” It says, “You are worthy. You are loved.”

I fall a little in love with everyone I photograph because we share the act of seeing and being seen, revealing aspects of both artist and subject, and finally of the viewer.

Pause. Look. What do you see?