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.

Bringing our whole selves to what we create...

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...

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.

Seven Days: July 20

Seven Days: July 20

Seven Days: July 13

Seven Days: July 13

Seven Days: July 6

Seven Days: July 6

Seven Days: June 29

Joy is fearless.

Seven Days: June 29

Joy is fearless.

Seven Days: June 22

Seven Days: June 22

Seven Days: June 15

Seven Days: June 15

Unravelling

I began to wind up a piece of thread, loosely, thinking I was simply doing a bit of housekeeping. Too late I realized that the thread was still attached and that each new twist and turn unwound a layer behind me, revealing and releasing what was held within.

Unravelling

I began to wind up a piece of thread, loosely, thinking I was simply doing a bit of housekeeping. Too late I realized that the thread was still attached and that each new twist and turn unwound a layer behind me, revealing and releasing what was held within.

Seven Days: June 8

Seven Days: June 8