documenting me

It’s a shame most photo sessions begin with what is essentially a meeting of strangers. Doors open to reveal unfamiliar faces. Perfunctory dialogue about the weather or traffic fills the apprehensive space. We comment on outfits, and “backgrounds”. We ask about due dates and commute times. Then, as we progress beyond niceties, a few lovely unguarded moments bloom through the soil of polite conversation. Those are the moments we wait for. Gifts.

Some people are easily relaxed, while others remain nervous and uneasy. Me? I’m in the latter group. After fifteen years of shooting, I’m completely at home behind the camera. Like most photographers, I don’t think of it as a mechanism as much as I do an extension of my hand, my eyes, my self. But I’m filled with fear as soon as its aim is set toward me. Fear for what I might see. Fear for who might be staring back? Do I like her? Can I accept her? Will that girl trapped in the back of the viewfinder make me want to run away? To hide? Am I really enough just as I am? Carrying twenty extra pounds, with a space between my teeth, wrinkles and a five year old pregnancy mask... 

Am I worth documenting? 

Because if someone were to ask me this question, my answer would wholeheartedly and unequivocally be YES! I’ve devoted my life to it. And it’s this notion that’s at the forefront of my mind during every shoot. Behind the niceties, I’m thinking, “Don’t worry, I will take care of you. Your face, your body, your intimate moments and your vulnerabilities are safe with me.” And so the question becomes, is my face, my body, and are my vulnerabilities safe with me? 

These thoughts came as a result of being mesmerized by Stephanie’s phone-tography, and Rachel’s self portrait project. They both inspired me to create my own, despite the voices about how indulgent it felt, or about how I don't need another project. Sometimes blogging can become about other opinions. So I've made an effort to post images which are truly significant to me, regardless of their photographic value. Because photos are blogged straight from my phone, it of course means no editing, no fixing, no hiding. It's been a daily exercise in accepting what is, and making peace with imperfection. I've only been doing it for a short time, but have already found it to be therapeutic. 

What about you? Do you enjoy photographing yourself, or is it difficult? We'd love to hear your thoughts, and see your images.

centered

I almost never place a subject in the center of the frame. When I asked her to lay the baby in the middle of the blanket, it was because I was intending for her and her husband to crawl down beside him. Then I looked down to see the baby, so content and small against the large expanse of white. It seemed almost awkward for him not to be kicking or fussing, which matched the also awkward cropping. After looking again, I realized it wasn't awkward at all. For this new family, he was indeed the center: of their attention, their thoughts, their love...right where he belonged.

Do you have any images which might be technically off, but still somehow work for you? If so, we'd love to see.

Also, in celebration of all the little centers of our attention in our lives, I want to let you know about my friend Katy who is doing a huge give-away on her blog right now. Some of the main ways you can enter involve taking photos of your little ones. So it might be right up your alley, plus a chance to win a $1000 gift certificate to Southwest, or a $2000 shopping spree.

Good luck and have fun! :)

"you without the story of you"

The other day my friend was talking about the idea of declaring each year "The Year Of _____________". Sometimes it's a resolution in January. Somtimes it's an observation at the end of a year: "The Year of Change", "The Year of Healing", even something simple like "The Year of Getting Ready". She talked about how much changed for her friend one year just by making the committment to get dressed every day. I'm not sure how I'd describe 2010 yet. But if I had to define my last year, that's easy. It was "The Year of Twenty Pounds". The longer version would be "The Year of Doing Nothing But Work and Self Medicate with Food". Or so I thought until I read Women Food and God and then realized that I self medicate with much more: the computer, TV, phone, work, shopping, my children's activities, friendships... you name it.

I ended up finishing the book in two days and colored it completely yellow. Seriously. By the last chapter, my highlighter was out of ink. And the surprising thing was that it wasn't really about weight loss. It was about all the methods we use to escape or soothe ourselves from (the perceived pain of, or boredom with) the present moment. By eating, drinking, exercising, whining, dreaming, computer-ing, working, talking, obsessing, judging, worrying, controlling... whatever it may be. We love to say that it's important to "celebrate the moment". But most of us will do almost anything to get away from it. It's like my habit of compulsively pushing the button on the car radio: Not this song. Not this one. Nope. Next. Next. This one's okay but there might be something better. Where is the something better? Next. Next. Next... Something about that is more preferable than sitting in silence. Sitting Still.

Yet something inside all of us longs for that Stillness. Geneen Roth calls it "you without the story of you". It's the "you" before you began to see yourself defined by various opinions and perceptions of others. In the book she suggests that we connect to the Stillness not by learning something new or by "fixing" ourselves to become more "perfect". But instead by remembering who we were before. There was a day when a caterpillar could fill you with wonder, when a snow cone could make your day. You didn't need a specific reason to be happy. And the idea that you were enough was naturally assumed.

We'd love to see your images today... the ones that make you remember.

supergirl

She's the girl in two worlds. Outside the glass, but wholeheartedly believing she's inside the tank. A three foot tall testament that it's okay to dream. To be mesmerized by where wish you were. She dreams of the day she'll be able to glide through the water and drift effortlessly with sea turtles. But she gets so lost in her desire to be there, that she doesn't realize she's holding her breath. I've been there. Holding my breath. Holding out. Holding off the everyday moments. But I loved what Tracey said yesterday when she suggested that being present today doesn't mean you can't be filled with dreams for tomorrow.

Sometimes we just need to remember to breathe.

*In celebration of Give-away May, and also the fact that the next shipment will be here any minute (YAY!), we're giving away an Epiphanie bag of your choice! Don't forget to check out the new Lola in black! Leave a comment today, and one lucky winner will be chosen by tomorrow! Good luck!

Update on Wednesday, May 26, 2010 by Maile Wilson

**Chosen by random integer generator, the winner is Cindy H. from Life On Print! CONGRATULATIONS! Please email your address to support@epiphaniebags.com, along with your style selection, and Epiphanie will ship your bag right out! For updates and news about future contests and give-aways, follow Epiphanie on Twitter, Facebook, or check out the blog! Thank you everyone for all the awesome comments and links! Have a great day! :)

observer.

My friend Cara leaned over to me that night to comment that I seemed quiet. I replied that my husband had oddly said the same thing to me earlier that day. Suddenly feeling like I should offer up an explanation, the truth was that I didn't have one. While I'm usually fine at holding up my end of the conversation, that night I guess I just felt like observing. Which can be admittedly awkward.

Except that it wasn't. Because I was with great people. And great people don't require you to perform.

Also, I had my camera, which is a huge security blanket for me. As someone who is a closet Introvert, I love my camera for all the expected reasons: she allows me to re-tell stories, she empowers me with the ability to share my perspective.

But sometimes I love her just because she's something legitimate to hide behind. She's an understandable, even condoned way of becoming invisible. And sometimes (frankly) it's freeing to sink back and let stuff happen... without being responsible for an outcome.

How about you? Do you ever personify your camera? We'd love to see your examples of what she (or he) means to you.