textured life

I stood there for a solid five minutes trying to find his eyes. No luck.

And he stood there contemplating me, his chum decidedly unimpressed. It was as if I'd asked to take his picture and he'd sheepishly replied, "Meh."

(ba-dum-dum.)

Have you ever had one of those lovely moments in which you ask permission without speaking, and some momentarily peaceful, still, contented beast cooperates?

babyface

He watches a fairground ride and I wonder: what's he thinking?

Sure, they just lie there in carseat or on floor, less photographically diverse than hopping and squishing and squealing toddlers. But OH! My... the wonder that awaits a patient soul. This Easter Monday, show us your favourite baby-absorbing-world captures - with all the cereal-encrusted cheeks and gummy grins.

Because nothing quite says peace and hope like cheeks like those.

the muse and the marlboro man

photo by HippyHappyHay

Flickr makes my eyes cross.

In a good way, of course. Eye-crossing world-rocking is what feeds music, art, films, literature—creatives influence enthusiasts who become creatives who influence enthusiasts, each imprinting a new twist on the original until you’re not sure where the muse left off and the student begins.

I’m immensely grateful to Pioneer Woman for her most excellent Photoshop tutorials, sitting two inches from the screen breathing with my mouth open all-like OoooohhNOWIGETIT! …But then everywhere you turn we’re all morphing into replicas, following step-by-step like an army of Verne Troyers to Ree’s Dr. Evil, complete with a chorus of mini-maniacal giggling that we all finally got our hands on the recipe for the Marlboro Man style.

It’s soul food for dry spells, and we love her for it.

But this week I was bewitched by HippyHappyHay’s portrait in our fabulous pool, and went on to admire the gorgeous tones and inventive backgrounds found in her photostream. Ethereal and washed out rather than saturated, delicately evocative rather than high-contrast and grainy. So refreshing next to the unrelenting BAM! BAM! BAM! of my intermediate photofinishing routine, the unchallenged 1-2-3 that I apply like a creature of habit.

And now I’m lit up, all hippyhappy. Still grateful for the generosity of the pioneers, but ripe for something new. So don't bust my bubble, 'kay? Don't say "DUH... that's just '#23 Low Contrast/Vintage' from Actions-R-Us..."

Let me bask in this apparent differentness.

(Come to think of it, maybe it's about time I jump on the actions bandwagon. Think so? Do you use actions for instant interestingness? And is it not a contradiction in terms to push a MAKE-IT-UNIQUE! button while everyone else does the same? Isn't adopting the latest popular pizazz like buying a Toyota—don't you then just see Toyotas everywhere? Does originality even matter, or is it all just about prettier pictures?)

I digress. Share with us: who’s taught you a thing or two? And who’s inspired you to turn it all upside-down?

barometer rising

Every time I leave the house I give the glass a tap-tap-tap, watch the needle twitch and tell fortunes with as much magic as a ouija board at a seventh grade sleepover party.

The old barometer tells me what weather’s brewing in the atmosphere of this craggy, rocky seashore in a way that’s tactile, romantic—at least compared to the goofy banter and shit-eating grins of the local news.

Often I’ve wondered what it would be like to have a barometer of life. Some leatherbound, vintage typeface and needle that would forecast episodes of catastrophe (premature babies imminent) or achievement (clear skies following credit line payoff) or vice (periods of rum at times heavy, visibility near zero).

The last one’s a joke. I haven’t taken to bottle. Yet.

With a barometer of life I’d at least know when to batten down the hatches, when to hoist up the spinnaker to fly on light and friendly winds.

But knowing all defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? Because the whole point of living is trial by fire, to gain heart-bursting perspective through the lens of hindsight—not foresight.

pet cemetery

This Monday’s post is courtesy of the lovely Steph, who photographs as a foundation for her illustrative work.

Steph bewitches me with her treehouse ramblings, her eye for super-funky little clothes, her sketches, and her perfectly joyful way of capturing life as a mama to scruffy, inquisitive, rollabout boys.

She writes:

There's a perfect riparian hike up an open space preserve near the house that pauses at a quarter mile, if you are looking for it, with a set of mossy stairs that lead down to an old pet cemetery.

As I had hoped, he became saturated with the place: jumping off every stone, stomping on every ant, smudging himself into the wet earth, collecting grubby fistfuls of small sticks along the walk. His proud stride, the happy, bouncy swagger he gets when we're together: it just makes me want to burst. I love it. And, as usual, in anticipation of this display, I brought my camera.

I wish I could sling a camera like the professionals do, working quickly with finesse and understanding the technical aspects of photography, but I simply am too busy trying to capture all of these fleeting moments.

The best photographs I manage to take are those that capture what all mothers adore: acrobatic preschool gestures, the details in terribly food-stained clothes, the paint that gets under fingernails, a mass of bedhead, a noble negative space, the thoughts behind a dark brow or the silence behind an overbite.

+++

I like to have an image library within the pages of my sketchbook so that I can refer to it for paintings or illustrations. While I have some practice capturing gestures freehand, my photography has been tremendously helpful in compiling studies of their facial proportions so that life-sketching is more fluid.

If I didn't have the photographs I'd have to make the kids pose, which would interrupt everything.

And by everything, I mean that chaos which is a house of boys: flying Legos, the hiss of supersonic jets, beaming laser blasters and the rubble of broken alien spacecraft. Dirty bare feet on clean white sheets. Questions falling like rain, books everywhere.

The dog chases the stampede, and I follow furiously with my camera.

+++

This week, show us your little boys. Let’s see your favourite puddle-jumpers, sandcastle-stompers and mischief-hunters. TAG! You’re it.