Looking Back

It’s that time of year again. If you read my last post, you know where I’m at; bobbing up and down in the tide of melancholy. It doesn’t take much these days to get me teary. Even a simple request to reminisce on family time at the sea shore got my sentimental wheels turning. When I noticed that the prompt was inspired by diapers, the motivation began to dwindle because my kids are out of the diaper phase. Uh oh. Here comes the rush swelling emotions. My children are long out of diapers. Dang it! Here I go again. My babies are growing up. I’m telling you, I’m hopeless.

When it comes to looking back on my life, the beach is the consistent strand that connects all the things I want to remember; family, fun, laughter, relaxation, nature, simplicity, peace, perspective, clarity. Our days (and evenings) spent at the beach are some of my fondest memories. I guess it would make sense logistically speaking as we live only a mile or two from the So Cal coast but even still, we are die hard beach people. Summer, winter, vacations, you name it, we head to the ocean—to dig in the sand, splash in the sea, snack on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walk on the beach, discover treasures, and rediscover each other. And I always bring the camera.

What about you? Where are your most sacred memories found? Is there a place you visit and revisit where you find your soul at its most content? Is it a multitude of memories that make it special or one single instance when it was as if the planets aligned just for you? Where ever or whatever it may be, I’ll bet there’s a photo that helps encapsulate it, isn’t there?

Life's a Blur

Each September begins the familiar routine. The slow and steady flow of school, homework and extra-circular activities that little by little as the months pass, begins to feel more like a river than a stream only to have the damn break in June to a force that can make it difficult for even the mightiest of moms to remain standing. That’s where I’m at right now; struggling against the current, getting swept up in the spin cycle that is the end of the school year machine.

Through the years I have come to expect this recurring ebb and flow so it’s not a huge surprise and on good days, I feel fairly on top of it. Even still this year, more than ever, I am reeling. As the school year comes to an end in a flurry of fun and excitement I recognize that it’s not only these last few weeks that are a blur, it’s my daughter’s childhood. Both of my daughters for that matter. The milestones this year feel larger than life as one will soon begin Middle School and the other Kindergarten. Sigh. I know what this is about. It’s the familiar melancholy of motherhood, the passing of time and the growing of the little parts and pieces of my children that remind me that they are getting older. That I am getting older. That they won’t be mine forever.

As I cheer them on and reassure them that the next chapter will be as rich and full as the last, I will also have to acknowledge (and quietly dismiss) that little whisper inside myself that is urging me not to let them go. The very voice that pleads in desperation with Father Time to show mercy on me and stop the clock if only long enough for me to hold on to my children a little longer.

Where are you these days? How do you see your life right now? Do you have certain photographs that express this exact moment in time for you?

Priceless

Cardstock to make cards from scratch: $5

Colored pencils, pens and stickers to decorate cards: $15

Postage to overnight the cards to the messenger: $45

A chance to send hope notes to the girls of Rwanda: priceless

As many of you know, our lovely Jen is leaving to take her sweet self, her zines, blank journals, pens, hearts, these handwritten hope notes and a film to share with the girls of Rwanda. Girls who need encouragement and support more than we can ever imagine.

For those of us who remain here while Jen single handedly delivers these messages (indeed, she is a superhero of hope), the photos and videos that she captures over there will be the only way we can truly share the trip with her. But beyond that, her photographs will serve as the only recent record that one mother has of her daughters. Imagine how it would feel to see a photo of your child after 2 years of not seeing any. Two years. And then comes a day when a rare and beautiful gift is handed to you through one photograph. A single image that would surely take any mother’s breath away.

Simple truths like this remind me that when we hold our cameras, we hold incredible power. How lucky are we to shoot photo after photo of our own children, of friends and family. Each image a gift. A gift that is indeed priceless.

As we send our sister off on the journey of a lifetime, let’s honor her with links to our own priceless photographs, shall we? It’ll be our little way of showing her our Shutter Sisters support.

Safe travels Jen, we will all be eagerly awaiting stories and photos. Lots and lots of glorious, priceless photos.

no comment (sort of)

Forgive our hiccup today...this post got deleted on accident-things happen-but i know a lot of you commented and left links and we apologize but it seems we lost those too! Rats. Note to self-it IS really smart to write posts in a word document before getting them up on your blog. Whew.

One of my favorite magazines of all time is Wondertime. Have you seen it? It still surprises me when people haven’t. I’ve had a subscription since the minute I discovered it. The visual sensibilities are off the charts cool. Photography.to.die.for. The perfect mix of art and everyday; a visual marriage that particularly speaks to me. And then there’s the content. With contributing editors like Catherine Newman and Brett Paesel (love and love) and articles from women like Alice Bradley (more love) what, I ask you, is not to like?

But even with all this periodical alchemy, when I get the magazine each month I go straight to the very back page…first. See, they end the issue with a photograph (actually usually a diptych) titled no comment. It’s usually a coupling that speaks so poignantly of childhood in that perfect, I laughed, I cried kind of way that no words are necessary. It’s great.

I have only given you all of this background to say that now and again if you come across a post here at Shutter Sisters called no comment (and if we’re being true to the phrase, using only a photo and no words) you’ll know where the inspiration came from.

And if any of you are so inclined to share your own no comment photos, by all means, show us what you’ve got. And if you enter them our Flickr pool and tag them “no comment” you never know when one might pop up on a post (with your permission of course). Sometimes a good image—or two—says more than any words can say.

i'm obsessed

Am I the only one that goes through phases—or maybe more appropriately, obsessions—in my photographic inclinations? A particular angle of interest, recurring subject matter or tiny detail of something specific that for one reason or another draws you in and urges you to recognize them? I’ve been in and out of different phases like this ever since I really got into photography. Some of my past focal fixations have included grain, blur, and toys. And don’t get me started on my passion for the blossoms and blooms that have not only piqued my interest but have held me and my camera captive for the last few months.

When it comes to capturing images of the details of my children, obsession is a mild term. With each passing day there seems to be something perfectly endearing to turn my camera toward. Right now, I’m all about my youngest daughter’s hair—her straggly, stringy, swishing, swooping, swinging hair. I am spellbound by the way it frames her face, wispy blonde strands getting caught up in her dark lashes, brushing her flushed cheeks. My urchin princess. I even cut it myself for fear some insensitive hair dresser might rob me of my photo fetish. See. I told you. I'm obsessed.

And you? I’m curious as to what you have been unable to keep your lens away from. Do you have a photo flavor of the month? Come on, show us your obsessions—we’re all friends here.