The Doing

"But the biggest mistake I made is one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."

-Anna Quindlen

I often find myself pushing onto the next thing. Dinner, bath, book, bed. Or now that my kids are a little older-- homework, dinner, shower, bed. Seems like it's my job to keep things running at an even pace, to make sure things get done. There's a rhythm to this sort of living and all too often, we lock into it and POOF. Another day, week, month, gone. The truth is that mindful living takes some practice. Photography helps. But only if our minds are in the right place. It's easy to fire off a hundred shots and think: Done. Moment sufficiently captured. The key is to shoot thoughtfully, mindfully. To know when to pick the camera up and when to put it down. To drink in the whole scene while you're shooting, not just the visuals.

I'm not going to lie, friends. I'm guilty of mindless shooting. But I'm working on it, I am always working in it. When I shoot mindfully, the images I come away with feel like so much more than just images. I look at this photograph of my son Ezra and I remember everything about that day, that night. I remember how we laid on the trampoline, looked up at the sky and talked about the moon. I remember the way the evergreen trees looked, how the air smelled sweet like pine needles. I remember how our hair stood up on end from the trampoline's static electricity, I remember the way he laughed. I remember how the light changed from gold to blue, how he grabbed my hand as we walked back inside. I remember the mexican we had for dinner that night, the smudge of salsa on his cheek. I look at this photograph and I remember everything.

Which photograph of yours captures a moment just the way it was? And when you look at it, how much do you remember? Please, do share an image and a few words with us today. 

weekending by Deborah

 

Deborah shoots images like this with whichever camera is handy and spends her weekends instigating adventures for her two kids.

Deborah can be found on Flickr at Damiec. 

Aaaah, it's that time again. Share with us the colors that paint your weekend.

on my way back home

There is gratitude during those minutes following a long day of work. A lesson in cultivating a spirit of self-love, and acknowledging the things that are important to me. It's a bit strange. I cannot wait to go back to the ones I love and yet very much enjoy feeling that sense of completion, of connectedness with my self.

For the past few weeks I've developed a habit of taking photos on my way back home. I love how they reflect those moments in between the many demands and commitments of daily life, and remind me to slow down, and give thanks for everything that happens to me.

How about you? Do you have those moments during morning or evening commute? If yes, do you pull your camera and capture them? Please share with us today.

In Pursuit of Light

In a forum such as this one where people gather and connect about their shared love for photography it’s no wonder to me that there’s a running conversation about the value of light. As photographers it’s what we do. We search for light and we seek to capture any bit of it that enchants us. Sometimes it’s about replicating a feeling or documenting a moment and other times it’s about creating a new one. However you view your photography, your camera may be the brush, but it’s the light that you mix on your pallet.

Some people I know, are moved by melody; others by prose. More still, by taste, style or sense of place. Of course any combination of these in the right dose and application hold meaning for me, but nothing touches my soul like the sun. My love affair with the stuff (and consequently my roller coaster relationship with darkness) started before I ever picked up a camera, though. 

Every door I walk through, the first thing I see is how the light enters the space. If I'm coming to visit you, don't waste your  time cleaning up, just draw open the blinds. The corner of a room where sunlight gets caught fascinates me, and golden glowing edges of cheekbones or jars are the things of my dreams.

I know exactly where the sun falls on my sofa at every hour during every season and nothing makes me more melancholy than august evenings when the light begins to fade and I know what lies ahead.

Scientifically it’s a thing—this need for the ultraviolet. For those of us who are afflicted, there’s a piece missing and we are at risk during winter’s shorter days. Here’s where the camera comes in for me.  I’ve learned to get through those darker days by absorbing every ounce of sunlight I possibly can and drawing it up to the surface when I feel the weight bear down. 

I collect the light with my camera. It exists in my computer and in print for me to inject directly into my mood as needed. I walk through days of usual and ordinary and I see things that are anything but. Light becomes a commodity and it takes on shapes and forms that can brighten even the darkest days. 

I know I'm not alone in this need for light. Those of us who make photographs, we feed on it. Vitamins, light therapy, yoga, antidepressants. None ever really helped before. Who knew that a camera might be the thing that could actually do the most good?

And so, as the sun streams through my kitchen window later into the evenings now, the feeling of weightlessness is palpable. The emotional hatches, tightly battened down sometime early last fall, have been removed and I am liberated. 

Do you have a favorite photograph that is all about the light? Share the link below!

Image and words courtesy of guest shutter sister Amy Drucker. You can find Amy on her blog, at Flickr and on Instagram at @amy_druck.

how we see ourselves

Shutter brother, Artfarmer, in the studio with his self portrait.

Artists use self-portraits to explore the basic question that plagues all of us: who am I? As early as the mid 1400's artists began painting themselves onto canvas. Later, with the invention of the camera (and mirrors) photographers began turning the image (and their artwork) inward as well. Yes, a mirror or a photograph can tell a person what he or she looks like, but we all know that the physical image doesn't reflect the whole self. We all know that photography can be 99% optical illusion. Self-portraiture insists that an artist embark on the journey of self-exploration. This journey of self brings about choices, the main one being how to represent him/herself authentically. You always get to choose how you see yourself, that is the beauty of self portraits. There's a growing group of like-minded friends ready to begin the journey of self... just as artists have done for hundreds of years. Does self portraiture call to you as well? 

There are lots of conversations I've seen online lately discussing the concept of "everyday beauty" and people are torn as to what that exactly means. Some folks feel this phrase has been overused, misused, or misconstrued. Everyday beauty is sometimes not beautiful at all, right? It's messy... we all know this. And so going with the literal definition of "beauty" can be confusing when approaching a topic as broad as art and self. And yet so often we try our best to clean it up. We shine it and polish it and try to make it presentable. Are we caught up in comparing our insides to other people's outsides? We photoshop and airbrush and texturize and soften. I have been known to do these things too, because I want to see what is aesthetically pleasing with my life... and so I organize the composition of my frame to put chaos into order. But can't everyday beauty include chaos? What is real is what is true: it's dishes in the sink, migraines, new love, and decay. Sometimes it screams in your face, sometimes it laughs. 

So, what is beautiful? Everyone has their own opinion. Self is beautiful, as is optical illusion. I believe life and reality... and the thought that we are here at all with our paints and film, exploring these thoughts... that is beautiful. All of it, no matter what, is worth documenting. You are allowed to view your life and your self with whatever filters you want to use. It's your life and your everyday! Your masculinity, your femininity, your weakness, your strength... it's all truth and worthy of being seen.

Today I'd love to hear your thoughts and words on the subject. What do you find yourself portraying most in your images? Why do we do the things we do? Share any images today of what you find to be beautiful, and help us redefine everyday beauty.