mother nature

The wind blows the rain sideways against the windows. It sounds like the ocean outside, rain coming in waves. Everything becomes art through the blur of water. We focus on this instead of the fear. He asks a lot of questions about floods, he knows the story of his name: the river that flooded our house not once but twice during my pregnancy. He knows we are often at the mercy of mother nature.

We speak, instead, of the beauty around us. We share stories, we discuss the safety of our home. Instead of dismissing the worry, we speak directly and kindly about truths. During storms, we are humbled by nature. Her strength keeps us bundled up inside.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the outside world disappears. School is cancelled, electricity flickers. Things that truly matter come to the front of our minds. We have each other. We have a roof to keep us dry. We have popcorn by the woodstove. 

We on the East Coast are weathering this storm. We wish you well and carry you in our thoughts. Today, share with us your weather reports and let us know how you're doing out there!

trusting inspiration

 

I picked up the camera so many times and looked through the viewfinder.  Maybe fired off a couple of frames half-heartedly.  Sometimes I deleted them in the camera, but there are hundreds more sitting on my hard drive, unedited, unviewed.  The light stopped speaking to me.  The camera body no longer fit my hands like a beloved tool.

If I can’t see images, how can I think of myself as a photographer?  Worse yet, what does it say about the way I’ve filled my life, if it doesn’t inspire so much as a snapshot?

It was a long way to fall.  I finished a 365 project last October, totally inspired, totally proud of myself, totally grateful.  It is a powerful exercise to keep your eye and heart attuned to the beautiful and the remarkable in the midst of your everyday life.  To have a photographic record of your progress over a year.  To begin to see yourself as an artist.

But with the year up, I stopped shooting every day.  I stopped being so mindful.  I bought myself a fancy new camera but immediately lost my courage.  It is a Serious Camera.  In my head this camera deserved to shoot Serious Things instead of my everyday life.  I shot less.  I felt it as a little death, this loss of a fledgling creative life.  It’s not the sort of thing you hold a wake for though.  No one brings you red wine and casseroles while you wonder why your eyes don’t work anymore.  There was grief but it was mine alone.

But recently I’ve started to notice shadows again.  There is the color of autumn leaves.  There are long eyelashes and kids in mismatched prints and wet dog noses.  My eyes are hungry.  My hands are a little itchy for the heavy camera body, even though it still feels awkward in my grip sometimes.  I’ve started carrying it with me again, so I’m ready when it calls to me.

I’m starting to understand that it wasn’t a death after all.  It was just the change of seasons.  I’m starting to believe that just as I know that autumn always follows summer, I can trust inspiration and vision to return.

Have you ever had a dry spell?  How did you work your way out of it?  What inspired you to start again?

Image and words courtesy of the wonderful Corinna Robbins of Bird Wanna Whistle.

comfort (zone)

Note to Self:
Focus on the light
When life is hard, pick up your camera
When days are joyful, pick up your camera
Every now and then try moving towards what scares you
Stretch your comfort zone, artistically ~ metaphysically ~ literally
Trust the process; no matter where it takes you, and remind those around you that they are loved.

I tend to turn things over in my hands and in my mind... I want to explore all perspectives. I want to touch all the seams: how we come together and how we fray apart. In doing so, I search for my humanness and our similarities; through this process, I find compassion and self care.  I do this through writing but mostly through self portraiture.

What is your comfort? Are you willing to ever step outside of that comfort zone? Even just once? Today share an image of "comfort"... food, self, weather... it's different for each of us! For me, my comfort is always embracing my camera shyness and the ever present reminder of why I started down the path of self portraits in the first place. It's taken many years, but I'm happy to say that my comfort is my self. 

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Registration is now open for NOW YOU Workshops :: Digging Deeper 
(a six week online eCourse offered by Meredith Winn & Kristin Zecchinelli)
find out more details here, and register early before this next class sells out!

reflections

Perhaps it’s the end of Summer or the start of Fall.  Maybe it’s my birthday or something in the stars. Or what I usually attribute it to; getting the kids back to school and getting back to a predictable routine. Whatever the case, this is always the time of year where I do the most reflecting.  For years I’ve marveled at the power of this—what seems to be for me—the new year. It’s no wonder I don’t fuss over the true New Year, taking it all lightly and in stride. It must be because I always do my seeking and searching now.

Reflecting on the past and reflecting on the future play equal parts in my annual soul pilgrimage. One is no more important that the other. In fact, they seem to work together in a perfect alchemy. Looking back, I am reminded of what has been. Looking ahead I can begin to forge my path into the future. Whether I choose to bring what the last year held along with me into the next is never certain. It’s different every year. And I guess that’s not really the point. The point is the time of reflection itself. Slowing down, being contemplative, breathing deeply, holding onto gratitude, shedding  tears, getting rest, listening, musing, and paying attention to every feeling, every memory, every whisper. That is where the true magic of reflections lie.

Today I encourage you to take the time for reflections, whatever that might mean to you and seek out ways to translate that into your images. Literally or figurative, let’s reflect together and share our findings as yet another way to Elevate the Everyday.

She Could No Longer Fit

"Hold on," they said. Though there came a time when she could no longer fit. When the size of her present exceeded the space defined by the path of her past. "But, I've changed," she whispered in a voice loud enough to be heard as the carousel looping in familiar eased carefully toward stop. The plastic pony never claimed to hold her weight... not forever.

Do you find that your photographs reveal what's on our heart before your mind knows what to say? Find an image from your archive and let it speak for you today.