yesterday,

I strolled a park’s path, with my son, who was wild with running and pinecone spotting. I took a moment to look up at the trees towering around me and I breathed. The moment was intoxicating. I had the feeling that I was in the presence of something familiar. I felt the warm caress of a long ago love. It was the feeling of being reminded of a love affair but one I couldn’t quite remember, as though it was from a book, or play, or dream, or another life. There was no face to apply to the memory, or words, or visions. It was like a scent, faint and fleeting. It was a sensation that washed over me and it was the best I’d felt in so long. It was peace I suppose, or communion with my birth mother and lover: the earth. I can almost feel it now as I try to recall. But it feels more like longing. It feels more like the cells in my body reaching out for that sensation again. I look out the window now, notice a tree dancing in the breeze, and I breathe long and deep. I feel it, for a moment. My lover has come again.

definitive

A couple of people on flickr were saying (without trying to put words in their mouths, or assume too much from their comments) that this photo is BAC (definitive even?)

I think that’s interesting because one of the things I’ve been struggling with is knowing and understanding what my artistic identity is. (I hate when I end a sentence with “is”. Not suppose to do that right?) One of the many many things I love about Flickr is that I’m constantly exposed to new ideas from other photographers and artists. But, it can become problematic too.

If I’m so heavily influenced by others’ work, pushed to try new things to emulate what they do, how do I know when something I do is really coming from my artistic authenticity? How do I know when it’s merely a recycling of what those others have done?

Don’t get me wrong. I think using others’ work as a jumping off place toward trying something new is a great way for artists to learn from each other. Ultimately the goal is to then make what another is doing your own by putting your spin on it, your brand, your flavor. I guess I just whish I could pin down what my flavor is right now.

What do your think? Do you feel you have a strong sense of your own artistic identity? If yes, how do you think you have achieved that identity?  Is that something that comes and goes for you? How do you keep others’ influences as inspirations rather than taking them on as your own?

just

where I belong.

The day found us at my favorite park, where the ocean touches the land, tamed and sheltered by a network of islands. The tide was visibly moving up the shore, to our utter amazement. The last time I’d been here it had been so low the sand and stones were swamped, barnacles looked to be plaguing them, and exploring was more challenging. Now, it was chasing us.

A lesson I keep learning, over and over and over: nothing stays the same, particularly the shore. There are always newness to be found.

In another moment I had a thought sound in my mind. “It’s such a beautiful day” the words went. And I laughed out loud. The sun had been out but was behind clouds now. Most color saturation had left the air. It was gray and a cool breeze threatened goose bumps. Only I would think this  beautiful weather.

 

Looking down at my feet, in flip flops, toenails mangled by compulsive attention, resting on a weather bleached log… I knew it again, learned it again… In this location, this climate, this latitude, this community, this place… I am just where I belong. And, that feels really good.

kind of beaming

{to barrow a line from Curious Girl Lisa}

I’m bashfull but proud to say that a photo of mine has been making an appearance in blogdom the last few days, thanks in large part (I’m sure) to Creature Comforts’ post here. I’ve also seen it here, here, and here. It’s been such a boost to my confidence that I had to share it with you. After all, you’ve endured my mopeyness. Why not share in my giddiness too. 

This is the photo in question. I shot it in May of last year for the Nectar & Light photo trade  (assignment: into the light). It’s my son’s raw wood playhouse with the sun low, streaming in through a window behind the house. It was a chance shot. I just happened to notice what the sun was doing and grabbed my camera. Five minutes later the sun was too low and the moment had passed.

sensitive

But maybe if we are surrounded in beauty
Someday we will become what we see

So please be careful with me, I'm sensitive
And I'd like to stay that way

-Jewel

I’ve been thinking a lot about how emotional I am, how much turmoil I roil upon in my mind at any given time. I’ve thought, for so long, how it was evidence of damage, issues, wounds still unhealed. But I’ve begun to realize (read as hope) that it has more to do with the fact that I’m a very sensitive person. I knew that as a child, but I’d thought that the hardness of life and the calluses that have to form as a result, had grown over my heart forever. I’d no idea that they were being pealed away. So when I feel I automatically think of it as pain, because it is so deep and so personal. Maybe it’s not pain, but the robust spirit of emotion that is so intense in us as children. Maybe it’s coming back to me, thereby bringing myself back as well.

Anyway, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about.

…

I continue to try. What else is there to do but welcome your own death? “Get busy living or get busy dying.” (who said that? i can’t remember)

still blocked and brooding

I want to write. I want to shoot moonbeams from my fingertips and make magic spring from words or images, like blood pumped from arteries, evoking excitement, frenzy, fear even. I want to feel touched by something that flows from me. I want to feel my breath taken. I want passion, and deep deep feeling. If I cannot have raging, fumbling, subversive love, then I want vicious rabidity. I want to be opened up, eyes wide, to color and lust. I want to laugh with drool and tears and pain in my side. I want the quench my own thirst, and yours too. I want to live damn it, more than I know how to. 

contact love {aka a contact a week…}

I think I will showcase a flickr contact or two a week for a while. Seems a good way to share my inspirations with you.

schönwandt

ahhhhh, the tones, the focus on details, the reverence for color… Is it any wonder I love her photos so?

*** All of the photos in this post belong to schönwandt and are copyright protected by her ***

Red

My grand experiment hasn’t seemed to have worked. I still feel void of creative mojo. So, I have decided to just let it be for now, and focus on other things, like teaching myself Adobe Illustrator, and soaking up other people’s work. Word have been failing me too, so I think there will be a lot of visuals here, mostly courtesy of other fine artists.

I did do Red Thursday and want to share that with you. Red has never been a particular favorite of mine, so it was difficult to be highly inspired to find it. Plus, I was in the car pretty much the whole day (as a passenger) which didn’t afford much in the way of seeking red. Rather, I had to take what came my way.

A rather dismal showing of red, I must confess. Ah well, I tried. =0)

(The driving is due to us looking for a new rental. Our apartment’s lease in downtown is almost up and we’d really like to get into a house. We’ve looked a few places but nothing has been a perfect fit. The search continues)

I tried to do violet / purple Friday but really, there was so little of that fine color to be had, it proved futile.

Color Week

Green Tuesday – Wouldn’t you know it. I got out of the house, took about 10 photos and then my camera runs out of battery. Sigh. As you can see, save for the last one, I was pretty much scrapping the bottom of camera’s barrel. What is really ironic about that… I live in a city that’s nickname is “The Emerald City.” Common! Green was going to be so easy, so stellar. Sigh, again.

Yellow / Orange Wednesday – I charged my camera’s battery over night and amongst all the other things I had to grab on my way out the door (toddler bag, purse, camera, my jacket, his jacket, water, his juice, phone, keys, etc.) I somehow forgot to get that damn battery. So, I had to pull yellow and orange photos out of recent photo folders on my trusty computer. I wonder, will I ever stop living as though my brain is marinating in a mixture of helium and Vicodin?