… the notion I can control everything around me. Like holding this ornament in one hand and my Nikon camera in the other, little control, but the result is pretty interesting.
… my lens is an extension of my words. I am not making fotographs with my camera, I’m spinning a tale – sometimes true, sometimes make believe. To be able to switch between words and images is a great joy.
I wish for sanctuary for us all. A place to go when we need to recharge, renew. A place where we are loved and embraced, in the company of others like us. A place to unbraid, bathe our nakedness, and let go.
Feed the soul. For some, restfulness and quietude come easy. For others, like me, we have to work at it, purposefully. I try to keep a big-ass Zulu basket of crafts, mittens, books, and dried snacks in my car for those moments I need to make a quick getaway. Find me on the beach, basket full of warm pretty things.
2016 is the year it all came crashing down: our belief in the systems that govern us, and the people who govern the facade of those systems. But like the tree in this photo, sometimes there’s a surprising beauty in fallen things.
During the solstice sunset, I was in the car driving with my daughter on the way home from college for winter break. I’d planned to pull over at one of the highway lookout points that provides views of the rural landscape to catch the day’s shift to night. I warned my family the night before: we were getting on the road before 11AM, returning books to the campus bookstore first thing, grabbing breakfast to go, spending no more than 20… Keep Reading
Him with other camera My best decision of 2016 was to indulge the craft of making photos of things I love. After a couple years toying around, I took my boyfriend’s advice and began learning how photo making works. The workshops, tutorials, and photo-blogging challenges have been a great source of comfort and generosity. I gave myself permission to cheat on my writing with the optics of story and I feel pretty good about that.
Traditions, old and new. Every year we decorate a gingerbread house for Christmas. It’s a task that begins with anticipation, spirals into my frustration and yelps when my gingerbread roof caves in or I break the icing bag tip and have to spread the icing with my finger, and ends in laughter and our eating a third of the candy sprinkles and dots reserved for the trim. I love it.
I don’t like chocolate. My ring finger is a size 4. Butterflies frighten me. I visualize letters and numbers in a specific sequence that never changes. I want a baby lamb for my emotional support animal.
First official post for my #blackgirlinbeanboots foto-blog series. And my first time deliberately taking fotos at sunset of the setting sun. So, what do you find on the waterfront at dusk? A whole buncha fotographers (and one painter with canvas) training lens and tripod to the horizon. And there I was, three big flowers, six glitter letters to spell out the word autumn, and my little wristlet camera. Quickly, I’m arranging my shit, hoping something will inspire, nothing. I look… Keep Reading