Category Archives: photography for self discovery

Ooooh Shiny…Friday

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studiofriday

Last Friday, I had so darn much fun taking pictures of my pretty clutter (as JMacD christened it), instead of actually picking it up and putting it away, I decided to try it again.  You don’t recognize this area of my house?  Well, that’s because the “creativity” is everywhere, so unless I use it to dispense water or make fire, any spare surface is probably covered in something on its way to becoming something else.  At least that’s what I tell myself.

And I know after seeing these pictures, you will never invite me over to your house with my camera, because now you can see that I would take pictures of your stuff, too, given a few moments alone while you are fixing us coffee.  But the magic of the camera is, when you use it to take the time to notice your very own world, all your stuff has a certain delight to it….because it reminds you, you’re home.

Fall Under Water

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At the surface, water shakes
like a tree shimmers
with breeze.

But  leaves submerged below the water rest
undisturbed
float supported,
looking upwards,
still.

Clouds of Leaves

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“I wonder if I see clouds that way because my pictures are like that, or if the clouds got inside me, and took form in the pictures.”
Sr. Corita Kent, Learning by Heart

Through the magic of screwing around with a camera on a sunny afternoon, clouds can become leaves, or leaves can encompass clouds. And then Joni Mitchell might get in your head and pretty soon, you’re humming.

In Solidarity with April

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veronablue

Proof positive, I was there when the pinkness occurred in Verona, Wisconsin – April 12, 2012.

I don’t think April likes this any better than we do.

Fortune(s) Told

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now wise heart

More blatant bloggy laziness…can’t decide about my own image, so today I am throwing myself on the mercy of the crowd (you dear, kind souls who have made it your business to visit the blog despite its self-indulgency, and to throw me kisses which I catch and pocket smooch smooch smooch).  Which gypsy fortune teller do you prefer?  The hot red lady who glows with color wherever she pleases, or color abandoned for the uncompromising gleam of black and white?

PS  I believe the fortune teller can make your wish come true, wise heart – simply drop a tender thought in the comment box and I am for sure, your hearts’ desire will be granted (because your thoughtfulness will have made another someone very, very happy…)

Wordsworth.

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“Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,   60
        Hath had elsewhere its setting,
          And cometh from afar:
        Not in entire forgetfulness,
        And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come   65
        From God, who is our home…”

It is the most blatant bloggy laziness to quote from Wordsworth.  But there it is.  I did make the picture, though.

You can (and yeah, you should) read the entire thing here.  Amen.

Trees Looking Up and Down

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Occasionally it becomes obvious to me that I have no idea where I am.  Are my intentions as honest as I tell myself, or are they yet another layer distracting me from something I don’t want to say or know about myself?

It seems I like the obstacles.  White puffs drifting between the tree tops entice my heart upward more than empty blue sky.   Murky water reports the twists of light and dark with tantalizing clarity.  Uncertain which way to look, I see what I think is there and then, fearing failure, look elsewhere.

Eventually I get tired of wondering what it means, how I’ve said and done things.  I open the porch door.  The breeze gets a hold of the curtains, puffing them inward, and outward.  The house is breathing.  Birds and traffic call and respond.  With the door open, sunlight is reaching all the way to the floor, and spreading inward across the golden wood.  The light is very, very beautiful.

Song for Things Lying Around My “Studio”

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studio clearup
It’s not that easy being clean
having to spend the day tidying up all my things
when i think it could be nicer
drinking coffee or reading or thrifting
or something much less responsible like that

but clean is what i had to do
so i would be able to sleep in my room
and not  have to step over laundry on the way
to the window to take a picture
of the things that you see…

so i cleaned, and now its over, and
you still can’t really tell i did it, but i guess
it’ll have to do until i can’t
take it anymore.

Arrival

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Everyone starts with the same things:
One Papa, One Mama
Someplace to rest.
Not everyone arrives
with two hearts
beating not as One but

Always Together.

I love you Pammy!  Happy Birthday!

The Golden Door

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“I lift my lamp
Beside the Golden Door.”
Emma Lazarus

The Thai Pavillion at Olbrich Gardens isn’t subtle.  In the Grey of Spring Delayed, its roofline swoops towards the uncooperative sky in golden flashes between skeletal trees, as if the sun has descended into the clearing just beyond the Wetland Garden.  Despite its whimsy (how incongruous are gold leafed shingles alongside the unassuming, stoic ranch homes of the Upper Midwest?), the unwalled pavilion invites ponderous, attentive steps.  Even toddlers sense you are supposed to BEHAVE around this gem.

To get to the Thai Pavillion, you will cross the muddy wreck of Starkweather Creek.  You will quickly discover that the planks of the bridge reverberate with every step.  Stomp, stomp, stomp is the best way across, sending out reassuring echos of your presence into the world, and incidentally through any traveller who shares the bridge with you.

Here is the view of Starkweather Creek’s outlet to Lake Monona, from the bridge to the Thai Pavillion.  Sometimes the gateway is the mirror.