I was rushing, overwhelmed with too much on my plate and starting to gasp and sputter and run out of steam. They reached out and touched my arm, looked into my eyes, and said, “First this, then that.” We took a breath together, and I laughed. Their simple suggestion felt like the sun breaking through gloom. Of course, I was letting my mind race ahead, and it rightfully felt overwhelmed; instead, I needed to do one thing at a time to find my way from where I was to where I meant to be.

—Kathryn Nicolai, Nothing Much Happens

. . . It felt so clear,
all those invisible ties
interwoven like silken threads
strong enough to make a mesh
that for thousands of years
has been woven and rewoven
to catch us all.

—Safety Net by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Many thanks to my friend, Janice Falls for introducing me to this Heart Poem.

This is how it goes. How my mind works and how much I love the creative process.

We were in IKEA buying a platform bed and mattress for the bedroom that used to belong to my son. He’s in graduate school and the room is still his whenever he visits, but otherwise it’s a guest room. While in IKEA, I like to look at pictures and frames. I spied this lovely set of eight images, Countryside Living, framed and ready to hang, for only $38. On closer inspection, the quality of the frames and prints left something to be desired. And, as it turns out, the set was sold out at this IKEA location. I thought about ordering them online, but then decided it might be more fun to create a similar set of prints using my own photographs. What drew my eye to this collection is the color palette, the mix of subjects, and the use of space—both filled and open.

IKEA Countryside Prints

I gathered images with a similar color palette, looking for variety in texture and tone, keeping in mind that I wanted photographs that had meaning for me. I have a wall with a gallery system for displaying art in my home with 10 maple frames in a natural finish handmade by David Rathbone of Saw & Mitre. These frames are timeless in design and built to last a lifetime. Worth every penny.

I imported the photographs into Lightroom as a collection and used the print module to arrange the images to help me visualize how they would look on the wall in our den. The challenge is to make the wall come alive. I worked on the process solo and once I thought things looked pretty good, I asked for the advice of a few trusted friends and my husband, too.

As I played with the arrangement and sequencing of the photographs, swapping pictures, moving them around, I began to see the similarities between curating a collection for a wall display and editing for a photo book. Both are forms of story telling.

Wall Art for Den

Reading the Lenscratch feature, Photographers on Photographers, today, I was struck by the response Jason Fulford gave to the question, Your work has a tone of ambiguity in it, you make the audience work for understanding and meaning. How do you accomplish this?

I want to make work that keeps giving. Usually this comes together for me in the editing process, when I find combinations of pictures that fit well together in a way that I can’t explain. And then I sit on them for a while, and if they still inspire new thoughts, then they get “fixed” into place on the page.

 

I’m still sitting with these images.

And a couple of alternates.

Trying to make sense of the story laid before me.

Before they get “fixed” into place on the wall.

I picked up the cult-classic book, White Trash Cooking by Ernest Matthew Mickler, from a local thrift shop. When I flipped open the book to the middle and saw those gorgeous pictures, seeming as though they could have easily been taken by William Christenberry or William Eggleston, I was awash with love for the people and places where I grew up. Reading Mickler’s stories aloud to my ever-faithful husband as we drove along Route 17, I lapse into the easy country twang of my Mama. I can hear her voice in mine. The pictures and recipes get us started talking about our own experiences with country cooking. I remember when I went away to college, homesick and feeling out of place, the relief I felt when I made a friend from near my home. I thought I’d cry when she shared her can of potted meat spread on Ritz crackers with me.

Mickler is proud of his white trash heritage—manners, pride, and respect. And so am I.

“And what really makes us different from others is that we are “in love” with our bad times and weakest characters, we laugh at our worst tragedies, and with a gourmet’s delight enjoy our simplest meals.” —Ernest Matthew Mickler