I feel as though I’m living in the best season of my life. Entering my sixties, I was hit by some health issues that knocked me flat–and for some of these I’ve had to make accommodations. But I’ve found my footing and I’m moving forward. One of the most wonderful aspects of aging is the beauty of starting over, learning new things, letting go of old teachings and ways. It feels as though I learn something new each day . . . some shift in perspective, some long-held assumption questioned and released, some new friendship forged, some book or article influence, some sweet love rekindled. The secret is to question myself deeply.

You already know I’m reading a great book, The Meaning in the Making by Sean Tucker.

Sean tells an interesting story. He had taken these stunning portraits of the Himba people of Namibia, ones that he was proud of. He was having the images printed and couldn’t resist asking the creative director who was helping him that day what he thought of his photographs. (This all took place at a high-end lab that prints for Magnum photos.) The creative director responded, “These are technically good images of very interesting people, but I don’t care about them at all.” He went on to explain that he can sense when a photographer has a connection to the work and he just didn’t get that sense from these pictures.

When Sean was honest with himself, he was able to see that he could do better. Had he made beautiful and meaningful portraits? Or had he taken serviceable pictures of beautiful people?

. . . there was further to go and deeper to dig if I were willing to take the inward journey. —Sean Tucker

We were driving along, on the way to visit my mother-in-law. The first day of autumn and there was the slightest hint of chill in the air. Sun shining at full brightness. The world divided sharply into light and dark. The camera sat on the back seat and I had no intention of taking a picture. Relaxing in the passenger seat while my husband did the driving, windows down, thoughts drifting like clouds. In this space of ease, I began to see pictures everywhere, pulling elements into the frame, composing and pressing the shutter in my mind. “Pull-over,” I direct my husband. He complies without question, parking the car along the roadside, pulling out his book to read. He knows how to wait patiently. While I fall into the deep orange hues laid out before me.

Reading the first chapter of The Meaning in the Making by Sean Tucker and falling in love with every word.

. . . we make because we are constantly trying to pull Order from Chaos.

. . . And we hope that those who experience what we’ve made will feel the truth of what we’ve shared resonate and hum within them as well. We might not even be able to put clearly, into descriptive prose what we’ve shared, but that’s the beauty of art; it’s not a medium that requires certainty.

 

Every small town in Virginia has a Dollar General Store. I often pull over there to stretch my legs. There is, surprisingly enough, often something worthy of a picture right next to the parking lot or across the street. These are not spectacular images. I don’t know that they represent any concept other than the longing we all feel for home. They simply document the day and the season and the place, and they feel really good to make.

I’m over on ViewFinders today sharing a creative conversation with one of my favorite photographers, Emily White. Emily had her debut solo exhibit, High Water, at Candela Gallery in Richmond, Virginia this year. The minute I saw her work, I knew she was someone I wanted to meet. I’m reached out and I’m so glad I did.

Check out my interview with Emily on ViewFinders. And please take a look at the video, Tintypes in the Field, where you’ll see Emily out and about, making art that will make your heart sing. Her vision is something to behold.

Em sorts through prints