on photography book club
Is this even about photography?
this conversation about seeking attention
and envy.
of course, it is.
only when we know ourselves
inside out
can we make what matters most.
when we stop suffering in silence,
and let the secrets surface,
then,
we are free
and every image has worth
and meaning
and something to impart.
I am between projects.
Pondering what might come next. Waiting.
I have been around this circle before. I trust that the work that is mine will come to me.
In the meantime, these Weekly Walks are becoming a small side project of their own.
I’ve happened upon this woman hiking in the Spotsylvania Battlefield several times. On a few of these occasions we’ve exchanged greetings and she’s told me she walks these trails every morning. Everything about her makes me want to be a better person. Her countenance is calm. Her hair is silver and and her smile is bright. She carries a water bottle. She wears fashionable hiking clothes. She is a mature older hiker. She makes hiking look fun. No counting steps or tracking miles. No headphones for music or podcasts, just the sounds of nature and the occasional shout out from fellow hikers. Forest bathing.
I don’t like gyms. And this looks like such a good way to take care of myself on multiple levels. I complain that it’s too cold to hike outdoors in the winter. Yesterday I bought a pair of insulated hiking leggings. I can’t wait to get started.
Sometimes I forget to be happy.
From a young age, I loved handmade quilts. I wanted to learn to sew and quilt. I took classes in my twenties and quilted for over 30 years, making and giving away many quilts. Along the way, I dabbled in applique and machine quilting and even tried my hand at a few art quilts. But my happy place was always the sweet spot where form and function meet up. The quilts I loved to make were simple and functional with an emphasis on quality every step of the way. I stopped quilting when it became too hard on my body. Too much sitting. Eye and neck strain. I don’t miss it at all. But I still live with those handmade quilts, as soft as butter, warm yet light, textured by stitches 10 to an inch.
I see parallels between my quilting and my photography. I’m still physically able to carry the camera and move about to take pictures (though I require a lot of maintenance!) When I began taking pictures, I aspired to reach the stage where I could see the beauty in my every day, ordinary life. I never wanted to create something original, only to appreciate what I already had. I didn’t need to learn any fancy techniques or buy the latest gear. I only had to dig in and do the work. And here I am again, at the sweet spot where form and function meet. The arrangement of things in the frame, making order out of chaos, pleasing to me.
It washes over me . . . that happy feeling . . . of being exactly right.
