Pops of bright color
belie winter gray
till the flowers come.
practicing with film, Olympus om-1 and Kodak portra 400 . . .
Still Life with Chamomile Flowers and Kiwi
One Picture/One Paragraph
Every day I move my body. I stretch, roll, bend, twist, squat, lift, balance. I practice lengthening for posture to make space between vertebrae. I do breath work to strengthen the tiny weakened muscles along my spine (hello, mulitifidus). I do all of this to maintain mobility. Sometimes the movement feels like joy—fluid and rhythmic and easeful. But sometimes it’s hard to move when I am stiff, out-of-practice, unmotivated. In my sixties, exercise is more about mobility than performance. I’m not training for a 10K or participating in a plank challenge or trying to do a pull-up. What I am trying to do is to keep moving. To maintain function so that I can continue to create. Sometimes my photography practice is similar to my movement practice. I place a few simple objects on a table and set the camera on the tripod. I practice with the digital camera to get a sense of things, and then try both the 35mm film camera and the medium format film camera. Nothing is perfect. Not the light. Not the styling of the scene. And yet, I practice anyway. What I am trying to do is keep moving forward.
Winter Porch
One Picture/One Paragraph
The home where I grew up didn’t really have a front porch, but we had a big patio off the side of the ranch-style house. The patio had a table or two, rocking chairs and lawn chairs and an old metal glider—plenty of places to sit and visit. There was almost always a gentle cross breeze as our home was situated midway between the Potomac River and Monroe Bay. In my mother’s later years, she spent most all day out on the patio, as much as the weather would allow. She could count on a steady stream of visitors as people taking their daily walks would stop for a little chat, a cold glass of water or occasionally a trip to the bathroom. The patio was where I had my first kiss. It was where my sister got married and my son had his high school graduation party. It was simply a wrap-around porch unwound and spread out. Nowadays, when I see a front porch, especially one that is clearly used, I almost always take a photograph. Memory connects us to loss and longing.
One Picture/One Paragraph
For some people, I imagine Christmas is a season to linger over. Keeping decorations up well into January must be like a cup of really good coffee at the end of a delicious meal. You never want this perfect time to end. I can understand this feeling. But not about Christmas. Too much of a good thing is just too much. Happy to give in to the feeling that things need to be put right, with order restored, I take my decorations down right away. For years, I’ve taken some good-natured ribbing about this behavior and even felt a bit ashamed. As though I had, in some way, diminished the meaning of the season by rushing it along. Nowadays, I stand firmly proud of myself for simply being myself. There is no wrong way or certain length of time to celebrate.
Christmas just a little longer