What The Heart Wants

Many thanks to my dear friend Jan Falls for introducing me to this poem today. The poem made me think about what my own dear heart wants. A long hot shower with soap that smells like the forest; a soft bed and a good night’s sleep; my husband’s hand to hold; a slice of pie and two forks; a bike ride, a swing or a meandering photo walk; music on the radio. My heart is grateful with just enough.


They Say the Heart Wants

what it wants, but no one tells you what it gets.
So here’s a list, mine: tall grasses, blowing in the wind,

swirled glass cups, peacock blue, bought in Lebanon.
Fog off the California cliffs, dark boulders on the shore.

Billie Holiday’s I’ll be seeing you in all the old
familiar places, cycling through my auditory cortex.

Dogs pulling at the leash. Small white plates
of wild greens and beets. The time a man kissed

my hand when we met, then pressed my palm
to his cheek. Sei Shonagon’s eleventh-century list

of Things That Give One a Clean Feeling: an earthen cup,
a new metal bowl, a rush mat, the play of light on water

as one pours it into a vessel, a new wooden chest.

To which I add a drawer of beeswax candles,

steam rising from a pot of tea. So much stored
in the heart’s farthest chambers. And though

he’s been dead for decades now, I still feel the kiss.
My whole arm shivers with its half-life.

– by Danusha Laméris

Art Appreciation

Personal and creative growth sometimes come with a sudden flash of insight as though a light switch has flipped. But often growth comes in small waves like quiet awakenings in the middle of the night. You might simply roll over and go back to sleep or you might choose to get up and follow that impulse or thought.

Lately, I have felt this way. As though I’m being introduced to some part of myself that I have never met before. A part I did not know existed. I often hear the advice that old age is a time when we might return and find again the joyous child inside. We might actually give ourselves permission to have fun. And yet, I have found this exercise difficult. I do not easily recall a carefree childhood. And fun is not a word I would I would use to describe myself.

But when I study my creative work, that perception is challenged. There is evidence to the contrary. Perhaps I have been defining fun too narrowly. When I think of pleasure or relaxation or enjoyment, I always think of making or interacting with art in some form—cooking, music, movement, reading, watching, photography, hiking and walking in nature, handcrafts, and the like.

The more I study the photographs of others, the more I come to see the value of my own. I see through their eyes that I was indeed seeing something meaningful. It’s as though I need that reassurance to trust my own instincts, and while I wish that were not so, I treasure it still. Because now I can see for myself. I can stand back and take inventory of who I am, what I reflexively do, and how I might be instinctively tempted to side step discomfort. This self-knowledge helps me to avoid pitfalls (those stubborn forms of avoidance) and lay the ground work for success in my personal life and my creative life.

Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Edward Hopper Exhibit | Donna Hopkins, 2020

I came across a collection of moving photographs of people admiring art by way of Miss Moss, The Louvre and its Visitors.

“Brazilian photographer Alécio de Andrade lived in Paris for almost 40 years; working as a press reporter, Paris correspondent of the weekly Manchete and also as an associate member of Magnum Photos. But it was his photos of everyday life that had a certain magic element to them – beautifully capturing moments in the lives of couples, people, children, and animals. In 1992 he was awarded a grant to produce a photography book on the Louvre Museum, where he had been taking photos since 1964…

Photographer, but also poet, pianist and friend of writers and musicians around the world, Alécio de Andrade wandered the rooms of the Louvre Museum for nearly thirty-nine years, starting in 1964. From these walks, he left 12,000 photos. Each framing seems like a theatre scene in which we would be spectators over the artist’s shoulder and where the visitors would be the actors.” —Diana Moss

I have taken many photographs in this genre—museum visitors admiring art. I am fascinated by the quiet depth with which people experience art, how they find meaning, the emotions they feel, and what draws their eye. I find the connection between the viewer and the art to be as moving as the art itself, and oftentimes, even its own new creation. It feels good to be alive in this way.

Today's History Lesson

My husband is a history enthusiast, and because he supports my passions, I support his. We have stopped to read almost every historical marker between our home and anywhere we travel. We have hiked battlefields and visited museums, stopped at visitor centers and kiosks, listened to park rangers tell the stories of lands and people from long ago, and studied the nature of and within the places wherever we roam.

Spotsylvania Battlefield | Donna Hopkins, 2023

I admit that I am not as enamored of history as my husband is—having found the subject incredibly boring in school. The memorization of dates and events without context or story felt like punishment and my aim was simply to get through the course with a passing grade. But photography opens the doors for my learning and growth in ways I seldom see coming.

Today’s Sunday Edition of Photosnack features photographer, Owen Davies. His advice really hit home.

Recently, I’ve been learning to trust my intuition more when it comes to creating images. I’m trying not to question why I’m taking a photograph of something when I feel compelled to raise the camera to my eye and press the shutter.

I’ve been making visual work in some capacity or other for nearly 15 years now, so I’d like to think I have developed a good sense for an image. If my brain is telling me to take a photo in the moment, I’m taking it as a sign that there’s something there, even if I’m not entirely sure what it is yet!

I searched for Owen’s original feature on Photosnack #421 (December 17, 2024) and discovered his website. I absolutely fell in love with his work. Especially his story, The Great Outsiders. Here’s a little background.

During the prosperous 1950s, visitation to national parks grew significantly as more Americans could afford and had the time to take vacations. Most traveled by automobile, which expanded the range of locales available for family vacations and made it easier to reach remote parks. The increased visitor traffic placed considerable strain on the outdated facilities at most parks. In 1956, the National Park Service designed a billion dollar project, the Mission 66 program, to restore park infrastructure and services.

In studying the architecture of Owen’s photos, The Great Outsiders, and reading about his project, I immediately recognized the modernist style of the buildings, including the Visitor Centers and Kiosks at National Park Battlefields in my area. I also knew right away that I had a few pictures in my archives of these locations.

Wilderness Battlefield Visitor Center | Donna Hopkins, 2021

Like Owen, I simply raised the camera to my eye and pressed the shutter. I knew I was drawn to this style and to these scenes, but I had no idea why. The photos remained in the shadows of my hard drive, waiting for me to recognize their worth and meaning.

The Great Outsiders documents remaining visitor centers from the Mission 66 era, exploring the under-appreciated beauty of these outposts of suburbia and their presence in a modern parks system looking to move on. —Owen Davies

Thank you to Tomasz Trzebiatowski, the founder of FRAMES, and to Owen Davies, for the wonder of Sunday morning magic, where there is time for creative exploration and new growth.