My Wild Nature

She calls to me in the depths of my slumber, enticing me to rise before the sun, to meet her at the water's edge, to play in the warm shallows as the day begins, to dry myself as the summer heat begins to rise.  Butterflies dance, alighting on the wild forget-me-nots blooming on the bank.  

She calls to me when the rains fall, asking me to meet her beneath the ancient white oak.  She weaves a wreath of vine and flower into my soaking hair.  We run through the forest hand in hand.

Roots and wings

She calls me to the edge of the bluff, the valley spread out below us and encourages me to step off.  She has given me wings to soar, and instincts to guide me on my way back home.

She calls to me when I work in my garden, digging in the soil, black dirt beneath my fingernails, smudges across my face.  My feet grow roots and they mingle with those of the rose and peony, holding the soil in place, keeping me grounded.  

My wild nature is sacred.  When she speaks, I promise to answer her call.

Until next time...

Anne

Nostalgia

I tucked those moments into the scrapbook of my mind, preserving them for safe-keeping. They were pressed carefully between the pages, which is what I had done with the single, pink rose you had given me the first time we met.  A single rose is perhaps one of the most elegant gifts one can receive.  There is abundance contained in the mysterious folds of her petals, in the tiny secrets she holds close, in the delicate sweetness of her scent, more poignant than dozens of blooms.  

Opening the door to the garden of memory

And so the memories were preserved.  Those carefree spring days in Paris, the picnic on the Quai François Mitterrand, the hidden courtyard parks in the Marais, the Pont Bir Hakeim, the Galérie Vivienne, the steps and passages in Montmartre, where all paths lead to Sacré Cœur...  In our first two weeks together, hand-in-hand we traversed the city.  

You wanted to share it all with me., all the splendor of your beloved home. We slept so deeply each night, exhausted by days filled with walking and fresh air, nights filled with moments of unleashed desire. 

Paris will never exist in my mind without you.  I learned to see her through your eyes, to taste her through your kisses, to caress her with your hands...

Timeless

The April theme for the 12.12 Project was Nostalgia.  The first photo of this post was my submission for that theme.  

Until next time... 

Anne

The story of a life

Our lives are made up of a thousand passages across the seas of birth and death, playing out again and again, in endless motion, like the movement of the hands of the clock, like the comings and goings of the seasons.  Each winter gives way to a new spring, each ending, a new beginning.  And so it goes.

There is poetry in the progression, magic in the emergence and calm in the senescence.  

Last fall I gathered some fresh crabapples, bitter, nearly inedible fruit, to use in some photos.  Their colors speaking to me of the brighter days of autumn.  I stuck them in a paper sac, along with other treasures gleaned from walks along the banks of the Seine near my home.  And there the sat, during the long, grey, Parisian winter.  

Spring came, as it always does, and with its return, the crabapples blossomed once again, pale pink blossoms, luscious crimson buds.  Wanting to capture and safeguard some of their essence, I snipped a few branches and brought them home to photograph.  

It was then that I remembered the fruits I had collected last fall.  The paper sac was still on top of my armoire, thankfully undisturbed by our curious, height-seeking kitten.  She had left my sac of treasures alone.  I pulled the crabapples out and they were completely shriveled on the stems, but, to my pleasant surprise, well-preserved.  And as you can see, a photo series was born.  

Life story, part I:  Waiting

"It is at the edge of the petal that love waits."  ~William Carlos Williams

Life story, part II:  Opening

"My body's been touched a thousand or more times, but I am craving something so much deeper than that.  I desire to be felt, right down to the core of my soul and the corners of my heart.  That's what love is all about, isn't it?  Cracking yourself open to the possibility that it could change your life."  ~ Nikki Rowe

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom."  ~ Anais Nin

Life story, part III:  Sensual decay

“Decline is also a form of voluptuousness, just like growth. Autumn is just as sensual as springtime. There is as much greatness in dying as in procreation.” 
― Iwan Goll

In this season of growth and promise and abundance, I am reminded of the fact that the wheels are forever in motion.  This prompts me to slow down and savor.  And photography gives me a vehicle for preserving the character of the moment.

Until next time,

Anne

In this space where I can breathe

The theme for the 12.12 project for the month of March was (To) Breathe.  I submitted a portion of this collage, the top two sections.  Why not the whole thing, you may be wondering.  Good question. Because it is too large to scan in one piece, and it was not until later that I realized I could actually scan the collage in a series of triptychs and merge them using Lightroom, which is what I did here.  It took me a couple of days to figure out that solution, however.  And so I am sharing the result here.  :)

In thinking about the theme, I wrote down words that I associated with it:  air, sky, blue, light, space, flight, feathers, meditation, peace, nature.  And this collage was born from wanting to capture something that embodied all of those elements, that embodied the feeling of lightness and freedom.  

Writing for me, especially writing in a journal or creating poetry, provides me with breathing space.  I inhale and gather up the words that are swimming around in the seas of my mind.  I exhale, and they flow down my arms and out through the tips of my fingers, spilling like raindrops upon the page.  

And here you see a repetition of the elements listed above, with a nod to writing and to the written word.  Each photo has a lot of negative space in it, giving an overall sense of serenity to the piece.  The center photo is an emulsion transfer onto 140# paper, made with 600 color film from the Impossible Project.  The color layer separated from the emulsion layer as I was in the process of transferring it, resulting in something that is whisper soft, barely even there, almost as invisible as the breath.

Participating in the 12.12 Project has changed my approach to making photos.  I am seeing things differently and learning how to put them together in new ways.  Inspiration creeps into my dreams, and I awaken with my head buzzing with ideas.  The theme for this coming month has me very excited too.  But you'll have to wait until the end of the month to find out exactly why.   So, stay tuned for more.  

And, in case you haven't noticed, my website has a whole new look and layout.  You may want to check out the photo galleries, which are organized by the types of cameras I used to make them, with the focus being on the polaroid sx-70; one of the greatest loves of my life is that camera.  I asked it where it had been all my life, and it replied, "Waiting here for you to discover me."  I guess in this life we come to things when we are ready for them.  And that is when the magic happens.

Until next time...

Anne