My Wild Nature: One Woman's Quest for Connection with the Sacred

I will be doing a very long series of posts on this theme, as I am working on a book that pairs photos and text exploring this theme.  The following is an excerpt from the first Chapter in the book:

What is the Sacred?

“Reclaiming the sacred in our lives naturally brings us close once more to the wellsprings of poetry.” ― Robert Bly

I see the sacred in connections, some tangible, I hold them in my hands and turn them over with my fingers; some not, being ethereal, amorphous, or even liquid.  They lack the three dimensional boundaries that often define our reality.  I have an awareness of the invisible threads that touch and bind us all, human, animal, plant, mineral, spirit.  In sacred moments, where a sense of grace pervades, I feel more deeply connected to my core self than ever, and yet I realize how tiny this life is, how fragile, how ephemeral.  I am aware of all who have come before me and those who will come after.  I am aware of those whose passage was even shorter than mine, who left this world too soon.  I am in awe of the passage of time and those beings who live longer than the span of a human life.  I am also filed with wonder at those tiny beings whose lives are over in the blink of my eye.  All living things have consciousness.  Theirs is no loss viable than mine, even though it may be of shorter duration.  

My whole life has been spent in pursuit of holding onto bits of my wild nature, my self beyond the facade that others may see with just a glance.  I am more than the color of my hair or the size of my breasts.  I am more than the length of my legs or the color of my skin.  I am more than my age or my gender.  My heart beats wildly I'm when in the woods and the rain is falling, dripping from the ends of my long hair, soaking me to the bone.  My hands long to touch the bare earth, to feel dirt underneath my fingernails as I gently place a tiny seedling into a bit or prepared earth.  My feet long to walk through the freshly cut grass as the scent reminds me of days of my childhood summers.  My ears long to hear the sound of water, crashing on the beach, tumbling over rocks in a brook, falling softly as tears of grief on grey autumn mornings.  My wild nature seeks sensual and sensorial experiences.  She craves them.  They nourish and sustain her.

“My Wild Nature...” is an attempt to retain these connections and to remind myself of these experiences which make me feel whole and alive, to welcome bits of the natural world into my daily life, into my home, into my psyche.   And so I tap into that wellspring of poetry of which Robert Bly speaks, bringing it into being with twists of phrase, woven with memories and dreams, given another dimension when paired with visual metaphors.

All of these photos are shot with a Polaroid 110A camera, a camera several years older than I am, and with expired Polaroid 664 film.  The nature of expired film and the fact that film for this camera is becoming increasingly rare and more expensive with each passing day, makes this series more poignant and precious to me.  

This series, which is an idea I began to flirt with more than 2 years ago, explores my active and on-going search to remain connected to these core elements within myself and within the natural world.  Modern life forces us to disconnect from the natural rhythms.  We connect to keyboards and touch screens and to people with whom we may never actually hold a face-to-face conversation.  There is a sense of reality and unreality about the whole world that exists on the internet.  It creates a sense of separateness from the rest of nature… man versus nature, man versus beast.  In creating this series, I strive to break down these barriers that separate us and to remember that in the end, we are all made of stardust.  We are all golden.  No one life is more important than any other...  

Until next time....

Anne

Intimacy

These are not my words, thought I wish I had written them:

“You ask
if I will write a poem
I could,
I suppose
write the most
splendiferous
one of all

but not
right
now
not when

your hands
are brewing
warm
cinnamon tea
across my skin

not when I’m
trying to imagine
what might happen
if you began
flowering
kisses
upon
me

My dear,
how can
I write
a poem
when I’m already
inside one?” 
― Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos

Sigh....  Until next time...

Anne

Resurrecting Jezebel

Artist's Statement for my new series: 

Women receive the message from a very young age that their bodies are not their own.  They exist for the pleasure of others; their role is to be pretty and pleasing, easy on the eyes.  And the standards for what ideal beauty is become narrower and more unrealistic all the time.  In adulthood, women again receive the message that their bodies are not their own.   Choices regarding their bodies, such as access to birth control, their right to choose to terminate a pregnancy, are regulated by male law-makers, and are still very controversial issues.  Being female is seen as a liability by insurance companies, further reinforcing the second class status of women.  Their bodies may be considered the property of their husbands, boyfriends, partners.  They may be told how to dress, how to wear their hair, when they "need" to lose weight.  And their choices may be dictated by officials in the church, who affirm the notion that the function of women is to serve men and to pay for the sins of their mothers.  Any one remember that apple?  

Women who take pleasure in their bodies and in their sexuality are seen as "sluts."  If we don't find sex to be enjoyable, we are "frigid."  Or if our orientation is toward other women, it is because we haven't had a "real man" before.    

When a girl or a woman is sexually assaulted, she may lose all connection with her body, which is the site of her wounds, though they are most likely the type that leave scars on her psyche rather than on her body.  The body is still the site of the trauma, and the body holds those memories in its cells.  Instead of seeing her body as the temple that is is and something sacred and valuable, she sees it as the source of her pain.  She may lose touch with her sexuality, which she has come to see as something dangerous.  Her sexuality may have been blamed by her or by others for whatever evil was done to her. "If you weren't so attractive, so hot, so inviting, this wouldn't have happened.  It's not my fault.  I couldn't help myself.  You came onto me..."  And she is left thinking, "I came onto you?  Really?  I was only eight years old..."  
  
Using a Polaroid 110A camera and expired Polaroid 669 film, this series explores the myth of Jezebel, the woman who led men to worship false gods by virtue of her unrestrained sensuality,  It explores connotations of the "loose woman."  The expired film and vintage camera give the series the effect of an underwater dream sequence.  "Resurrecting Jezebel" is a rejection of the notion that women exist only to be admired for their physical beauty.  It is a rejection of the male gaze which has dominated the world of art since time immemorial.  It is a rejection of the notion that feminine sexuality is dangerous and needs to be subjugated.  And it reflects the process of healing, of reclaiming what has been stolen, of learning to be present in the body, in the moment, learning to appreciate the gifts that healthy sexuality can bring.

Until next time...

Anne

I always wanted to be a fairy...

“As for denying the existence of fairies, good and bad, you have to be blind not to see them. They are everywhere, and naturally I have links of affection or dislike with all of them. The wealthy, spendthrift ones squander fortunes in Venice or Monte Carlo: fabulous, ageless women whose birthdays and incomes and origins nobody knows, putting charms on roulette wheels for the dubious pleasure of seeing the same number come up more often than it ought. There they sit, puffing smoke from long cigarette-holders, raking in the chips, and looking bored. Others spend the hours of darkness hanging their apartments in Paris or New York with Gothic tapestries, hitherto unrecorded, that drive the art-dealers demented-gorgeous tapestries kept hidden away in massive chests beneath deserted abbeys and castles since their own belle epoque in the Middle Ages. Some stick to their original line of country, agitating tables at seances or organizing the excitement in haunted houses; some perform kind deeds, but in a capricious and uncertain manner that frequently goes wrong, And then there are the amorous fairies, who never give up. They were to be seen fluttering through the Val Sans Retour in the forest of Broceliande, where Morgan la Fee concealed the handsome knight Guyomar and many lost lovers besides, or over the Isle of Avallon where the young knight Lanval lived happily with a fairy who had stolen him away. Now wrinkled with age, the amorous ones contrive to lure young men on the make who, immaculately tailored and bedecked with baubles from Cartier, escort them through the vestibules of international hotels. Yet other fairies, more studious and respectable, devote themselves to science, whirring and breathing above tired inventors and inspiring original ideas-though lately the unimaginable numbers,the formulae and the electronics, tend to overwhelm them. The scarcely comprehensible discoveries multiply around them and shake a world that is not theirs any more, that slips through their immaterial fingers. And so it goes on-all sorts and conditions of fairies, whispering together, purring to themselves, unnoticed on the impercipient earth. And I am one of them.” 
― Manuel Mujica Láinez, The Wandering Unicorn

And maybe I am one of them afterall  :)

Until next time...

Anne

Eugenia Morphea

Broken, torn, tattered wings....

I wonder if they feel phantom pains,

like limbs that have become paralyzed,

those impulses and spasms and aches 

that seize us in our sleep,

that awaken us with an embrace that burns and screams,

"Don't forget me.  I am still here."  

I wonder if they guard deep in hollow spaces of their cells

the memories of flight.

the freedom they once knew as they stretched and raised and lowered

these wings, propelling a body through the air,

riding the wind currents of dreams and desire.

Of Angels and Insects:  Memories of Flight

Until next time...

Anne

"Of dangerous and noble things..."

“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings.”

― Mary Oliver, Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays

Of dangerous and noble things...

Until next time....

Anne

Reconstructed photos

One of the best things about instant photography is the way the film lends itself to being manipulated by hand.  These techniques can be challenging, but they also a great part of the charm of this type of photography.  That is one of the things that allows us to make truly one-of-a-kind pieces of art.  

So, today, I will show you an example of "before" and "after."  Let's start with after.  I happen to find it more interesting, but you can judge for yourself.  

Des fleurs de mon jardin  (Some flowers from my garden)

This photo collage was made by placing washed, positive, color transparencies over the top of black and white base photos, one that was just a photo of lace, the other, hand-written text.  The pansies had been pressed, and when dried, attached to the photos to playfully echo the little pots of pansies in the foreground of each photo.  I like the softness of the colors and the dreamy mood given by the transparencies.

Next, the originals...

Languid morning

And while I love the golden tones of these photos, the others images send my imagination on a voyage in a way that is completely different.  I like how the flowers and the body flow into one another, as if the legs had become the stem, or the flowers had become the torso and the face. It further reinforces the metaphor of femininity as a flower, playing on juxtapositions of strength and fragility, on the ephemeral nature of the life of all things.   

These photos are stripped down to their bare essence and rebuilt, thanks to the magic of scotch crystal tape.  Reconstructing photos with transparencies, playing with different compositions, layering them over different photos, depending on how I am feeling that given day, all of this hands-on work is one of my favorite parts of instant photography.  I love seeing the white stuff that separates the positive and negative halves of the photo come off with a wipe from the sponge.  I like the smooth feel of the transparencies after they have dried.  And I love the process of arranging and changing things around, of rebuilding photos again and again as new possibilities emerge.  And in this case. the possibilities truly are endless.  

Until next time...

Anne

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

When words take flight

When words take flight.

So does our imagination.  By leaving for awhile, by getting lost in the poetry or prose in front of our eyes, we come home to ourselves in a deep and true way.  We find ourselves in the writing of others.  That may be one of the most lovely paradoxes of all.  

Until next time.  May you find yourself swept away by the flow of images and memories and sentiments, born on the tip of the pen as it scrawls across the sheet of paper.

Anne

When Angels Fall (Part II)

We fall and yet we rise again.

Grief comes in like the tide, waves knocking us down, washing over us, sometimes drowning us with their intensity.  We feel the pull of the undertow.   We hold our breath with each bombardment and wait for the waters to rescind.  Once they have gone, we lay spread out on the sand, drenched, salt water mingled with tears.  

We begin again to feel the breath in our lungs.  We wiggle our toes and fingers, joyous at discovering that we still have the capacity to move them.  The sun appears through parted clouds and warms our weary bodies.  Each breath in helps us recover the connection to ourselves.  Slowly, our strength returns.  Our confidence returns, and with it, our desire to begin anew.  

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We fall and yet we rise again

Until next time...

Anne

The 12.12 Project

I am very honored to be among the twelve talented women participating in this year's 12.12 Project (http://www.the1212project.com/), a collective of women's instant photography.  The project was started by photographer Penny Felts three years ago as a way to creatively challenge herself, to motivate and inspire both herself and other photographers.  

The concept is simple:  There are twelve photographers, who propose twelve themes, for the twelve months of the year.  At the end of the month, we share our creations for that month and that particular theme.  There is also a men's project that follows the same premise.

The first month's theme is an introduction with a self-portrait.

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And so this is my profile photo.  It was made with a Polaroid sx-70 sonar camera.  This is an excellent SLR camera with which I fell instantly in love.  It is now difficult for me to bring out any other camera when I am shooting!  The dream-like quality of the images and the imprecise focus takes me out of the hard edges of everyday life into a place where all is soft, fluid, supple.  The dried hydrangea blooms were added to the exterior of the photo to reinforce the romantic quality, to add depth, and to speak of the passage of time.  

I invite you to follow along on facebook :  https://www.facebook.com/The1212Project/ or Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/the12.12project/.  

There is so much talent among these woman, I cannot overstate how thrilled I am to be among them.  These are the very photographers who inspired me to get into instant photography in the first place!  I feel like a little kid at the big kids' table, but I am holding my own.  

Stay tuned for more instant photos and musings.  Until next time...

Anne

The curve of her shoulder

The arc of the back of her neck, the little hollow just beneath the line of her jaw...

Her hair pulled loosely into a chignon, she leaned forward on the bed. I stood in the doorway behind her, watching the way the light fell on her shoulder, noticing how her velvet skin stood  against the texture of the lace chemise she was wearing.  Despite the mirror across from her, she did not yet know I was there, swimming in the depths of a reverie of her own.  I tiptoed across the parquet and breathed into her ear, "I want to kiss you as softly as this light falling on your skin. May I?"  

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"You can try," she replied, "but I'm not confident you'll succeed.  The late afternoon light is so faint, I can barely feel it."

I leaned in even closer, exhaling slowly as my lips approached her neck, she shivered.  I lingered there, grazing her skin with my lips, losing myself in her scent and the heat that was radiating from her body.  Not wanting to break the spell, neither of us spoke, neither of us moved....

Until next time...

Anne

Polaroids

It's been awhile since my last post, and for that I apologize.  Thank you for your patience and your fidelity.  I appreciate you, dear Reader.  Communication requires a sender and a receiver.  Thanks for being on the receiving end of my musings.

For my birthday this year, I received a polaroid spectra camera.  Yes, a polaroid... from the 1980's.  It has been refurbished, and happily, when polaroid stopped manufacturing film for its many cameras, other companies, such as the Impossible Project, stepped in to fill that void.  I had done a lot of research on the different models of old polaroids that are available.  They are like guitars in some ways; each individual camera is somewhat different.  Despite basic similarities, there are subtle differences and nuances in the images they take.  Mine seems to have a signature pale blurring of the sides of the photos and some great vignetting.  And every pack of film produces different results too.  When you begin to shoot with expired film, the effects can be extraordinary!  I haven't yet tried expired film, but for polaroid shooters, it is the holy grail.  Some day soon, I'll find some online and eagerly try it out.  

All of this is to say that when shooting with a polaroid, as compared to a digital single lens reflex camera, the photographer has much less technical control, but the results straight out of the camera are much more artistic.  One can not achieve the exact same effects with software or photo manipulation.  It is just not possible.  I love the vintage look, the colors, the ghosts of the past that seem to appear on the film.  And I love that I can hold these photos in my hands.  They seem more real somehow than images on a computer screen.

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Tulips

The colors are soft and dreamy.  The focus is soft too, there are not a lot of details, but I love that effect.

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On the sofa

The black and white photos have warm undertones.  This film too, produces a general softness and vintage look that makes me swoon.

This has been a real learning experience for me.  I have ruined many images in the past two months since shooting polaroids.  There have been many failures as I learn the boundaries of my frame.  For self-portraits, you have to know the limits of your field of view.  It's easier when shooting someone or something else.  I am also learning how to work with the 10 second timer (compared to a remote control I use for my digital camera which fixes the focus point very precisely).  This is also not an easy thing to do, to set the timer, get into position, and assume a pose that is correct, all within 10 seconds.  It's a sprint.

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Bouquet of weeds

A fine example of a lack of understanding the boundaries of my frame is the photo above, a double exposure, where my hand is visible in the bottom leftIt was supposed to be outside of the frame.  I love the effect of the double exposure, however.  The softness is an invitation to reverie. 

I have been experimenting a bit with double exposures, which is the reason why I selected this particular model in the first place.  It easily makes double exposures, providing an infinite number of creative possibilities.

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Coming and going

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Abundance

So, in my absence from posting here, I have been learning a new skill, flexing my photographic muscles.  This new adventure in photography has been exhilarating.  

I am so grateful for those who have contributed to the cause and bought film for me, like my mom and my sweetie, Santa Claus.  On Instagram there is a hashtag, "staybrokeshootfilm," and that about sums up the life of an instant photographer.  

Needless to say, I am already hooked and looking at other models of polaroids, looking at old film cameras that support a polaroid back, searching for expired packs of film...  The possibilities are endless.

Stay tuned for more polaroid love in the coming weeks.  Until next time...

Anne

Self-Help

We hold all the answers to the questions that keep us awake in the middle of the night.  We know what we need to do:  

We need to take ourselves by the hand, gently, reassuringly, and lead ourselves through the darkness,

down the heavily forested path,

past the green briars and the rambling roses,

past the ancient shagbark hickory that regularly sheds its skin,

past the carpet of moss, thick as a mattress warm and soft in the dappled sunlight....  

to the clear waters of the creek.

 Standing there.... as the shallow waters roll over and around us,

as they caress our tired, bare feet,

as the songs of the forest birds fill our ears...

there we can breathe again.  

With every breath a wave of healing washes over us,

every exhale affirms what we need to know.  

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Take my hand

Trust yourself.  In the quiet moments, your heart is open, waiting for you to dive in and recover the treasures hidden in the deep.

"“Your heart is the size of an ocean. Go find yourself in its hidden depths.” 
― Jalaluddin Rumi

Until next time...

Anne

Petticoats

A photographic study of body language.... 

and innocence...

and sensuality.

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Waiting for your return

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The spaces in between light and shadow

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The waltz of my wandering imagination

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Discretion?

We have the ability to communicate so much, while saying so little.

I notice that I am typically drawn to the same themes again and again in my work.  Perhaps you have noticed that too (I am sure you have, perceptive reader).  Body language, particularly the way we speak with our legs fascinates me.  Typically one thinks of legs in terms of the actions they perform, walking, running, climbing stairs, dancing, crossing and uncrossing as we sit, stretching out as we lie down.  In each of these movements, in the way they are executed, in the deliberate movements and pauses, in the contracting of muscles, in the angles of the body, there is communication.  Sometimes we express a need for movement, a need for space, a need to get something done.  Other times, we express a need to be touched, a need for tenderness, a need for connection in the form of gentle invitation.

These photos also explore an innocent material, white cotton lace, and play up the sensuality of this timeless, ultimately feminine material against bare skin.  And legs, with their long lines, their musculature, their graceful curves, are inherently sensual.  Both sexes fall a pair of lovely legs.  In these photos, deliberate use of light and shadow along with processing in black and white, heavily vignetted and contrasted, serve to reinforce the femininity and the sensuality of the poses, while adding a little dose of mystery.

Sometimes the most effective way to communicate is to simply say nothing at all. 

Until next time...

Anne

When Angels Fall

 Perhaps it is the time of the year.  The grey skies, the rainy days, the leaves blowing across the landscape... Autumn always puts me into a reflective, introspective mood.  October 31 is also the birthday of my son, who died eight years ago, and so inevitably this time of year, my thoughts turn a little more somber.

Last week I began creating a new series entitled, "When Angels Fall."  I wanted to convey some emotions I have relating to life and death, change and rebirth, grief.  There are, as always in my more intimate photos, bits of vulnerability and love thrown into the mix as well.  There are things we hold onto, things we cling to desperately when change is forced upon us.  We resist what is happening, for it is simply too much to bear.  This resistance is natural for a time, and is what grief is really all about.  In the process of grieving, we move through this resistance, and finally we come to acceptance.  These photos provide tiny glimpses of that process. 

Eight years later, many losses and changes later, I am still making sense of it all.  I have come to accept what has happened and learned to live with them, incorporating them into my being, but I notice that the way I relate to these losses now is very different than it was in the beginning.  We grieve at so many levels, and our relationship to grief over time.  The things that were prominent or very important at the beginning become diminished later on, and new things come to the fore.  

Fortunately I have photography to help me continue to make sense of my experiences.

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You were here... Once

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Fallen

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Vestiges

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Vestiges II

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The sleep of angels

Sam Beam, songwriter and frontman for the band Iron and Wine is someone whose writing I find to be gripping, compelling, profoundly moving. in his song "Over the Mountain."  He writes, "Mother, remember when I breathed through your body..."  Yes, I do remember.

As the series develops further, I will be sharing more of the photos here.

Until next time...

Anne

"You should smile more..."

Sometimes I receive comments on the photos that I share on a social media photosharing website from well-intentioned, kind, concerned people who says things like, "You should smile more often in your photos." Or, "Why do you always look so sad?"  Or even, "Are you okay?  I am worried about your mental health."  I have been asked to post photos in color so that the person would know that I was doing okay.  The same people make similar comments about my "evident" sadness when I am the model for another photographer, my sweetie, when he is the creative director who asks me to strike a certain pose or have a certain expression in a photo.   

And while I appreciate the concern from friends, I have to say that these comments bother me a bit too.  My photos, while they represent a capacity I have to feel and express certain emotions, they are not a daily journal of my current emotional state.  They are designed to evoke a mood or a memory, created to tell a story, to arouse emotion in the viewer.  When done right, the photo can be haunting or piercing, questioning, or pensive.  It can express longing, loneliness, grief, melancholy.  Sometimes it just portrays a state of being deep in thought, of daydreaming.  It also seems some people have a hard time detecting the subtle nuances in expressions captured in photos.  They notice the lack of a smile but not the softness around the eyes or mouth.  It is as if they lump portraits into two simplistic categories:  happy and sad, missing all the variety of emotion in between.  If a photo makes a person a bit uncomfortable, in my opinion, that's good!  It means I have done my job as an artist, which is to give rise to an emotion.  If a photo makes us feel something, then it is a piece of art.  Art is supposed to make us feel.  

I happen to be someone who is drawn to music that is achingly sad, soft, melodic.  I adore Chopin as much as I adore Lisa Hannigan or Great Lake Swimmers.  The photographic art that moves me is usually in black and white and very atmospheric, highly emotional.  It's often filled with melancholy.  I like books that explore love and loss.  There is poetry and beauty in the shadows.  We need them as much as we need the light.

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Lost in Translation

When I create a photo, for the purpose of story-telling or giving a visual expression to an emotion, I am playing a role.  I put on a costume, style my hair in a certain way, I pose a certain way, in order to bring a character, a story, to life.  It's acting.  Art is supposed to be dramatic!  Most of the time I have an image in my head for the photo I want to make before I set up the scene or even step in front of the camera.  These photos are planned and composed in my imagination ahead of time.  They are researched and fine-tuned.  They are not "selfies" which is another comment that annoys me, but that is a post for another time.  

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Longing for your return

When a photographer makes self-portraits, viewers project many things onto the photographer/model, perhaps more so than in other art media.  Other artists who make self-portraits have told me they experience the same genre of comments on their work.  We make self-portraits for a variety of reasons.  Often times it is simply because when we have time to shoot, we are always available, when another model is not. And so we put ourselves into the scene, we write ourselves into the story.  Ansel Adams said that every photo is, in reality, a self-portrait.  Something to think about.  

 As part of my growth process as an artist, I need to remind myself that their projections are theirs, and I do not have to let their discomfort make me uncomfortable.  There are those who understand what I do, and they appreciate it.  Those who don't get it, well, I need to allow them that and not allow it to bother me.  All of this touches on the vulnerability and risk of judgment that comes from making art and putting it/yourself "out there."  This journey is not for the faint of heart.   

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I would like the thank my friend, Chrystal, for suggesting that I write about this subject and for being a huge source of both support and inspiration.  She is an exceptional photographer and a beautiful soul.  Please do yourself a favor and check out her exceptionally evocative, work.  Her plays with light and shadow, pose and texture are endlessly fascinating.   

You can find some of Chrystal's work here:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/cris717/with/29518870025/.  

Thanks for reading.  Until next time...

Anne