casting shadows

There's a gorgeous garden near me. A great, circular thing in the middle of a field, with a trellis that outlines the edge. It's built on a platform with huge stones lining the outer raised edge, and circling the garden is a labyrinth built out of lavender. It's stunning when you're in it and an aerial view is even more incredible.

In this garden are herbs, wildflowers, cultivated flowers. The herbs are used in foods produced and sold onsite. The harvested lavender can be bought by the bag.

I love to watch this garden make its transformations throughout the seasons. The activity--both the garden's tenders and the bees and insects that feed off of it--both inspires and amazes me.

For this image I became a part of the shadows of the trellis, stretching over the lavender in the late evening light. The light is long right now as we've just passed the summer solstice. I love these long days when it feels like there is plenty of time for everything.

I'm still here, and self portrait #42

It's not that I got bored with this project, or that I wanted to let Jane down, or that I'm too busy (we're all too busy, that's a lame excuse), or that I can't stand taking pictures of myself, etc.

It's that I'm really good at starting and stopping things. I get a great idea, or I make a commitment to someone else's great idea, but I'm lousy at follow through and fairly decent at excuses. Or, maybe not excuses, but allowing the things that must be (work, bills, the boring commitments) to be excuses for the things I want to do but end up slacking off on. Does that make sense?

Okay, and I'll admit to a little bit of self-loathing here. I mean, I look at myself and see the flaws, the expansion of my body, the changes age is making in my face. And I've taken care to post some more creative or flattering images of myself here, but I actually committed to showing me. I really, truly, intended at the beginning of this to show me. I'm not entirely sure I've been honest.

Anyway, my supervisor asked for a photo of each of us on my team. It was for a project and she needed it right away and, she said, it had to show my face. I quickly combed through the images I have of myself. No one takes pictures of me, so I went through the ones I've taken for this blog. Too artsy, no face, shadows, not for work, etc. Since I work from home and I'm rarely dressed like someone who goes to an office (even a very casual one), I didn't think it made sense to look like anyone other than myself. I waited for the evening light, took my tripod and camera down the dune a tiny bit, and photographed myself on the stairs heading down to Lake Michigan. I only took a dozen photos, trying different positions (standing, sitting, closer to the camera, farther). I didn't soften my skin or mess with tone, color, or contrast.

This is where I am, what I do, what I look like.

And this is post number 42 of 52. The countdown is on.

Enough is Enough

Here we are, number 52. The final photo and blog post from me for this project. It has been an interesting journey. I have discovered many things about myself and about a lot of you as well. I am humbled by the kind words I have received. Thanks to all of you who have supported and encouraged me on this journey. This last image is special to me. To create it, I had to enlist the help of two people who I love very much, in a city that I love very much. Doing something I love very much. I find it compelling that I end this project with a post about an issue I have written about a few times before. It may be the same issue but I think my conclusion about it is a bit different. I hope you like it.

I had the immense honor of sitting in Circle with some courageous women a few weeks ago on the shores of Lake Huron. At one point we spoke about ourselves and one of my Circle Sisters; whom I love and admire for her creativity, intelligence, beauty, and fun loving personality, spoke about her feelings of inadequacy. Her honesty struck a chord with me. I am lucky to know a lot of amazing women. Women who are strong, funny, gorgeous beacons of light, who contribute so much to their families and their community. Yet when I talk to them, I hear words coming out of their mouths that I have said to myself. 

"I wish I could do more."

"But (insert name here) is so much better at it than I am."

"I'm not creative."

"You're only saying that because you love me."

"I wish I was different."

"Oh, I hate it when I (insert marvelous trait of theirs)."

What it boils down to is that we don't believe we are good enough. We don't honor our abilities the way we honor the ability of others. We question our worth. 

Ever since that lovely Friday morning, I have been contemplating this. Asking myself why? Why do we find it so hard to  see the awesome in us? Why do we believe ourselves to be less than, insufficient, inadequate? 

Then I realized, there are many reasons for this. We each have our own story, our own path. Maybe the why doesn't even matter. 

Maybe what matters is that we need to really listen when people tell us how much they love us. We need to believe them when they tell us how great they think we are. And in turn, we need to speak out to others about how great we think they are. Share the love, in honesty and with care. 

I know that looking outside for validation is not the way we come to truly love ourselves. That has to be something that comes from inside. But what I'm saying here is that letting down your guard a little, taking a compliment to heart, allowing yourself to really hear what your friends and family love about you; all of this can be catalysts to shedding our harsh views of ourselves. Try seeing yourself through the eyes of someone who believes in you. Admit that you are loved. That you are indeed special and cherished. Take it in and feel it. Don't throw any of it away.

Keep it. 

Believe it. 

Honor it. 

So the next time my husband looks me in the eyes, touches his hand to my cheek and tells me I'm beautiful, or talented, or funny; instead of denying it or dismissing it, I will hold it. Like the precious treasure that it is. That I am.

I am loved. 

I am special.

I am cherished. 

I am the only me that ever will be. 

I am more than enough. 

And so are you. 

Can I Be Both?

This started out as something completely different. I've had this idea for a while now. I'd wear a nice dress, put on heavy makeup, look more "polished" than is normal for me. Then I thought, get those cool 1940s curtain panels that are in the basement. Hang them up. Stand in front of them. Get a light bulb, do a long exposure with the light bulb swinging. It'll all come together and look awesome.

Well, after two hours of shooting I decided to stop. There were many tries and fails. Or maybe not exactly fails, but certainly not the look I had envisioned. I was frustrated and felt I'd wasted my time. I was angry at myself for not being able to reproduce the vision I had in my head.

I went to that place I often find myself when things aren't going the way I want them to go.
That place of doubt. That place where I'm a big nobody with no talent. That place where mistakes are never forgiven. That place I'm so familiar with. That place where all the negative things I hold about myself live.

It's a place I mostly keep to myself. I skirt the edges of it in conversations with other people, but I never share how deep it lives in me. How ensconced it is. How I sometimes see it as a creature that lives inside me. In a dark, dark corner of my psyche. This creature loves it when I fall into the hole of self-criticism. It feeds on my doubts. Revels in my insecurities. Cackles with pleasure when I let jealousies or envy enter my consciousness. It's a dark little fiend.

But that sort of thinking implies that I have no control over what goes on on my head. There's no little gremlin in there forcing me to say mean things about myself. No creature whispering in my ear.

It's just me.

Say it once with feeling,

I'm the dark little fiend.

Does that make me a terrible person? A bad friend? A talentless hack?

No, not at all. It just makes me human.
I fuck up sometimes.
I do wonderful things sometimes.

One doesn't cancel out the other.

There's a darkness in me that I can't always explain or understand.
There's also a light in me that I feel down to my very core.

One doesn't cancel out the other.

They can both exist in me side by side. Reflecting the complex human that I am.

I'm dark and light.
Sunshine and clouds.
Black & white and color.
Joy and pain.

One doesn't cancel out the other.

As I near the end of this project; I see even more clearly how sharing my thoughts and stories, especially the ones I am most reluctant to discuss, is so important to my own growth. I am often afraid that people won't like me when they hear what I have to say. When they learn I'm a bit of a mess at times, will they judge me harshly? Maybe so, but I can't let that stop me. This project has shown me that I have to speak my truth, that all the years I spent silencing myself were killing my soul. I won't do that any longer.

So here is my second to last self-portrait. It's blurry and maybe a bit confusing, but it's also colorful and interesting. It tells the story of a woman coming into her own as an artist, one who is willing to push herself beyond her comfort zone and into the unknown. One who accepts her flaws while honoring her attributes. I like her.

It's as simple as that.

I like me.

On Memories and Choice

I was thinking about memories, what we hold. What our ancestors hold for us, what the Great Mother holds for us in her bones. The rocks and stones that lay beneath our feet. That no matter how painful or terrible some memories are, how we carry them is up to us. I choose to carry mine in beauty and strength. So for this post, I stand next to the water. Amongst rocks. Breathing in the air. Feeling my fire. 

My choice. Always. 

Standing  

In the ruins

On the stones

That hold your memories

The ancient 

Or the ones from yesterday 

From time to time 

You will fall

It is inevitable

That is when you look in

See again what you may want to forget 

Where it hurts

Where you feel torn

Bloody

And ragged

The last place you want to look 

Is most often the place you must

In the darkest part 

Of your own shadows 

In the deep well

Of your own pain 

You gather your courage about you

Like steely armor

Or a soft shawl 

You will face those stone held memories 

Crack them open 

Hold them in your mighty hands

And whisper

You are part of me that I own 

But you will never own me

No More Lies

I explored a nature preserve today. The last time I was at this particular place it was the end of winter. It was cold, everything was the same color of brown, it may have been muddy as well. I walked a little bit but I think I was mostly concerned with staying warm, so I didn't venture off much.

Today was very different. 

Flowering trees were showing off beautiful blooms of white, pink, and purple. Grass was growing everywhere, green blades were bursting through the slats of the boardwalk. I could hear birds singing and bees buzzing. The place was alive and inviting. I wandered around, following trails made through the meadow. I took pictures of dandelions, dirt, and wildflowers. 

I came upon a tree with some scraggly looking branches, I took a few shots. Then I stopped and looked closely at it. It wasn't the most appealing tree around, if someone was writing a horror story they might include a tree like this in it. Spindly black branches just waiting for the right victim to get close enough. Then....snatch!

This got me to thinking about the personal work I've been doing lately. I'm digging for something but sometimes I'm afraid to get too close, too deep. If I find whatever it is down there, I might end up in the clutches of something scary. Why else would I have buried it so long ago? 

But honestly, I know what I have to unearth. What old stories I have to confront. The old stories I tell myself. 

I'm unworthy.

I'm disposable. 

I'm small.

I'm insignificant. 

But like the story one may write about sinister branches reaching out to grab an innocent passerby, my old stories are all made up. 

They are lies.  

They are bullshit. 

Little by little, I am choosing to step out of this fiction. But to do that I know I have to confront it head on, face it and disown it once for all. See that person up there? She's done with self-hatred and dimming her light to stay safe. She's going to keep digging. She's not afraid of spindly branches or old lies. She's ready for whatever turns up in the dirt.

  

The Glamour Shot?

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love classic films. Old Hollywood glamour, film noir, screwball comedies, epics, musicals, dramas, crime; I love it all. I come by this naturally, my dad was an avid movie goer and watcher. He even had a log he kept as a young man that detailed what movie he saw, where he saw it, and what shorts were played before the main feature. I love reading through that log.  It makes me smile.

At the beginning of this project, Lisa and I made a list of ideas we had for our self-portraits. One idea was to make a "pretty" or "glamour" type shot. When I think glamour, my mind goes straight to the high contrast, dramatic Hollywood publicity photos from the 1930s and 40s. They often evoked a dream-like quality, an impossible standard for us mere mortals to aspire to. These were stars after all, they don't look like just anyone you'd see on the street.

Hence this photo, it may not look exactly like me. But inside this average suburban mom shell, is the heart of a dramatic, exotic, movie star. Gaze into these eyes and see far off lands, crazy adventures, or a melodramatic romance that will bring tears to even the most hardened cynic.

The power of movies, my friends. And the power of a good edit. I think glamorous me is rather lovely.

Background Noise

 

I used to believe that if I brought my specialness or talents forward, I would be met with judgement. Or even worse, indifference. 

Hidden in the background, I could get by.  I could survive. Stay small, stay safe. I did this for a long time, not realizing that I was beginning to fade away. Blending in was doing me no favors. The more I felt myself disappearing; the more I searched outside of myself for validation. Becoming dependent on others to boost me up. This only drained even more of my independence and self-fulfillment. 

I see this photo as a perfect interpretation of that. This huge stone is front and center, my figure is blurry and mostly unidentifiable. 

But then I started viewing it through different eyes. Yes, I'm out of focus. I'm not necessarily the main subject of this composition. But your eye is drawn to that somewhat mysterious figure, isn't it? I may be blurred, but I'm there. 

I'm here. 

There is still a part of me that refuses to become invisible, and that is the part I must not ignore. 

I am ready to strip away my old ideas, and step into my beauty. Claim my gifts and share them, without a guarantee of acceptance from others. Claim the truth that I am worthy and that I matter. 

It may feel a bit scary at times to be everything I am meant to be. But I'm done with being small and safe. I'm done with fear and denial. 

I am here and I will not fade away. 

Not Mine

I

I have written about having migraines on this blog before. How I get them and try to slog on through them as best I can. Sometimes that means going through the motions of my day, attempting to interact with family and friends. Sometimes it means laying on the couch with the tv on. A lot of times, it means heading straight to bed with a cover over my eyes. Some days, I can stop them with an Imitrex. Say what you will about modern medicine and pharmaceuticals, these things have given me a chance to get back a part of my life that was taken away by migraines.

I hate migraines.
I hate the pain they cause.
The disruption.
The shame.
The feeling that I am a burden.
That I am "less than" because I suffer from chronic headaches.
That if only I could find the cause, I could relieve myself of these nasty soul crushers.

Over the years, I have learned what triggers a migraine for me. But I cannot always control the weather, or my hormones, or any outside stressors. Migraines are a part of my life. That is how it is, that is what I have accepted.

But what I don't accept anymore is that they define me. That they lessen me. That they take away my spirit and my passions.

I used to call them "my migraines". Now I reject that phrase.
These are not mine. They never have been, never will be.
Migraines are pain, and worry, and isolation.

Migraines are something that happens to me, they are not me.

I am strength, and freedom, and life.
I will always be that.
Before, during, and after a migraine.

Not mine, not ever.

Therapy After Therapy

I see a therapist. Some months it is bi-weekly, other months it is weekly. We have been digging especially deep in my sessions as of late. I often come out of his office with puffy eyes and a runny nose. It's not easy, but it has been necessary. I'm growing and expanding and becoming more of who I am supposed to be and therapy is playing a big role in my evolution. I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm alive.

The past three sessions I have taken a selfie afterward. No exact reason. Out of mere curiosity, I suppose. Three sessions ago, I also found an interesting nature preserve that is right near the office.
I have explored it with my camera three times. See a pattern here? Three selfies, three solo photo expeditions. One time it was relatively warm, another time was the sunny bright day after our last snowstorm, and yesterday it was rather cold and gray. No matter what the weather, I have found something interesting to shoot each time.

Therapy (for me) can feel rather self-centered and insular. I spend the entire hour talking about myself and my feelings. There's nothing wrong with that. It is needed. But I often come out of it feeling self-absorbed and just wanting to focus outside of myself for a little while. So these jaunts I take in the woods, by myself, have been a wonderful way for me to decompress and witness the world around me. A world of both beauty and ugliness. Joy and heartache. Everything that I talk about in my conversations with my therapist.

Being alone in nature, with my camera as my trusty sidekick, is about as healing as my therapy sessions are. I decided to combine an after session selfie with an after session nature shot. These were taken on the same day, within hours of each other.

My eyes may be sad, but the sky is blue.
My heart may be weary, but the snow is fresh.
And I am ready for what comes next.

Oh, February

Oh, February.

You may be short, but like many other short things (Napoleon? Childbirth, in the scheme of things? A dodgeball to the face?) you sure do pack a punch. Here in the Midwest, you are devoid of color. You're mostly cold (today excepting, which was a weird 61 degrees). Overall, you just plain suck the life out of me.

I'm trying not to let you get to me. I'm a positive person! But your dreariness is totally bringing me down. Here you are trying to lull me into thinking there will never be flowers again, or bare skin, or a day so hot I almost think fondly of you. You're almost winning. Almost.

Love That Belly?

The story I have about my stomach starts with a poem. 

I was eight, brown hair and green eyes

Long limbs, drops of chlorinated water beading on my tanned skin

Smiling in the sunlit afternoon

She was nine, black hair and pursed lips

Large eyes, studying my swimsuit clad form

Smiling in the sunlit afternoon 

"You have a potbelly" 

I was eight, brown hair and green eyes

Suddenly aware 

That my body 

Was something to be ashamed of

Some lessons only take a moment to learn 

But a lifetime to overcome

The story I have about my stomach continues with a photograph in which I force myself to expose it. 

I expose it with the hopes that somehow this gesture will open up something in me that will allow me to love it.

Love it for growing three beautiful babies. Love it for being a sacred space that holds my wisdom as significant and important. 

Love it despite the fact that I find it lumpy, bumpy, and ugly. 

That eight year old girl needs me to work harder at being kind to this belly of mine. I owe that to her. 

To us. 

The story I have about my stomach is not yet over, but now I know that it is up to me to write the ending. 

Movement

The next assignment in my photography class is movement. All of the assignments are conceptual--which makes it all the more interesting. To me that means I can shoot things that are moving (I can freeze the action or show the movement with a longer shutter speed) or even shoot things that convey movement, like a winding road or an escalator or... I don't know.

(I like not knowing sometimes.)

What I do know is that I am afraid of this assignment. It's kind of out of my comfort zone. It's not where I think I shine, but I'm so intrigued by other photos I see that utilize movement. I am in this class to push my own boundaries, after all. So push I will.

I thought about this and how I could apply it to a self portrait this week. I wanted ethereal, ghostly, not-quite-there and yet there. I feel so half here this week, so pulled into and out of the "normal" world. Can I be firmly planted here and yet half in the shadows? Can I exist here and not turn into vapor, drift away like a summer fog?

I'm working on that. But for today shadows, movement, a little light.

You've Come a Long Way, Baby

Look, it's a full body shot. I know it's not a close up, but cut me some slack. I've come a long way from last year when I would never dare show all of my body. But that's not what this post is about.
I don't think. I actually never really know what these posts are going to be about until I start writing them.

I didn't have my tripod with me today when this was shot, so I set it up and asked my trusty assistant, also known as my 13 year old son, to actually take it for me. We took some with me facing away and some with me looking at the camera. He decided he should change the exposure on a few, so maybe this is really a collaborative effort? Is that allowed on a blog of self-portraits?

But like Lisa and I always tell each other. It's our blog and we can do what we like with it.

I love going out to shoot with my son, he is usually enthusiastic about it and he often points things out that he finds interesting. He sees things differently, of course, and that is always fun for me.

We ventured out to the Pointe Mouille Game Preserve, a favorite spot. It's wide open and huge, it looks different every time I see it. Today it was muddy with lots of cloud cover. Not what I had hoped for, but we made do. I'm finding that comes easier to me now than it used to. Loosening expectations, not lowering them, but releasing the grip I have on them sometimes. I see myself in a place I adore, with a person I love; fully at ease with who I am and what I'm doing. It's taken a little while for me to get to this place of acceptance and understanding. I like it here. I think I'll stay.

On selfies and what I reveal by not revealing

I have this app called Tin Type. I like to use it on photos of myself. It brightens my eyes and smooths everything out, makes my skin look smooth. Almost unnatural if you want the truth. 

In addition to editing my selfies, I have a few tricks for making myself look better when I take the photo. The phone is held up and I tilt my head just so, to get my good angles. A slight smile, but not big, lest I show the chips in my teeth. It can be quite a process. 

Never shoot from below! 

Is it lying when I post these edited and posed shots of myself? Is it vanity? Or just a tweak to enhance my good points?  I suppose it's any and all of those. 

Today for your perusal, I give you three versions of a selfie. 

One posed, but not edited. 

One posed and edited. 

One not edited and not so posed.

Which one is the real Jane? A photo cannot show the true essence of a person. It can come close sometimes, but it can't really capture who that person is, what they believe, who they love, and who loves them. What I am willing to reveal in any self portrait says more about me than the actual photo. 

Sometimes I think I share more of myself in the written part of this blog than in the photos. I'd like to change that for the next few entires. There are not many left before I hit 52! We'll see if my ego will step aside and allow me to really dig deep and show a side of me that I have yet to reveal. Stay tuned. 

Imagination

I am in a photography class. It just started, and we've only met once so far. We won't be doing anything like this, but already I realize I'm going to have to challenge myself in this class. I have to go back to the way I felt when I first started shooting. Open, experimental, unafraid to try things, unafraid to do things the "wrong" way. I've got to approach things with wonder again.

Jane does these gorgeous double exposures, and every time I attempt to create one I get bogged down in the details. It's too much work. The technicality of it scares me. So I work on creating one and then I quit in frustration. But I don't want those things to get in the way.

I took the time today to figure out how to merge a self portrait with a film image I took in early December which just came back from the processor. The options are limitless and it's a very creative (if challenging) process. It's like editing your writing... when do you stop? There is no perfect--there are only creative choices. I stopped here. And I really like it.

49

I turned 49 yesterday. I don't have issues with this (should I?), the last year I will have in my 40s. It has been a decent decade and I kind of hope I send it out with a bang.

I did have some angst leading up to my birthday, however. Midway through my mother's 49th year she learned she had breast cancer, which she died from at only 52. I know I'm not my mother--I don't have her circumstances (a previous and nearly fatal cancer at 24, pesticide exposure in her youth) but her experience haunts me. I guess I'm just realizing at this age that I think I have so much more time. Time to create art, time to learn more, time to watch my kids develop as adults, time to further my career. I wonder if after my mom's first cancer, she might have been living on tenterhooks, wondering when the other shoe would drop. I'll never know, though.

But here I am at 49 and I will choose to continue living like I've got another decade at least to live with abandon. Maybe the decade after that I'll get a little more serious and start getting my affairs in order. Or maybe not.

But also... I am angry at myself for not keeping up with this project. I started thinking too much about the images, my plans for the images, my failings at trying new techniques. I've got to let that go and finish this up. While we planned on 52 images in a year, I got uptight about deadlines. Jane says this is our project and we make up the rules--so if 52 images takes longer than a calendar year, then that's what we do. I like this. I love this, in fact. So I'm going to shed my issues about not doing this "right" and focus on creating some images that continue to be reflective of me and the 49 years I've got under my belt.