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.