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.