mirror of galadriel

There is something so incredibly wonderful about a waterfall and the basin below. Its memerising . We are so inspired that we choose to recreate them in our cities and personal spaces. So lovely, so peaceful but what do we see when we gaze into the pool? Reflections in the water can oft skew our image of ourselves. The rippling lines age us into the future and we wonder what may lay ahead. Mid basin water flow seems to move in such a manner that we see our selves as youthful again. The outer edges though, in the waters calm, give the most current  representation of our likeness. To cast a glance towards the future paves the way for fear and uncertainty as we attempt to internalise it. Our lives are merely a ripple in the water over time.

We contemplate  the past as we scan the centre. A fountain of youth so it would seem for that brief moment when we remember splashing about as a child when life had been free of demands and stressors. A smile replaces  the sense of foreboding as we search the depths. Our eyes then stray to the waters edge and a feeling of time ceasing, emerges. We see ourselves looking intently at the image in the water.

Immanuel Kant once said “What can I know? What ought I to do? What can I hope?”

These are the questions that lie within the waters reflection in our minds. Do we choose to go forward bearing in mind the laughter of youth, the thrill of life in the present and the hope for a glorious future? Or not…

paradise lost

You set off in your car to the shops. Rush through the checkouts uttering brief thanks without  making eye contact with the cashier. Load the bags into the car and simply leave the shopping cart where its convenient instead of the corral. Crank the vehicle, turn on the tunes, and rage thru the parking lot at the other motorists  in your way. Finally after 2 minutes yet feeling like an eternity, you escape the lot only to find you have reached a red light. And there he is. Holding the cardboard sign. Avoid eye contact or he will approach. Discomfort sets in and you feel  his eyes  upon you. You remember that look from so long ago when you first glanced at one of them. Fumble for a cigarette or change the station on the radio; anything to appear busy. The light changes…Freedom from the grips of guilt that will soon dissipate. You head home, a little slower though, paying a bit more attention to the road all the while making excuses for yourself as to why you didn’t drop some change or a spare bill. You notice the bag of cookies tip over the seat as you turn the corner. Frivolous nonfood that you bought to treat yourself. You reach for your tepid five dollar latte that you forgot to finish before the shop. As you take a sip you see the yellow light turn just as you notice another cardboard carrier on the corner. You race through the light and make it before it turns red. Relief sets in that you didn’t have to guilt yourself again. You finally make it home and unload your groceries. You fix a tasty dinner and sit down to watch the news in the comfort of your toasty warm abode. Unfortunately the news is depressing with all the wars, political junk and rising unemployment figures. You opt to go to sleep and forget all the nasties of the day. You crawl into your 450 thread count egyptian cotton sheets and drift off into a peaceful slumber…..

Sometimes I wonder if society as a whole has become somewhat numb and has lost empathy. We are all a step away from being hungry or cold or homeless. Take a good look at these pictures- that could easily be you or me in the future.

Despite his circumstances, he held his dignity, smiled and gave the gift of humour. I, in return, offered monetary compensation in order to take his picture. I may have given him a meal for the day, but what he gave me was more precious than gold and will last a lifetime.

a tale of two lives

Years ago, while being completly enamoured of the medical sciences, I had my first trip into the freezer in the pathology lab. Being the curious type that I am, I made sure I was at the head of the line. As the intern opened the door, I quickly walked in. Straight ahead were the tables holding the cadavers just as I expected. Specimens really to me, all the same. Then I looked to the left. There was an elderly gentleman lying there. His cowboy hat still on his head and his boots on his feet. The gold buckle of his belt glistening in the light. I looked upon him guessing his age to be about 65 and then I noticed his chest was damaged.  Cause of death was likely a rifle shot wound. I paused.

This wasn’t a cadaver, this was a person. I stood there looking for what seemed to be an eternity when I realised I was being ushered out. The other students were making a commotion outside the door. Some were crying, some were getting sick, and there was I , just quiet. Apparently there had been some error and that gentleman should not have been in there and the staff tried their best to quickly move on to another area. I saw many things that day but I held that man in the forefront of my mind.I stopped at the table where the hearts lay. I picked one up. Held it for awhile. I held a heart yet it was holding mine. And out of death was borne love at that moment.

These werent specimens, they were parts of lives. Each with a story to tell. I changed that day. I began to view people differently. Each was an individual, each had a story. I became the observer and lover of humankind. I learned to smile and engage people. I wanted to know them and their story. Although some say that death is an ending; for me, it was a begining. Take time to listen, take time to observe,take time to love, for life is fleeting and all of us have a story to share.

Urban Treasures

So yeah , I consider myself an urban treasure hunter. I love to check out shops off the beaten path. Small town antique shops and salvage stores, and of course the yardsale. On one particular Saturday around 630am, I set out. I never bothered with advertisements, just jumped in the car and drove until I would find the signs. I found one not too far from my home and stopped. A few people were gathered around looking at the various items. Old chairs, rusted trunks and furniture. Yep, my kinda sale. I spotted an unusual handpainted secretary but it hadn’t a tag. Infact, no items were tagged. How incredibly odd, I thought. I spotted the seller sitting on the steps to his home. I then noticed a large sign. Yardsale starts at 8am. I kinda brushed it off, figured he wanted the stuff out of there and would sell early. As I approached him, another buyer reached him first. The seller explained that the sale started at 8. The buyer, somewhat irritated, informed him that it was 7 and he would like to purchase. The seller, with a gleam in his eye, simply reiterated, the sale would start at 8. Oh man, did I love that. Sweet! This cat is in control of the sale. He will dictate the when and the how and not succumb to the overbearing attitudes of the buyers. How many times had I had a sale and these people would wheedle me down to a dime from a quarter. This dude rocks, and I begin to giggle. He notices me and now I am outright laughing. The buyer casts an evil glance towards me and walks away. I decide to plant myself on the steps with the seller and watch the show. He looks at me, grins, seeing my amusement and offers me a cup of coffee. We sat there for the hour chatting while periodically he managed to irritate about 10 people. Yes, I have an evil streak-okay, I admit it.

Its now 8am. The crowd of about 2o have gathered around that desk I had been eyeing. One guy, an insidious antique dealer that I knew well, barked at the sellar demanding a price.

“Well my good man, that is a very good question that I cannot answer to you. As you can see, all of you in the group desire this item, and only one can purchase it. The sale starts now, so no one is first in line. You must each simply pick a number between 1-20 and the winner will get the price and the desk.” Okay, I fell out. Laughing right now as I remembered the snide looks I received. Well, I was about number seven in the line. I had a number picked but the chick ahead of me took it, so I opted for 17. The last few called their numbers . Then the seller paused. Thought for a moment and said number 17. Oh man, I thought that crowd was gonna kill me, but I was relishing the moment.

“How much for the desk?” I said, grinning ear to ear. And he replied, ” For you, one dollar.”

This piece is extremely old and I have yet to get a definitive age and value by the way

double exposure

I stood there in the hospital room overlooking  Pontiac and remembered my photography. Seems that it had gone dormant for several days due to  recent events. My cameras were in the truck in the parking garage and yeah, I normally don’t leave them there, but my mind had drifted elsewhere. I pulled myself together grasping for some normality and went for the cameras. There was a surgeon outside fresh from the OR still in scrubs and booties, hastily smoking a cigarette whilst shivering. I paused for a moment at the stark contrast between life and death that emerged in my mind as I viewed her. A harsh reality indeed as saving one’s life while destroying her own. I joined her; savouring that cigarette as if it was a very connection to life itself. A grounding point really…

I struggled to walk to my truck not knowing what level I had parked on from days before. I walked a few flights, each one bearing no results. And then I finally found it.The cameras were there, safe within my vehicle although cold from the Michigan weather. Cold, I thought, much like myself at that moment lost in a cold dark place within my mind where fear had taken root. Somehow I managed to make it back to my son’s room, more or less running on a nurture mode inherent in my being. I leaned over and kissed his brow donning the alpha female facade that he has always known. The rock.. the one who will always persevere despite the circumstances~ he must never know my fear.

I approached the window as the sun was breaking through the cloudy early morn.There was a building just to my left. Nice colours and textures. I love architecture I thought, as if a voice from way down inside refreshed my memory. I clicked twice and then camera died due to a cold battery.

I reflect on my own double exposure. The side I show everyone; tough and strong. Then the hidden; afraid and unable to protect my offspring from harm. Both sides are a part of me and yet the second exposure can only be seen through  reflection.

floral tapestry

So yeah, yesterday was my birthday and a time for reflecting upon the acheivements and failures of the preceeding year. I perused my files to take an objective view on where my photographic strengths lay. I decided that flowers and still life were the main area. Was to be expected really; as from a very early age all of my artwork were centralised around this. Of course, if I ever attempt to sell my prints, this would be wise to consider. Now this reminds me of a story as does all things. I love a story and love to tell them as well.

When I was but a wee lass of 3, I espied a lovely garden next door to my home. Whilst my mom and I were strolling about  and obviously tresspassing, she turned her gaze from me for a few moments. Now I, being the crafty little devil that I was (am?), quickly snatched a beautiful white flower and proceeded to the front door of our neighbor’s house. “Buy a flower, sir?” I pleaded with big angelic eyes ( horns hidden in bokeh background).  The man was aghast and well his horns were showing as he started to yell. Dunno where my mom had been, but now she was at my side and more than a little trembling. Apparently, I had plucked his prized white tulip from Holland and it was both an expensive and grievous loss to him. He forbade us from ever returning to his garden again, yanked the tulip from my hand, and ushered us away. My flowering thievery ended that day, but my love of flowers grew. I started drawing and subsequently painting them after that. And now, the only thing I take  is a photograph 

One of my clients presented me with a beautiful bouquet yesterday. Twas unexpected and a truly wonderful gesture. I captured a pic with my Powershot, and have a wonderful memory to cherish long after the blooms have faded.

I, eye, aye

What is it about eyes? I have oft heard that the eyes are the mirror to the soul although logically that makes no sense to me. We see/sense something though, as to what the person may be feeling or even hiding. Words can lie, but our eyes will betray us. From the haughty stare, to the downward glance of shyness, our eyes reveal our inner feelings and fears.

I have walked about for many years with my hair covering one eye. I reflected on this once, questioning myself as to why. I realised that I only show the world half of myself while keeping the rest hidden; metaphorically speaking. There was nothing to hide, only myself. There comes a time when we have to face those fears and be willing to accept the consequences of that exposure. Is it really so terribly bad to be wholly seen by others? I think not. I mean afterall, what’s the worst that can happen? I started this blog as a means to become less invisible, that self imposed thing that I do. And slowly but surely, visiblity is starting to take root. I have taken pictures of myself and posted them. I have written my thoughts and now exposed some of my fears.

Today , I cut my bangs revealing the other eye. A test really- an experiment of sorts. Should be interesting to see how I interact with others out in the real word tomorrow. So I took some  pics of my eyes- lighting was an issue and I am still seeing spots while writing this. Dragged the pics into lightroom fooled with the exposure and recovery, cropped and uploaded. Funnily enough, my subconscious must have been at work here because I managed to only show that one eye