I've been carrying my camera outside with me when I go into the backyard with sweet pea. Literally, just having it in my hand makes me feel like I am myself again. I feel less lost in the static of nothingness that surrounds me in this lock down. The problem is that nothing in the yard is really inspiring. I have such a hang up with the yard. It's like walking through someplace with a bad history. I am quite sure this property has a bad history. It has a bad vibe. I look at the same few trees and the light isn't inspiring me, and the lay of the land isn't inspiring me. I feel empty when I go out there and start looking.
But I have slowed down so much that I really paid attention to the bird calls and I tried for probably the first time to really single out the bird songs and really see the birds and now I have a collection of photos of birds and trees. It isn't your typical bird photo, I'm doing more of an abstract tree limb photo with little bird surprises in it. There is a thrill to snapping a photo and wondering if I captured what I think I captured and I am very grateful to be having that back in my routine.
I've also been on the lookout for interesting skies. When I walk out the side door I face these old dying oak trees. I know their branches and the way they touch the sky and sometimes nature puts a nice light show on behind them and now I have my camera next to the door so I can grab it every time I walk out the door.
I've been thinking for years that I should look up when shooting. I never look up and suddenly it is the only way I am able to capture something. Interesting. I'm sure that must be symbolic of something. I'll have to roll it around in my mind a bit more and figure out what it means to me. I photographed this month's full moon. Ive never spent the 2 minutes to google the camera settings to shoot the moon before now. I don't know why it seemed so important, but it did. I think because it was happening with or without my participation and by recording it I have made my mark on that moment in time. I've declared myself. Time stamped me. I surely existed in that moment when the full moon rose and I made an image of it. And not only did I exist, but I also didn't take it for granted, I was on the ground, eyes in the air participating.
Yeah, I'm understanding that in this black hole of TV viewing and phone swiping I need to declare myself present in a more concrete way. And making photos is how I am ogling to do that. I'm going to think about being present more. Less vodka, more engaging.
My friend from grad school, we'll call her Bird, gets emails from one of our school advisors (she had to donate some money to him to get it and since he was basically a jerk to me, I didn't donate and don't get the emails directly from him) and she shared one with me recently in which he expressed an opinion that making work around this pandemic was somehow trite. This is despite everything they told us in two years of schooling being built upon the basis of all of our work required to be personal and intimate. I found this level of abject hypocrisy to be quite motivating. Now we know that I am motivated as much by spite as I am by positive reinforcement. Not only did his confusing dismissal of pandemic inspired work motivate me to make more work, but it also motivated me to do something else traditionally frowned upon by my graduate program. I've been going all out with writing to accompany my work. I've indulged in some serious diary type note making. It's decadent, self serving, and it makes me feel better. This is something I really want to do a solid job at, like maybe even more than anything else I've done. But it has to be everything he says he doesn't like. (guess who would win a grudge holding contest?) I've been pretty content to keep all my years hard work under wraps "until the right moment" but I feel different about this work. I want to make this work and hone it and get it as good as it gets and put it out there in the world. Let's see how it goes.
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