Listening to Flowers

I have long been inspired by Pre-Raphaelite paintings, in fact my very post when I began my website was about them (and you can still read it here). That is without doubt my favorite era of art history. The romance in every single brush stroke that culminates in a grand painting of dreamy landscapes, flowers, and elegant figures gets right to my heart.

I got a little inkling, today, sitting next to this potted plant, with the warm late summer morning light streaming through the trees, that perhaps I could create photographs that are reminiscent of these paintings. It is a difficulty that I enjoy, to try and meet the light and my surroundings in ways that become painterly whereas an artist’s model is guided to the right position to create the painting, or it comes from their studies in the field.

For me to take a photo alone, I have to guess at what the camera is seeing. That is why I call this Listening to Flowers. I turned on my camera to record, and walked over to this beautiful begonia. I kneeled before it and studied its blooms with my hands, running my fingers through the leaves. Then it was almost as if I felt guided to turn my head to catch the light just so, here, and turn these fingers to avoid shadow, there—a silent conversation between me, the flowers, and an invisible portrait taker at the lens. I ended up with this photo, which I quite love.

There is some sort of magic in my lens, and my camera. It could simply be attributed to being a very inexpensive piece of equipment, where the focus is just lacking enough detail to create photos that look more like paintings than hyper realistic things. But, I can get very sharp photos from it as well using the same handling and settings. There is a mystery there. And I really really love that.

Spirit of Cold

I’m not in the habit of wishing time away, but as summer wanes I find myself saying many times a day: I cannot wait until it is cold.

I don’t enjoy being too cold, however everything up until that point is pure magic to me. Stepping into a new realm, right here on our planet, is a foreign world where our bodies are not equipped to live without substantial assistance. That in itself strikes a reverence, an acknowledgement that while we walk on this earth, nature is above all.

It is one thing I love about the cold—beneath the excitement is respect that dances with fear as it drives the animal body back to warmth with final certainty.

Perhaps this is a healthy mindset to find ourselves in from time to time, lending steps that are transcendent in spirit despite being bound by the gravity of being.

Golden Light

Somehow a tree with golden leaves grows right beyond the fence. There is not another one around closer than you could walk in a day—at least, I have not found one.

This is the light that makes me feel the oldest, first born beyond time when the mountain was my brother and we roared into being.

Then the wind blew us apart.

Gold illuminates memories that otherwise sit without form in the furthest shadows.

Feeling the warmth each day brings more scattered pieces back together until we are no longer mountains or people

but birds.

Late Summer

Loving the flowers through their last days of summer.

Tender life.

Mornings

I remember when I used to wake up at 4:40 am each morning when the city was still dark. I would begin a very long commute to my job, and all of it was a way I was not happy with. My eyes and my body would hurt at waking up so early, and in the anticipation of the day before me. Of course there were good parts of the days, too, but the waking and the driving and the type-of-working were the sort that made me dream of something other.

All I wanted was to be able to wake up at 7:00 am, with the sun. That is my favorite time to wake. The birds are awaiting, singing their sweet songs, nothing hurts, and it seems kinder in all ways. That simple thing was a very big desire. Eventually it happened, and it has been the way for a long time now. There is never a single morning where I am not grateful for what seems, in this modern day, to be an extreme luxury. My heart hugs everything it sees in these morning times.

A warm breakfast in this beautiful coffee press my mom found. This thing feels so fancy! It is a delight. It makes me think it would be a character in a story, like my favorite candelabra in Beauty and the Beast. Voici ton café, ma chère~

One of the things I remember from my childhood about my grandmother, spending time in her kitchen with her, is that she looked out of windows a lot. One window looked out onto her pretty yard and flowers, the other looked out onto the giant river our family lived next to. I could feel that she was very contemplative, I didn’t like to disturb her then, and I always wondered what she was thinking about. I have not seen anyone look out of windows so much, and since then I find myself doing it very often, too. I always think of her when I do. Sometimes it really seems like she is standing there with me looking out. I like to think she is. I often have my orange hobgoblin there with me, too.

I cut some flowers out of the garden before that cold weather settled in. I wanted to preserve them, and write down their names, so that we can plant them again next spring. I forget the names of things almost instantly, so this will help! There is something so pretty about them laying on this handmade paper. It is art in itself. I love to open this notebook and just look at them.

Also present are my other tools for the day: knitting needles, more coffee, and my old laptop. I get some kind of thrill out of seeing how long I can make Apple products last, because they last the longest out of all the electronic crap we use nowadays. Somehow they always remain a delight to look at and use. This one I used in my very first design job when I was still in school, and now it’s making movies. What a workhorse!

My dearest studio mate, who takes lots of naps, groans like a bear, and brings endless smiles to my entire being. Plus wool socks, because what is life without cozy feet. Sheep must be quite happy creatures most of the time.