Photography

Away …

/ still a dreamer / 8 Comments

Searching through photos for one thing inevitably surprises us with something else. Especially when you have the amount of photos that I do.

This is a photo I took when visiting my cousin in Portugal when I was 23 years old. He and his family lived here, in a small fishing village, Vila Nova de Cerveira, at the mouth of the Minho River, just minutes from Spain. It was an indescribable experience, and looking back now, even more so, especially as the area has evolved so since.

Truly, it was a village. There was a tinker (today’s handyman/carpenter), a small bakery/grocery store, a church, a police station, and a few other shops. There was also a castle, and a variety of homes. The streets were cobblestone, and it seemed that everyone knew everyone. Many people grew or raised their own food.

In the morning, we heard the clanging of the bell at the long driveway gate. A neighbor had brought a clean bucket of milk, fresh from her cow. Wherever my cousin and I walked, there were young children skipping after us, fascinated by the visitor with her light-colored eyes.

Coming across this photo brought back so many memories, which could probably fill a short memoir of its own. My cousin, his wife, children, and dogs were my warm and wonderful hosts. With all I experienced in that too-short week, I existed in a slice of time never to be known again.

I also remember the train ride home, first to Porto, then a switch to a second train to Lisbon. In my compartment were five Portuguese men and women, none of whom spoke English. During the 5-hour ride, they brought out their lunch, and so generously offered everything to me – bread, cheese, some kind of meat, wine. With hand signs and broken language, we talked and laughed all the way to Lisbon.

I remember wondering even then if Americans would be so utterly kind to strangers who spoke no English in a traveling compartment. The importance of that entire experience has deepened ever since. Would we all be as kind and generous as they? Can we still share? Can we still love?

Home …

/ still a dreamer / 6 Comments

Home is such an important place. A place to just be yourself, to relax, a refuge, a place to foster growth, a cocoon of dreams, an inspiration of life, a place to heal, and so much more.

April is National Poetry Month, so I’m offering this lovely poem by Christopher Marlowe.

Song for A Little House

I’m glad our house is a little house,
Not too tall nor too wide.
I’m glad the hovering butterflies
Feel free to come inside.

Our little house is a friendly house.
It is not shy or vain;
It gossips with the talking trees,
And makes friends with the rain.

And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green
Against our whited walls,
And in the phlox, the courteous bees
Are paying duty calls.
– Christopher Marlowe

But home is not just the structure itself; it is also the place, the neighborhood, the city, the town. They’re all part of “home.” And so, a few more photos of my home, as spring comes slowly into bloom. Above, the trees, just beginning to green up, and their late afternoon shadows accompany me on my walk along the river to the bridge.

Looking north, life is just awakening from slumber. This sentinel, which has steadfastly looked over the river for the 19 years I’ve lived here and much longer, is now showing the most shy of buds.

Crossing the Delaware River to Pennsylvania, where the blush of green in the trees is heartening.

Forsythia in bloom around one of our many turn-of-the-century homes, with the Chestnut Hill B`n B just behind.

Home is where we walk, where we become, and who we are for however long we stay.

Words with Flower Accompaniment

/ still a dreamer / 6 Comments

Well, I love quotes. I love to share them. I need to draw, and I’m a big fan of words and images together. So there you have it.

This quote, often mistakenly attributed to the late, great Kurt Vonnegut, caught my attention while reading this morning. It seemed like such a good one to share in light of the daily onslaught of news.

And then, another note of hope, Spring. This lovely display of pussy willow, baby daffodils and iris just needed to be shared. Taken at my local farm market, Phillips Farms, a fabulous source of home grown fruits, vegetables, flowers, as well as locally sourced milk, eggs, cheeses, and other dairy.

We may feel frightened and/or confused by all that’s going on right now, but there are still so many blessings to behold and embrace.

The Middle of Winter

/ still a dreamer / 12 Comments

Nature will do her best to never fail us. She will shine in her own way, in her own season, in her own time. Grateful.

And a poem that just came to me. It seems fitting. By Donna Ashworth.

UNSTOPPABLE

Unstoppable they called her
but I saw her stop
I saw her stop many times
sometimes I thought she had
stopped for good
but no
she always found a way
to rise again
to resurrect
not the same, never the same
unstoppable they said
but I think it was in the stopping
that she found her power

– Donna Ashworth

The Importance of Showing Up

/ still a dreamer / 6 Comments

There are many reasons why we, as artists, don’t do our work, whatever our individual expression is. In the end, it all comes down to fear. I don’t think I need to go into any detail. You know what your own apprehensions are about bringing your beautiful creations to light, or even revealing them to yourself.

But waiting for “the right time” can end up being never. I remember many years ago, analyzing all the reasons why I procrastinated about certain things (most likely my art), and then the comment was, “Sometimes you have to just apply your butt to the chair and just do it.” Point well taken.

So get your tired, unkempt, pajama-clad (if applicable), unfocused, resistant self to wherever you have to be to create and show up for yourself. For your creative self. As unready as you are, get there, and allow something to happen. You’ll be OK. I’ll be pushing myself to do the same.

Meet you at the desk.