Water God…

A catfish I only caught with my camera at the National Aquarium.

The wind whispered, “rain…,” but the young girl could only hear the river’s words.

There, where the wild went to quench thirsts, she waded. Her mouth half-formed abandoned cadences–too ancient to truly speak–but they were powerful, still. They summoned. She summoned, and the water god answered…

Evoke

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Carved From Within…

From my visit to the Luray Caverns a few hours drive from my home in Virginia.

Water and time…

In quantities my life can never hold,

Beneath the ground–

Grave, cavern, stone.

–C. Green

A pool under the earth…

I felt small surrounded by all this evidence of time, the massive patience encasing each stalactite and stalagmite…

Ripples of hardened stone look like shifting sands.

And in this dark, subterranean world, I also felt awe.

Carve

This Rock Has Weathered…

While walking along the coast of Maine two summers past, I had to photograph the various cracks and layers. The exposed rocks were beautiful.

Throughout…

The cold disdain of ice ages,

Relentless bombardment of the sea,

Summer’s heat and human feet,

And whatever else the hardened earth considers torments of time…

This rock has weathered.

–C. Green

This bit of rock had seen many waves, and I wanted to capture the gorgeous striations still wet from the sea.

Weathered

One Drop At a Time

Icicles formed over my small porch last night.

Transformation takes time. I’ve learned this meticulous lesson as a student of the fine arts, music especially. As long as we allow the patience of process into our efforts, the results will almost always amaze us. 

I loved the drips running down my steps, the background to a solid possibility.

15 minutes a day of practice, turns into 30, that stretches into an hour… until the performance seems effortless to the listener. 

Drops of water slide into ice.

I took my icicles out of context and made stalagmites of them.

Even if the end result takes a form different from the initial dream, we must take care to remember: the process is truly about the growth.

Growth

Atop…

Sometimes, the highest height I may climb is simply above the pile atop my desk. I can’t see beyond my datebook. The horizon is outlined by pencil and dotted with sticky notes. 

Happy to have a clear spot. It may be small, but I claim it for my own.


Atop

Full Frame… Cropped Circles

I enjoy taking a subject beyond the frame. It’s a little thrilling, actually. These old wagon wheels–trussed up on whitewashed walls like ancient and battered relics–were pretty subdued subjects, but cropped so that not a single one in the trio actually exists within the frame completely… and, suddenly, they’re a little subversive! It’s a quiet protest of sorts–circles refusing to be tamed by a frame.

Frame

 

Rare… Letting Myself Be

Maine-5042

A moment of serenity at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens

My camera goes with me whenever my family visits any botanical garden. They’re places that grant moments of peace and introspection in the spring and summertime. To be surrounded by so many beautiful floral specimens, all at the peak of color and vitality, without having to have personally watered a single thing–bliss. I decidedly do not have a green thumb, you see.

At one point during this particular visit, though, I became overwhelmed by all the color and the sheer possibilities for photographic subjects. So I put the lens down… just let my eyes see everything and nothing and simply be. Not long afterwards, I stumbled upon a small cement gazing pool and composed this shot.

It speaks to me because I am the bowl, sometimes. For all my jagged and stretched imperfections, I spend an awful lot of time smoothing things over… with conciliatory words, make-up foundation or spandex. With a calm facade during a concert or a meeting, I am anything but serene inside. All it takes is a whisper of wind to mar the water’s surface. Everything affects how I see what’s within. This is why I carry myself over to a cocoon of leaves every so often. I’d rather have a canopy of trees reflected in my eyes.

It’s rare simply allowing myself to exist–without labels, without critique–but I am practicing.

Rare