I never meant to stop writing. It just sort of happened.
The last post I wrote in 2018 was mere days after I’d separated from my husband. For awhile, I suppose I tried to pretend nothing had changed, but I could not have been more wrong. My whole life was about to take a turn; it was the beginning of a series of struggles.
At first, I just kept putting off publishing anything on my blog. What could I possibly say? There was some relief at having ended a relationship that had had its fair share of problems. But no matter how I looked at it, the effects were devastating.
The silver lining? It was the beginning of rediscovering my independence, my power, and myself.
Join me as I share some of my stories about finding healing in new beginnings, and about finding magic in moments otherwise missed or mundane.
I hope that you, too, have been able to find light in dark times.
Sometimes I forget I have a blog. Life takes over, and before I know it, weeks (sometimes, months) have gone by without an entry.
No matter how hectic things get, however, I never stop taking pictures. My camera never gets put away.
In the backyard of the home I grew up in, there is a massive apple tree. In spring, its blossoms are resplendent. In late summer, its apples cover the ground below it. Its gnarled branches have held my children while they galloped on an old tire horse, and shaded their play summer after summer.
Its age shows in its bark, but so does its strength.
We’ve recently returned from a fun but busy trip to Orlando. We managed five parks in six days, and hit almost every ride we had on our to-do list. It was both exhilarating and exhausting.
I had brought my camera with me, hoping to take lots of pictures. I had visions of capturing endless details at the parks, palm trees and tropical plants. In reality, I only took it to two parks, and it was a challenge to capture decent shots in the crowds and the harsh sunlight.
On our first evening, however, I did manage these shots around the pool at our rental house. The late golden light reflected in the water made for some creative captures.
I have a bin with old cameras, lenses, and filters. I only sort of knew what was in there, having been given a few over the years, and never having had a close look at some of the smaller items.
Yesterday, while trying to find my Gorillapod, I started opening the cases to see what was there. I was thrilled to find a multi-image filter hidden in the bottom of one of the pockets, opening up whole new possibilities of surreal images.
I wiped away the dust and held the filter in front of my macro lens to see what it would look like. This is one of the images I made:
I can’t wait until the gardens are in bloom – so many possibilities!
It feels as though I’ve photographed everything in the house.
I’ve gathered kitchen tools, musical instruments, books, my collection of sea glass, and even bathroom supplies. In my quest for new subjects, I’ve photographed items in my parents’ basement and have considered bringing my camera to work.
One day this winter, I captured this piece of an old tin roof my husband and I picked up at an antiques shop in Ontario:
So when I looked at it the other day, I almost dismissed it as something I was done with. But then, I noticed this tiny heart created by the cracks in the rust:
It seems that I need to follow my own advice and simply look closer.
When winter drags on (and on), I have to get creative to find subjects to photograph. It will be weeks before the snow melts and we are able to see the sand on the shorelines. So I lose myself in indoor activities: reading, knitting, writing, and making pictures.
This weekend, I played with sand and stones in a mini zen garden. Partly, this was to create pictures; and partly, this was to remember what summer felt like.
Eventually, the snow will melt (if it ever stops falling), and I will be able to get out with my camera again. Until then, I’ll pretend.
I brought my camera to my parents’ house when we went over for supper on Sunday. I had been wanting to for awhile, to wander through my dad’s workshop and my mom’s sewing room to see what sort of art I could find. I never did make it to the sewing room, as I got caught up with the details in the workshop.
On a shelf full of random tools and books, a Pringles tin of paintbrushes is tipped sideways. I thought it would make an interesting composition, so I set up my tripod to capture a few shots.
The first one looked like this:
I was happy with the shallow focus, the shades of red and gold, and the unusual angle of the brushes.
Then, my teenage son thought it would be funny to stick his face in front of my lens.
Since my camera was set for a 4 second exposure, it didn’t really capture his face. What did happen, was it created a soft glow across the composition, and gave me a shot that I liked even better:
Sometimes, pesky children can be unintentional creative filters. 🙂
I have a small collection of vintage cameras, one of which is this art deco Kodak Bantam Special:
I started off photographing it as is, admiring its cool retro style.
Then I decided to open it up – I wasn’t sure if I ever had – and see what I could capture of the lens and its inner workings.
Once I opened the film door, I realized I could see directly through the lens. I experimented with a few different items, until I tried one of the dried roses I haven’t yet been able to bring myself to throw away. This led to these two sort of surreal photos:
Often, when I set out to photography one thing, I end up photographing another. This, among so many other reasons, is what I love about photography: the infinite possibilities of what can be found through the lens (or lenses!) of a camera.
It seems that as soon as the calendar turns to a new year, I begin looking forward to spring.
Spring means eventually the (several feet of) snow will melt and I will be able to find my way back to the beach again.
Since I can’t get to the beach to search for sea glass, I spend time going through the collection I have. In one vase are my best finds: pink, teal, seafoam, lavender, and red. In another, pieces of softened tile and pottery.
A Christmas ornament of a mermaid rests in the one with the pottery, year-round. While I was sifting through the pieces yesterday, I noticed that the mermaid tail, through the glass, seemed to be underwater.