Life is never truly still.
Slight movements surround us, always. There are interruptions to our meditations, sounds and distractions. Breath means movement.
While practicing using my neutral density filter, I left my camera focused on the pool for a few minutes to go help my son clean the car. I had just tripped the shutter on a 30-second exposure when he called for me.
My daughter, thinking she’d be funny, attempted to capture a selfie on my camera while I was gone.
The stillness of the shot captured her movement in front of the camera, a faint purple haze in front of the pool.
When I was choosing a photo for this entry, my initial thought was to use this first image, as I felt it showed stillness well:
However, it occurred to me that the challenge of being still is to accept the constant movement surrounding us. Instead of ruining the image, my daughter inadvertently created a metaphor.
Nothing – not even stillness – is perfect. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There is potential for art in so many places.
In the winter months (and in Northern New Brunswick, it still looks very winter-y outside my window!), I find this most challenging. Gardens and beaches and backyards are my go-to for photography. While there are plenty of beautiful possibilities in the snow, I much prefer the opportunities brought by warmer weather.
Indoor photography is a great place to practice awareness. It is a challenge to notice the tiny details of daily life, to appreciate the the normally overlooked compositions in the home.
This silver paperclip stood out from the rest, catching a glint of light coming through the window.
Art is everywhere.
I’m a little behind on my photo challenge… Quite apt for this theme: Imperfection.
This little beach find is perfect for my imperfect theme. It is slightly cracked, softened by the sea, speckled by the sand, and faded by the sun. Yet it remains intact, traces of vitality evident in its lines and shape.
Once a vibrant protector of life, it is now vacant. But the story of life resides in its curves, the scent and sound of the sea still alive within it.
It is imperfect, but it is still beautiful.
The Things We Touch
Every day we put on clothes, we pick things up, we cook, we slide our fingers across our keyboards and our phones – mindlessly. And yet, in each of these is a touch, a texture, a temperature. The fabric we wear is stretchy, silky, or soft; the dishes are cool and hard. Food has endless textures: bumpy, crumbly, or even slimy.
How often do we notice?
What if we paid as much attention to the water running over our bodies in the shower as we did the pillow we lay our heads down on each night? What if we were as mindful of the softness of the scarf we wrap around our neck as we are the tag that scratches at our back?
Here is what I do notice:
- A new book, its pages crisp and clean
- The warmth from my children when we curl up on the couch
- The weight and softness of the throw I cover my legs with while I relax
- The heat of a fresh cup of coffee
- A pair of fuzzy reading socks
- A hot bath
- The almost-spring sun as it heats the inside of the car
- Ice-cold water during hot yoga (and the grip of my mat during asanas)
- The smooth keys of the keyboard while I type
- The curved edges and ridged buttons on my camera
This mindfulness challenge began to help create more awareness in my photography; it is helping to create more awareness in my life.
New yarn, craft supplies, patterns…
These are the materials that become the projects that become the process that become the product.
This is possibility.
Possibility is creativity and potential. It is a motivator and a series of choices. Possibility is positive thinking, expectation, and hope. It propels us forward.
Possibility is inspiration.
The simple pleasures are sometimes the sweetest.
Below the trees, where the light barely reaches, the melted snow had created a small pond. Part ice and part water, the trees reflected here and there.
It is a natural abstract.
This is why I love photography so much, and in particular why I love my macro lens: I can take something as simple, as old and calcified as a little tap in a greenhouse, and make it pretty.
It is what I think of as accidental art, although it’s really not accidental at all.
It turned out to be a chilly walk in the woods, but one we enjoyed nonetheless.
With my children, parents, sister, and nephews, we braved the crisp fall air (and snow!) for a walk at Lemoine Point in Kingston, ON.
When my camera wasn’t tucked inside my jacket to protect it from the unexpected snowflakes, I managed a few shots – including this one of a fluffy black squirrel pausing for a snack.