Solitude

February 7, 2022

At the beginning-ish of each year when it’s still to cold to be outside for very long but I’ve gotten enough distance from the year prior, I go back and cull through all of the photos I made that year before. It’s partly practical; I weed through and decide which ones I really want to keep. But it’s also a meditation on where I’ve been. In looking at last year’s pictures it was interesting to see just how many images spoke about solitude.

It’s funny to me how solitude is so frequently confused with loneliness. Often when I gain the most solitude is when I feel the least alone. It’s usually in these small moments I’m reminded that I am enough.

Studio Light

January 29, 2022

Two years ago I got to go see the Virginia Museum of Fine Art’s exhibit Edward Hopper and the American Hotel. I was vaguely familiar with Hopper’s work before, but had never really dug into it. I was struck by how photographic so much of his work actually is. His use of light and shadow is incredible, not to mention the way he captures solitude. Since seeing that exhibit I’ve been studying him more, and his work has begun to seep into my subconscious.

Long before my new office/darkroom/studio was finished I had noticed the way the light moved around the room, and the bright geometric shapes it created. It reminded me of several of my favorite of Hopper’s paintings. So of course I had to try to capture it. I photographed it many times during the build-out, but I took advantage of the few days after it was finished and before I began moving a few things in to create some final images of the space and light.

Peonies on Film

January 24, 2022

A few years ago I discovered peonies blooming at an old historic site near our house in Virginia. I also discovered how stunning they looked in the late evening light, their pale blooms standing out beautifully against their dark emerald foliage. I made several walks over with a couple of different digital cameras and made (way too) many images. But I also had a roll of 20 year expired Tri-X in the Nikon, and so I decided to make a few photos on film as well. With the roll being so far past its date I had no idea at all what to expect, though I suspected a fair amount of grain would be involved.

Truth be told, I love a lot of grain… in other people’s work. But I’ve never really gotten comfortable with too much showing up in my own. I think it’s kind of like striped shirts. For the longest time I would be drawn to striped shirts, or bright(ish) colors or floral patterns. I’d see them on other girls and think it was all so snappy or feminine. But I’d put them on myself and they felt ridiculously out of place. They’re just not me. It took me a long time to accept it, but I eventually embraced my love of all things subtle and took to wearing a uniform of gray (I’m counting black and white here) and denim. Last year I branched out and bought a sweater that was olive green. It’s seriously the most colorful thing in my closet. But I think there’s something to be said for knowing yourself and accepting yourself exactly as you are. It’s liberating to feel like you don’t have to be someone else.

All of that said though, even with all of the grain in these I actually really love the way they turned out. The place they were photographed is haunted by all sorts of stories since before the civil war, and I think the images pay tribute to its complicated history. It’s fitting.

The image above was by far my favorite; I spent forever framing this group of peonies exactly the way I wanted. The air had been completely still all evening, right up until the exact moment I released the shutter and the blooms began to dance in the breeze. I knew when it happened the image would be a blur, but had no idea just how beautiful it would turn out.

Snow Day Slow Day

January 18, 2022

I moved back to Georgia believing that I hated the snow.

Ok maybe hate is a bit of a strong word. But I definitely was not celebrating when the forecast called for snow in Athens. But then the snow came and I was reminded of why snow days were so magical as a child; they were an excuse to just stop and be. Growing up in the Deep South snow days were exceptionally rare. They meant that everything was closed. No one went anywhere, there was no where to go. The only reason you put on your (completely inappropriate) shoes was to run outside and see how much you could enjoy before the cold and the wet seeped through your (again, inappropriate) layers and you gave up to go inside for hot cocoa.

I remember the first really big snow we had in DC after I moved up. It was SO much snow and I was SO excited, until I realized that I was still expected to be at work the next day, with more than a foot still on the ground and the roads barely cleared (and I use the word “cleared” loosely.) I was appalled. All I could think was, “Why?? Don’t they know about snow days?!”

Turns out it was living in a place that didn’t know how snow days were supposed to work that made me resent the white stuff. And all it took was one good one back down here to remember why I loved them, and what they should be: lazy hours by the fire and warm meals around the table, lots of reading, a never-ending mug of hot chocolate, and a walk around outside to remember the wonder of the snow days from my childhood.