Lost Photos

Today I had a brief but exciting and inspiring interaction with one of my favorite photographers. As I stalked his Instagram feed, I came across a very simple and beautiful black and white image of a kitchen light. One of those fifties types that look like a carved glass tire bolted to the ceiling. I was instantly transported back to my childhood home, and then this sudden and super intense wave of emotion and nostalgia gripped me and the tears were determined to do what they do. I wish SO MUCH that I had taken some artful photos of the details there that now only live in my memory. By the end, I was so single-mindedly focused on getting it cleared out, and helping my Mom fight cancer, and moving, and trying to settle into a new 30 hour per week job – but damn, I wish I could go back in time and preserve some of those memories.

I thought I had some shots that I could maybe work with, but they all turned out to be snapshots of the evidence of what a crumbling mess it had become, in case the new owner tried to pull some shit (which she was good at).

I'm still looking through the archives, but I found this one in the "Lost Photos" folder. (I can't remember why I named it that.) This was our front yard, just about five years ago, with the beautiful walnut climbing tree – it was English grafted onto black. The tree that passers-by would stop and take photos of. Rightly so. The shed was our pump house. Mostly used to store my Dad's prized garlic and red onions. I was always terrified of the inside, because it housed a well, which I assumed led to the depths of nowhere. 

Or hell. Plus the spiders. OH, the spiders.

This space was so integral in the formation of my young creative spirit. Honestly the kind of thing I don't have words for. You just have to take my word for it.

It's all gone now. I see it five days a week from the perspective of working across the street. What was this stunning tree and cool spooky pump house is now flat dirt and weeds. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the nostalgia, to a point that I'm not sure how to move forward. I put quite a bit into the making of this image, which felt good, because it needed to be just right – just how I remember.

~

You Can't Go Home Again

I work across the street from the house I grew up in – how weird is that? It's technically a ghost town, and when I moved out after high school, my goofball friends and I took the masking tape and changed the population on the town sign from 100 to 99. True story. There's a photo somewhere. (Right, Alex?)

It's hard sometimes, to look over there and see that it's almost nothing of what I remember. But I've been noticing that my Dad's camellias have been blooming like they're going out of style. They were his pride and joy every Spring. The guy that lives there now didn't mind that I went over and cut a bundle of them. What a nice guy.

Sometimes I feel like I try to hold onto things that aren't there anymore. Walking up the steps into the yard, I was overwhelmed by the memories, and how different everything was. The garden is gone, the fences, almost every plant and tree - everything they worked so hard in their free time for. I looked in the spots where my dogs and cat are buried. I never believed that saying, “You can't go home again” - until now.

I brought as many stems home as I could hold. It was the day after a pretty intense weekend storm, so they were a little battered, but still gorgeous. I took dozens of photos of them. As soon as I finished, one popped off of its stem. I forgot how camellias do that – they don't wither...they let go, suddenly and decidedly. Then they decorate the ground for a while before they return to the Earth.

My Dad wouldn't have liked this photo – black and white wasn't his thing. Especially with his gorgeous candy cane camellias. But I'm not the boss of the photos – just the conduit to bring them into their own light. This one wanted to be dark and moody and beautiful in its shoegazey sadness. 

Who am I to argue?

~

A Decade

As of today, that's how long my Dad has been gone. That doesn't seem right.

 

My Mom called me at something like 3:30am that morning, and I knew before she even said anything. I hazily remember driving there, the tear-blurred moon seeming to guide me. He was already gone. I didn't get to say goodbye.

 

The last thing he said to me on the phone was, "Love you suge, take care of those babies."

(He always called me suge, short for sugar.)

 

He and my Mom were always the biggest supporters of my art. Even when I was just a little, and wanted to be an artist when I grew up, they always encouraged me to take that route, and never once made it sound like a foolish thing to dream. In 1998, he bought me my first SLR and took me on a mountain adventure to break it in. I'm glad that I didn't know that would be our last trip together.

 

On Thanksgiving Day 1999, he had a massive heart attack. He died twice but managed to fight back for another six years. I'm sure it was so he could meet his grandkids.

 

His legacy, one that I hope I'm passing on to my kids, is a profound love and appreciation for Nature. His down time was spent fishing, hunting, gardening and chasing the sunny spots in the yard to just sit and think.

 

Though I usually prefer shade.

 

Love you, Dad. Miss you every day.

 

xo

 

(Naughty fingers.)  :)


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Spring Senior Session

Remember last week's post about the fun family shoot in Volcano? This is the second half of that day - a senior shoot with Alexis, a gorgeous girl who has mad ballet and drama skills, not to mention some great photo ideas. She's gonna go far, and I wish her much success.

Here's a sampling of the day.

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Spring Family Session

It's been a while! Why is it so hard to find a few minutes to sit down and write? Hoping this is the beginning of more regular posting. Hoping!

 

Last month I had the pleasure of spending a gorgeous Spring afternoon with this amazing family in the little hamlet of Volcano, California. They were joy and laughter and goofiness and togetherness, and what an honor to capture some of that magic.

 

This kindness arrived from Margaret after the photos were (finally!) delivered:

 

"I have quite honestly never seen a picture of myself that I truly enjoy..... until tonight. It is not that the structure of my face has changed, nor that I suddenly love my shape. It has to do with the wonderful, patient woman who spent a few hours following my and my silly family around one Saturday a few weeks ago and took the time to see and learn and capture who we are. What I see in these pictures is the joy that is my family - personified. Thank you, thank you, thank you a hundred times over Krista for your magnificent work and for truly seeing us!"

 

 (*gasp and blush*)

 

Huge gratitude to all of you.

xo

 

These are a few of my favorites.

 

Come back in a bit to see the second part of this day!

 

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Yes to more.

 Don't get me wrong,

I am beyond grateful for all of the things.

(The huge and the itty bitty ... all of them.)

But today during a shoot, as I stood in this spot with a kitty companion at my feet and 

savored the December sun,

I found myself saying yes to more.

More days like today.

It was like all the limits lifted,

and every crazy notion of some ideal life that passes through my head,

is all possible.

But so much more.

"What you seek is seeking you."

 ~ Rumi ~

Dream big, compadres.

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Fabulous Forties

Today I turn 40.

FORTY.

I double and triple-check the number coming out of my mouth,.

Somehow it's true.

My thirties were good ... watching my kids grow into their awesomeness,

forging new amazing friendships, lots of creative growth.

But it was also a decade with much loss and sadness.

There were a lot of very dark days that I didn't think I would pull out of.
I wondered if I was even capable of joy beyond the little whispers.

Now that I am coming into my own new era, I am finally starting to find some stillness and peace with myself.

Like the dust has finally settled, and resurrection is on the horizon.

Ashes, phoenix, all that jazz.

Thinking about my forties gives me uber butterflies.
(That's always a good thing.)

I am grateful.

For family, friends, animal companions, clients, cameras, divine food and drink, art, music, gardens, rain, sunshine, moonshine, little moments, big moments, opportunities, change, and
every.
little.
bit.

It's time to delve and cultivate.

To re-discover my weirdo Self ... Hallelujah.

Follow the journey, if you like.
I'm all for good company.

Here we goooooo .....

xo

( The last photo of my thirties ... )