On the mornings that it has been cold enough to freeze, but not leave much more than a frost, the girls love to get their safety goggles (my glasses/sunglasses) on and head outside to break the ice. It probably takes them more time to bundle up than they actually spend breaking ice, but it’s so fun for them to slam the hammers on the ice. Any time out side is worth it, I say.
We’ve entered into a new stage these days that came totally unexpected and I’m freakin’ loving it. They actually play together for longish periods of time. Not only is it adorable, but I have to say that I truly belive that they’re setting a strong foundation for the years to come. Just breaking the ice, so to speak.
We haven’t left our house in a couple days now because there’s been puke, fevers and lots of whining. And I’m probably on the verge of going bat-shit-crazy because I haven’t really had a minute to myself, not even to go to the bathroom, where somebody isn’t announcing to me how they’re feeling or coughing in my face.
And this post isn’t really about complaining, because I know that there are far, far worse things in life. And as I type this, Audrey is climbing on my back (yelling “Hi, BABY!! Hi, BABY!!!”) and Maggie is hovering near by with a tiny Kewpie doll acting like it is pole-vaulting with a ruler off of some fancy bamboo prints that I have. And I really don’t want them tugging on my back or touching the fancy bamboo prints, but all of that outweighs (or doesn’t, I can’t think) me needing to have minute, a minute where I’m not saying compassionate things like:
“Oh, I’m sorry you’re sad….” (even though you’ve told me 49 times you’re sad because I’m not getting the stamps out because I’m still cleaning up after the sand mess that we made out of that fake space sand….)
“I’ll follow you to the bathroom and keep you safe while you pee…..Oh, please go pee. I’m in here, in the bathroom, because you told me that you needed to pee.” (Yes, I love you. Yes, I want to look again under the sink to discover that we need to up our supply of toilet paper, but for-the-love-of-God go pee!!!)
“Oh, Sweetie, I know you’re tired. Let’s find a way to get comfortable.” (Dude. I’m tired. I want you to put blankets on me and read me stories….)
“Oh, no!! I can’t believe______ happened to you. Are you going to be okay? What can I do to help?” (Oh, you want to climb on me. I guess I’m glad that I can be the one that makes you feel safe…..)
Whatever. None of it matters. The puke. The patience. The pressure to wipe every surface clean after the snot seems to be dripping from some noses.
None of that matters.
Because Everything is Perfect.
Not perfect in the way that you’d just love a behind-the-scenes look at things. But perfect in the way that we get to be here.
This morning I read an essay by a fellow photographer and almost the whole time I was reading it I was nodding my head in agreement. By the time I got to the end, I wanted to fist-bump the screen. Because I wonder, all the freakin’ time, why there aren’t more messy pictures of what life REALLY looks like. The hard-ass stuff that nobody wants to do or talk about. Or even the sexy-ass stuff that we think we shouldn’t talk about.
We’re all so busy trying to hide the mess, the shit that really is life and not talking about it. I believe that I’m a natural storyteller. I see perfect strangers and stare at them (much to Barry’s horror, Maggie and I tend to both do this….go onto a zombie-like trance staring at people in public) and want to know their story, ask them deep questions and take their picture.
Last year I started with a strong sense of gusto and desire to do things MY way and I started to grow my small business. But by the end of the year I could feel myself feeling really, really guarded about bringing my camera out and pointing it towards people that I love the most. Perhaps it was an attempt to be more present in the moment, but I missed out on some opportunities.
I started to think this desire to tell more gritty stories, to dig in, was weird and not worth chasing. I started to feel grey. I don’t fit in with all the clean and shiny objects, everything matching. But I also don’t fit in with the nomadic, crazy artists that are beyond abstract. I wondered if I was too passionate and in the very next moment wondered if I was too boring…..doubt is not a becoming feeling and I so badly wanted to shake it off.
But this desire to tell a story, to write, to photograph, lives in me. It sometimes feels complicated because who I am is EXACTLY who I am. I’m not a shape shifter and so what’s happening in my personal life also translates into my professional one. And if I’m telling the truth, last year was a mixture of really hard shit and also wonderful things. Someone I love has had to start living with cancer and on the other side of the coin, babies were born bringing joy in a time of need.
Of all the sessions that I did last year, the one that I’m most proud of and also most hesitant to share was a couples boudoir session. Not boudoir in the sense that it was staged or even that planned, just two people that really love each other…..The images are so far removed from the buttery warm images that I typically shoot and that’s why I love them. They’re a bit dark and very sexy. This is where I feel at a crossroads because I love the golden hour shots just as much as the ones that feel almost too personal to look at. Why can’t I do both? Isn’t that life? Dark vs. Light?
I’m going to try harder to not be glossy and shiny, I’m going to search and find the beauty in the nitty-gritty. And I’m going to find the brave souls that are ready to tell their story.
