2018 | The One Word

There are many benefits to doing a 365 Day Photography Project. Words like perseverance, determined, focused, discipline, improved, all come to mind. But I have also discovered that I am so focused on getting that one great good photograph for the day that something has become lost. I have lost the ability to tell the story that a series of good photographs can convey.

Last week I put on my bravery bonnet and submitted this photograph to the FaceBook Group that goes with David duChemin's photography class - The Compelling Frame. This is what I wrote to accompany the photograph: 

"For the most part I have been happy to sit back and read what others post, enjoy their photography, occasionally comment and leave it there. You know the scary thing...sharing your own photography, yes I have been trying to avoid it. But, honestly how is that going to help my growth. This week, I took an idea from a challenge in another group I am in and went to the laundromat. I have wanted to do a personal project at a laundromat for the last two years. Monday I conquered fear and the curious looks from other laundromat patrons and took my camera out. First scary obstacle cleared, now the second...sharing a photo here."

I wasn't looking for feedback or praise. I simply wanted to push myself to start sharing in the group. But I got good feedback anyway, even from the instructor himself:

"Very geometric. Very isolated. I find it hard to give good feedback on this one because I don't know where you're at in the learning process, Sarah. If you're closer to the beginning this is an excellent exercise in geometry and in creating a clear subject. If you're further along then I'd like to see the whole series and see if there isn't something there with more story, or more of an emotional hook, or stronger conceptual contrasts, perhaps."

In his response was the WORD that had been hammering on my creative heart for the last few weeks - STORY. I knew exactly what he was talking about and I knew that I had let what made my photography compelling in 2016 slip away - the STORY. 

Once I opened my heart to the Word, I remembered the Adobe Spark stories that I did at the end of 2016, my favorite being the one titled Connections that I shot at our public library with my daughter. But that raised another question that I posed to David along with this photograph...

Question - Is it wrong to set the story up? 

The overwhelming response was: No, it isn't wrong to stage the story. Even when we frame a landscape photograph from our own perspective, we are skewing what we want people to see. 

Again David's response spoke to something deep inside me...

"I’m inclined to side with the masses on this one. I have no problem with setting the stage like this. Cinematographers do it all the time. Novelists put their characters where and how they want. I’ll say it again, where art is concerned: there ain’t no rules and there is no “should” except what you desire and what serves your intent."

It was the single sentence "Cinematographers do it all the time." 

That sentence gave the nod to something else that has been rumbling around in my head. An on-line course taught by Xanthe Berkeley called Make Films. I have a strong urge to explore film making. I feel the experience will contribute greatly to my ability to create stories. The course begins January 9, 2018. I haven't decided for sure yet, but I have written on my desk calendar on Tuesday, December 26 - Decide on Xanthe Film Class!

My One Word for 2018 is STORY...

At First Glance

At first glance, and let's be honest that's all we will give it, the culture of fast scrolling and double tapping so ingrained in us, we see a dog resting peacefully on a brown couch.

But as we scroll past and do a double tap, did we note what kind of dog is was? What was the material of the couch the dog rests on? Where was the light coming from? What time of day was it?

Twenty pictures further along in the feed, will we even remember we saw the dog?

Trust me, the finger I am pointing at you is also hastily scrolling on the screen on my own device. But  in your haste, in my haste, what are we missing? Are we missing the story, the hint of what lies deeper?

As you scrolled and tapped did you wonder how old the dog is? Did you wonder what his name is? Would you guess that this is a rare moment, the sweet adolescent for once sitting still long enough for me to manually focus on the catch light in his eye? Did you notice his catfish long whiskers?

What about the hint of what lies beyond the dog and the couch? Are you curious enough to run your eyes around the edge of the frame? Curious enough to linger?

I have been trying to be more intentional in my own social media browsing, taking my time to drink in the details, run my eyes along the edge of the frame. Is there something there that intrigues me? I will never know if I scroll at the speed of lightening.

My daughter's former boss and her husband are taking an extended road trip, exploring back roads and local small town eateries. I want to follow their trip. I'm curious to see where they go, make notes for our own future trips. I need to slow the scrolling, take time to linger, see where people are going, read their stories. I want to invest in their stories, I want to invest in my own story.

I want to find my way back to curiosity.

Scene & Story - December 2016

Bring out the camera and everyone in my family becomes a comedian.

I was trying to photograph this cookbook from a low angle for week eight of my 52 week photography project when my daughter decided to insert her comical face into the frame. By the grace of God I caught the shot perfectly and it immediately became my favorite photo from the whole project that week, yet one I could not use because it didn't fit the story.

This adorable shot of my serious child gives my heart that fluttery feeling. It is rare to capture these moments of my adult child who is stuck in her childhood life. She is ready for so much more, an adult job with an adult salary and place of her own. She is also ready for someone special to be in her life, the invisible scars of past relationships nearly healed.

As her mother I see how gifted and talented she is, I know that others will see that too. I pray that 2017 is the year that she begins her magical adult life.

P.S. I did get her permission to use the photo :)

**Scene & Story is a collaborative effort between myself and Lee of Sea Blue Lens. We encourage you to share a favorite photo from the previous month along with a short story or description and link up your blog or Flickr photo. Please remember to visit the other story sharers and leave a little love everywhere you visit.

An InLinkz Link-up

Scene & Story - Bonus

Ever year as I review the photos I have taken over the course of the year, I always come across a few that I love but never made their way into a blog post for whatever reason.

This would be one of those photos.

This was taken in July when Glen and I were in Toronto on vacation. We had spent the day following a bread crumb trail a.k.a. the Downtown Toronto Discovery Walk trail that led us to various parks and green spaces throughout the downtown area. We had just come full circle to our starting point, St. James Park, when I spotted this colorful lady sitting on one of the park benches. I knew I had to photograph her. I love street photography but am not brave about doing it. This sweet lady was too good to let get away. Thankfully in front of her was a grouping of lavender. I crouched down in front of the flowers pretending to photograph them and then would occasionally lift my camera to photograph her as well. She never gave me any notice, absorbed in her crossword puzzle and enjoying the sunshine.

When we got home and I loaded the photos, I loved what I had of her. I even started a short fiction piece based on her. There are a multitude of stories within this frame.

Scene & Story 2017

Many of you have asked and Lee (Sea Blue Lens) and I have discussed, for 2017 we will be hosting a link up party for Scene & Story. The link up will be the first Sunday of each month, except for January which will be January 8 (the second Sunday). The link up will remain active for one week.
The link up will be hosted here on my site. I have never done a link up before so be patient if things are a bit sticky the first month.

Criteria - All you have to do is post a favorite photo from the previous month along with a short story about it on your blog and then add your blog to the link up once it goes live. The story can be anything you want it to be: why the photo touched your heart, the process you took to take it, a funny story, a fiction story, etc. Please visit the other link up participants and spread some love.

Scene & Story - September 2016

I once dreamed of living in a large, renovated, white clapboard farmhouse with a wide wraparound porch. From my white rocker on the porch I would have a peaceful view of a lush, sprawling lawn that two golden retrievers frolicked on all day long.

Some of that dream came true. Although, instead of white rockers and a wraparound porch, I have a large wooden deck with chaise lounge chairs that lookout over a large, lush backyard where for many years two golden retrievers did frolic. Instead of a white clapboard farmhouse, I got a 1980's, yellow vinyl-sided ranch house with a three season porch. The renovations have been a work in progress the whole thirteen years we have lived here.

The dream hasn't gone away, but it has changed. Now, instead of wanting a white clapboard farmhouse with a large lawn; I dream of a weathered, cedar shake cottage with a view of a quiet, mist-covered lake. The wide wraparound porch and white rockers remain the same.

Beach Stories

I spent a lot of early mornings at the beach last summer. It was my perfect kind of summer, cool nights followed by foggy mornings. It didn't hurt that the cool mornings kept beachgoers away until at least late morning, long after I had already returned home.

This summer has been hot! The beachgoers staking their claim to their spot of sand real estate by eight a.m. I haven't been to the beach for even one early morning.

Things changed this week. Labor Day is past, the summer people have gone home, the children are back in school, and the temperatures are making a slow downward slide. But the best part is the overcast skies. I love gray moody skies and the calm colors of steely blue water. I harnessed up the grandpuppy, Findley, and loaded him into the car for exercise and socialization.

Last year I wandered with my camera looking for stories. I found remnants of stories, and if I was a fiction writer those photos could have been a springboard for some very interesting tales. But I am not a fiction writer and something was missing.

Wednesday morning when Fin and I were at the beach, I discovered what was missing - the human voice. I had hoped to gather those kind of stories last year, but it was always a near miss, except for the guy with the Hooked on Jesus hat who told me how he weighted down his wife's body and threw her overboard from his boat because she had Alzheimer's. I don't count that, that was just plain weird. This year with a cute puppy at the end of the leash, more normal people want to talk to me.

It started with a little boy named Henry whom Fin and I encountered on our way back from the pier. Henry was a tow-headed boy of two, wearing a fine forming-fitting navy blue life preserver. Henry had a tight clutch on his mom's hand, but as Findley and I got closer I could see him desperately trying to pull his hand away, the look on his face screamed excitement at seeing a puppy. His parents being good parents asked me if their son could pet Findley. Findley loves little kids and does very well with them. I made Findley sit and Henry moved close, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. Suddenly Findley's tongue darted out and gave Henry a sweet kiss on the lips. Henry giggled with delight. Findley sat, Henry petted and gibbered, while his parents asked the puppy's name, introduced Henry and told me how much Henry loves dogs. From the way Henry's hand gently stroked Findley's fur, that was very apparent. More people were coming along the pier so Findley and Henry said their good-byes, I could see the sadness in each of their eyes.

Shortly after leaving Henry and on our way back to the car via the channel, we came across two twenty-something girls trying to take a selfie with the Big Red Lighthouse in the background, it wasn't working so well. They saw me and asked if I would take their photo with Big Red in the background. I said sure, we'll trade, I will take their photo while they hold Findley, they said sure. So it came to be that Katie and Samantha had their photo taken at Holland State Park with the Big Red Lighthouse in the background, and Samantha is holding the leash to a stranger's golden retriever puppy. Katie told me that they were from South Bend, Indiana and were on a traveling adventure along the Lake Michigan shore. Girls after my own heart. We got to talking about photography, traveling and I told them I write a blog about traveling and adventures. Katie immediately whipped out her phone and wrote down the URL for my blog. Katie wants to start a travel website and Samantha wants to do a food blog. I told Katie to send me an email, I would love to hear about their travels and if they ate at one of the local restaurants I suggested.

This week I discovered that people are hungry to share their stories, they want to interact with complete strangers, they want to build community. What if each of us took a morning to interact with strangers and share stories? What kind of world could this be?

Lined Paper

I stood next to the thin plate glass window, watching the unrelenting rain pound the pavement outside. I heard the hiss of car tires approaching long before I actually saw a car. I looked to see if the window was open, but no, this window did not open. The damp chill from outside had penetrated the brick walls of this old furniture warehouse that has been repurposed into an antique mall. I pulled the zipper a little higher on my North Face winter parka.

The gloomy weather outside made it the perfect day to be exploring the endless maze of aisles of the antique warehouse with my friend Kay. Neither of us were looking for anything specific. Although she did have a daughter getting married in a summer wedding a year from now, and single-bloom milk glass vases were part of the table centerpiece design. I had a Kentucky Derby party to go to at the beginning of May, if I could find the perfect black, wide-brimmed, floppy hat with a long curving feather, that would be like finding a rainbow after a thunderstorm.

Of course, I am always on the hunt for photography props or something that stirs a story within me.

Nearing the last aisle, and anticipating eating lunch in a warm restaurant, I started to hurry towards the check-out counter. But out of the corner of my eye, on a home improvement store, snap-together plastic shelf,  I spotted a nearly full, open cellophane wrapper of lined paper lying on top of a collection of mason jars. It was the kind I had used in Kindergarten and First Grade when I was learning to write the letters of the alphabet. The light blue dotted line sandwiched between the solid pink and blue lines brought back the memories of yellow No. 2 pencils, Elmer's glue, and rubber cement. This packet of paper had the appropriate yellowing and staining from having sat on a shelf in a school storage room for the past twenty years. This was not a reproduction.

Seeing that paper reminded me of making loopy b's and f's, the frustration of trying to make a cursive G, something that I still struggle with today (not good for somebody with a husband named Glen). I thought about how my handwriting has evolved over the past forty years, yet some parts are still the same. That paper made me wonder if kids still use those blue and pinks lines to practice their alphabet, or if everything is done on the computer these days.

Holding that open cellophane package of paper in my hand, I debated over the $2 price tag. What would I do with it? It would be just another thing to stack on my own overflowing shelves of milk glass vases, mason jars, and old tea cups. So I returned the paper to the shelf, gathered the milk glass vase and 1930's Eastman Kodak camera brochure I was purchasing and walked towards the lady and her space heater at the check out counter.

If only life was that easy, to walk away from a found treasure and forget about it. But that is rarely the case, and that pack of lined paper has stirred something within me.

Preserving Stories

I am suppose to be working on a writing class assignment that is due tomorrow. But instead I am caught up on something I read in Monday's lesson --- things that touch me are worth writing about.

Something touched me this week...I read that another one of my dear friends is throwing in the towel on her blog. This saddens me; another creative, inspiring voice is exiting the scene. 

I completely understand the need to take a break from blogging now and then. I do it myself at least once or twice a year. I find it refreshing to step back for a short time and experience life without the need to write about it or share it with the world. But eventually I miss this space, miss my readers who are my friends, and most of all I miss the growth that comes from pushing myself within this creative space. 

In early January, I was contacted by Artful Blogging magazine to write an article for them about my blog. They wanted more than the "What Does Blogging Mean to Me" response. They preferred for me to write about a specific event or experience that was significant to my blogging life. Needing some kind of starting point I scrolled through the archives of my posts. What a trip down Memory Lane that was --- seeing past adventures, vacations, creative series like Walk and Click Wednesdays, Backroad Adventures, The Coffee Shop Chronicles. Those posts brought back delightful memories and confirmed the joy of the journey that blogging has taken me on in the past four years. 

I know without my blog, I would not have done most of those things (who am I kidding, I wouldn't have done any of those things). It was the accountability of my blog, sharing my adventures with my readers, pushing myself to learn and get better at photography and writing that kept me going. There is no question that these things have shaped me into who I am today.

Looking back at those old posts, I realized though that the main reason I blog is to document my life, to preserve my stories for my daughter and my future grandchildren. My great-aunt Viola was the family historian on my dad's side of the family. She did a wonderful job keeping all the old photo albums, still, at best I have old disintegrating, black paper photo albums filled with black and white photographs, spidery handwriting labeling a few details under most photographs. But I want to know more; what is my great-aunt's relationship to the guy in the photograph? Were they dating? If so, why didn't they get married? Is that why she remained single her entire life? These are the things I would love to know, but yet will never learn because she passed away over a decade ago. She died before I reached the curious age. 

I want something different for my daughter and her family. I want them to know the stories. Even if something were to happen to my blog someday within the inter web workings, there are still boxes of notebooks in our storage room filled with first drafts and sometimes second drafts of these blog posts and various memoir style essays about my life. I would never have written any of that down if I didn't blog.

I realize that blogging isn't for everyone, and it doesn't need to be, but I sincerely hope that you are doing something to preserve the stories of your life. 

Through Her Eyes - The Writings of a Photographer

The Idea

The idea first came to her on a gray, washed-out Friday afternoon while sipping hand-crafted cocktails with her daughter at a new distillery in the city.

The morning had been spent shopping for necessary girl items, followed by an early lunch of shareable delicacies such as: charred eggplant, heirloom tomatoes, and the best shrimp cocktail she has ever sunk her fork into.

After lunch they prowled some nearby antique shops. Neither of them needing a single thing, but always on the lookout for that unique treasure they couldn't live without.

What she had been waiting for all day though, was their visit to the distillery. Her daughter had been there a couple of times for work events, and raved about their unique, hand-crafted cocktails. Being still fairly new to the hand-crafted spirits world, she was eager to continue to expand her horizons.

The distillery is located on the city's west side, a section she had never explored before, at least not yet. She had only, in the last couple of years, mastered the east side of the city. She found there, an endless array of things to photograph and write about, including her favorite coffee shop. She had settled in there quite comfortably. But she had a feeling that was all about to change, as they drove along streets that she had always been curious about, but had only ever viewed from the highway overpass.

She easily found a parking space behind the distillery, it being only mid-afternoon, it was a little early for the after work crowd. Entering through the side glass door, she was greeted by a modern, open space, filled with warm tones in the polished wood floor, and wood tables and chairs. The warm wood contrasted beautifully with the modern black metal trim. There was an overall cozy neighborhood pub feel.

She and her daughter seated themselves at a two seat, high-top table near the large plate-glass picture windows at the front of the restaurant. She loved all the soft, diffused natural light coming in through them, it was her favorite kind of light.

Their server was soon over with the speciality drink menu, and the happy hour appetizer list. With so many choices, she defaulted to her daughter for suggestions. Finally she settled on one that sounded like her, Oliver's Ocean, maybe not the Oliver part, but definitely the Ocean part. The drink consisted of gin, fresh squeezed that morning grapefruit juice, lemon, rosemary, and a salted rim. Oh how she loves a salted rim, her tongue can flick out, capture a few granules of salt, and be back in her mouth before anyone knew it. While her daughter ordered her drink, she pondered the appetizer menu, she was afraid the eggplant, heirloom tomatoes and shrimp they had for lunch might not be enough to stand up to the hand-crafted spirits, and she had to drive home yet. So she added to their order a tempting mushroom spread.

While they waited for their drinks and appetizer, she turned her attention to the world outside the plate-glass windows. Across the street was a small, square, brick 1960's building housing a BBQ joint. At the large, front window counter sat a man and his son, each simultaneously taking a bite of their bbq sandwich, and then each wiping their mouth with a white paper napkin with their right hand. There was a story there.

Next, she noticed the older teenager sitting on a bench inside the plastic bus stop enclosure in front of the BBQ joint. He held an iPhone in his hand and had ear buds firmly planted in his ears. There was a story there.

Suddenly around the corner of the distillery building comes a hi-lo bearing an enormous plastic bin filled with a sloshing brown liquid. Her daughter spots the hi-lo as well and states that they make all their spirits for the distillery here on site. There was a story there.

The final image before she turned back to the table, and their soon to be arriving drinks, is the image that ignites the idea. A weather-worn man in a tattered, gray tweed overcoat rides past the window on his bicycle, heading the opposite way of the automobile traffic in his lane. Behind his bicycle he pulls a laundromat-style wire basket on wheels, inside the basket is the fine wire frame of a once ornate chandelier. There is a story there.

The idea finds oxygen and bursts into flame. She has grown bored and uninspired within the safe confines of the coffee shops. The experience, with only slight variations, was basically the same no matter where she went. What if instead, she sat at the lunch counter in the big front window of the BBQ joint, wiping her mouth with a white paper napkin after each bite, and recording what she saw from that side of the street. What if she sat on the bench inside the plastic bus stop enclosure and wrote about what she saw, and maybe even be brave enough to take a ride on the bus. What if she sat at this very same table by the large plate-glass window, inside the warm, wood-toned distillery and captured life as it rode by outside. There are stories here.

She makes no promises, there will be no numbered editions, only the stories, as they come to her.