Magic Exists.

Complacency will come back to bite you in the ass, every single time.  It's been a difficult couple of months .  I feel tired, spent, done.  I'm impatient.  I'm owly.  I have cared little for others or their experiences, as my own have taken the front seat in my mind and I have been, if not overwhelmed, certainly preoccupied.  I haven't been a good friend, sister, daughter, wife, human being.  So mired, was I, in this muck of self absorption that I couldn't see past my own nose.  My grandmother used to say that and I never truly understood what that meant.  How unfortunate, the person who couldn't see beyond his or her nose, I thought, quite literally, because it wasn't very darn far.  How would such a person navigate through life?  Indeed, now that I am much (much) older, and able to appreciate metaphor, I ask the same question:  How does such a person navigate through life?  Those in my life, who have been at the least, self absorbed, and at the most, narcissistic, have been the ones who both inspired the most anger in me, and also the most fervent need to be noticed, to be loved, to be acknowledged.  This was of course, the perfect example of futility.  But all of that is in the past.  Perhaps lately I have behaved similarly.

 

I'm not good at being confused, or at lacking control, so I have spent a lot of time, lately, at the barn with Lucy and Magnum.  Horses make sense, in a complicated way.  Something about the ritual of grooming, tacking up, working, riding, always in that order helped me to feel some calm.  And then... Boston.  More bombs. More lives lost, more lives changed forever.  It's a very dark place, or it can be.  I've continued taking trips to the barn, and I've taken my camera along.  For the past two weeks (before Boston and since) I have made a point of taking a few shots each day I visit.  I've captured some good barn cat shots, some decent people images, and of course some horse photos.  These days have been a bright spot in an otherwise difficult time.

 

Today I worked my horses.  I gave them molasses treats and let them slobber all over my hands.  I braided Magnum's mane, I let Lucy free-lunge in the arena... wow what an incredible connection it is to just speak quietly and have a half-ton animal respond as if she is connected to me by an invisible line.  We're just getting the hang of this, free-lunge thing, Lucy and I.  It is, if I must say so myself, quite spectacular.  When I was done, horses were cooled and fed, I cracked a beer and visited with other horse-owners.  It is a tired-yet-accomplished feeling.  There is a camraderie, much like among snowmobilers, bikers, or boaters.  The difference is, though, horses are not machines, and one must earn trust and develop relationships. 

 

I made my way back to the arena and watched this little girl ride her giant horse.  The girl is young, the horse is old.  The girl looks at the horse the same way I looked at my first horse, with eyes full of stars and love and hope.  This tiny little girl rode this very tall horse around and around the arena, walking, trotting, turning circles.  This small horsewoman has done it a hundred times before, and today, like every day she rides, she was breathless with excitement, stopping the horse periodically to exclaim her love and to lean over to hug the horse's neck.  Priceless.  I remember feeling that way, when I was young.  I remember feeling like no troubles were bigger than getting on my horse and riding out.  I felt the heaviness lifting as I watched her.

 

I spoke with this young professional; I asked if I could photograph  her and her beautiful horse.  She said, of course I could.  I took many photographs of her and the horse.  This one is my favorite.  I love it because her helmet has fallen down over her eyes, and while her eyes are quite beautiful, I feel this photo perfectly captures the relationship between tiny kid and giant horse.  I laughed out loud, as I was photographing her.  My eyes got a little prickly.  I felt, for just a moment, that breathless rush the little girl was feeling.  Before bombs.  Before fear.  Before sadness.  Pure joy.

 

The horse's name?  "Magic".  Of course it is.  Magic exists. 

A Dog and his Girl

This is a moment which can only be described as pure joy.  I know both girl and dog, so I recognize this capture for what it is, when it happened and how it came to be.  The dog belongs to my house.  The girl belongs to some very good friends, and thus, they are, and she is, a bit like family.  While everyone else was paying attention to the Superbowl, Beth and Jax were having their own party.  I'm thrilled that I could capture this moment.  And, I couldn't be happier that not just the dog, but also the girl, her brother and her parents belong to my family, in a roundabout way perhaps... but in every way that counts.  Thanks Beth for this, and tons more great moments on Superbowl Sunday!  Much love to you, kiddo. 

February 7, 2013

I'm thinking about a photograph I want to share here but I am unable to connect it to my thoughts.  Perhaps there is simply no connection.  This is, after all, a writer's life, through the lens.  I'm halfway sorry about the way I named this blog because I realize, now I have an intense need to live up to it.  Whatever that means.  I think it means different things to different people, and if you know me, then you know I have expectations of myself which far exceed any expectation I have of anyone else, whether known to me, family, or famous.  So if you don't mind, I think I will just be forgiving to myself for now and quit expecting so much.

I took this photo on the morning we were to leave Duluth, a city which seems like home to me.  We'd spent two wonderful days and nights there, and the plan was to spend three.  But on this rainy Saturday morning we chose to head for home, as within a week we would be packing up and hitting the road for New Mexico.  There was so much to be done at home yet, and so much to pack.

We drove up and down the city streets, looking for a place we'd heard had good breakfast.  We found it, parked the car and hurried almost two blocks to get back to this famous place, because it was drizzly out and while it wasn't cold, the air had a chill.  I tucked my bulky camera inside my shirt and ducked my head down inside my sweatshirt hood as we hurried along like hungry, featherless birds.

The restaurant was warm and inviting.  It was popular, too, as evidenced by the number of patrons.  We walked into what could only be described as a gallery, or perhaps, a lobby where people milled about with no real direction.  We were welcomed and pointed toward a counter where we could order a special coffee and muffin or breakfast sandwich to-go, or we could choose to be seated and dine-in.  We chose to be seated.  I loved the place as it showcased local art on the walls, most of which was photography on canvas.  Each print was for sale.  I left my camera on our table and walked the length of each wall in the room, judging myself against each print-for-sale.

I will always remember this place, although I cannot remember the name, as the place I had the best Greek omelet of my life.  I don't wish to try to recreate it.  The Viking was less thrilled than I, when we discovered the place was vegetarian, so the sausage we ordered wasn't what we expected.  Poor Viking.  When it was time to leave, I stuffed my camera back inside my shirt and cradled it as though it was a newborn baby as I waited for the Viking to run down the street to retrieve the car.  I was ducking under an overhang, happy that I didn't have to run through the rain with him.  I took my camera out and shot a few random shots.  Then, this wonderful young man with the guitar came around the corner.  There were a few seconds during which he was walking toward me, but mostly I was able to get him walking away. 

I love this shot because it breaks all the rules of good photography and yet it still works.  I am, after all, a good rule-breaker.  Technically this should be just focused on the guy with guitar.  But I loved the rain and the muted colors, and some of the architecture.  So I left it all in.  Even the 10 speed bike, it all seems a bit junky on the right side of the photo, if you focus on that.  But, with all that left in, it all leads the eye back to the guy with guitar in bright shirt. 

I am happy to hear your thoughts.

2/3/2013

I named this blog, "A writer's life, through the lens" with the intention of sharing both writings and photographs.  I'm sharing a photograph today which I have hesitated to send out to the masses, because my initial critique of this photograph is that it is so simple and basic.  Who could possibly be interested in it?  True, it is plain.  But I shared this with some photoholic friends of mine and received good reviews.  So I started thinking, what about this image is so compelling to me, and why do I discover similar images on my camera once in a while, between hundreds of nature, street, animal or people shots?

Easily, I have connection to this photo because I was in a place I love, during a break from work and life; it was a small vacation.  Secondly I am drawn to old buildings, beautiful or not.  I do enjoy the majesty and the detail of century-old brick. Perhaps the writer and the photographer in me agree on this: pattern and repetition is pleasing to the eye, and in some cases, to the ear.  And finally, maybe drifty artist-types periodically crave the solidity of a place like this.  There is all the symbolism of course, of "being grounded" and "having a place to land", all of those maybe-true-but-still-too-crazy-sounding new age-ish terms.

I think it's a very interesting building.  Let's leave it at that.