the family in film

Regardless of how difficult it is to shoot with, I think film is rad. Then again, who doesn't? Pre-digital photographers will curse the tricky film process under their breaths, but the beauty of a film frame is undeniable.

My appreciation for film became real on a quiet day at home with nothing to do but to reorganize the family bookshelves. My Mother and I spent our morning completing the task and came away with wonderful finds: her vintage name tag from a teen job at A&W, an old world map and various forgotten photo albums. There were albums belonging to long-gone house owners; strange families and their nannies, dressed in pleated dresses and captured in sepia. There were also our own albums. Between the vinyl pages coated in dust and misuse, I found these frames; film shots from the 90's featuring my own family. Once alone, these images drew tears and sighs out of me. These were taken just before I was born; and a lost puzzle piece found its way from the album and into my heart. You won't be able to view them quite as I do, but I hope that these odd little shots inspire you in some curious way. Happy Friday - a perfect Friday for forgotten frames of film.

winter foods

winter foods: scones with jam, pomegranate, hot chicken soup and citrus

now that spring has come - what was your favorite winter food?

how to draw a heart

All through my early elementary years, I was taught art by the most delightful woman in the most whimsical room. Her classroom was like a dream, materialized out of a film. There were boxes of homeless fabric scraps, a pottery kiln, shelves upon shelves of oil pastels, clay and colored pencils, all illuminated by the windows large enough for childrens' worldly daydreams. Artwork hung from the ceiling, our colorful masterpieces like laundry left to dry.

In this room, I learned to draw a heart. "Your hearts do not need to be perfect", my teacher would say, "Narrow or lop-sided is fine -- the more different, the better." Sheets were filled with hearts and hearts and hearts. Our hearts of paper and pencil were all sizes, any color of the rainbow and almost always uneven.

Uneven was the best way to make them.

collections

I've always held an admiration for people who are dedicated to their collections. Rows of perpetually smiling Beanie Babies in the corner of the room; porcelain figures that gleam in the window light; stacks of movie stubs dating to years past; postcards and stamps glued on cardstock pages; concert passes, vintage cameras or thrifted shoes. There is dedication in a group of beloved objects slowly accumulated. There is patience and timelessness. I've always ached for a collection, yearned for one to call my own. After various attempts, I concluded that collecting wasn't for me.

Turns out, I collect photographs, and I think that's really cool.

p.s. What do you collect?

on a snowy evening

 

'The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep.'

-Robert Frost

   

the cove

 There are a handful of must-do's whenever my sister, Alysa, comes to stay: we visit the current art exhibits, labor over new recipes, go to the movies, eat at a quirky hole-in-the-wall restaurant and, most importantly, make a trip to the cove.

The cove means salty air, crashing waves, towering cliffs and a rugged shoreline where the ocean kisses the rocks. The cliff faces stand tall, braced for the grey waters that never cease to slap and spray. I feel closest to infinity whenever I'm watching the relentless sea at the cove.

Alysa nibbled on gingersnaps in her throne of passenger seats as Dad drove us past rotting farm fences and horses out at pasture, their furry backsides swaddled in blankets against the mist, until we reached the cove. We stood, dark silhouettes against the horizon, while baby waves hugged the tips of our boots. We searched for our reflections in tidal pools but could only see the fragmented sky. On the deserted beach, we heard our laughter amplified by the surrounding rocks and it only made us laugh harder.

The things I love best about Alysa count to a million and then some. She lights up both my smile and every moment we spend together. My favorite time with her will always be at the cove, with our tread leaving imprints on the sand and the shore finding a way into our hearts.

                                     

light on my shoulders

 

 

Sometimes, it is best to let go of burdens simply because they are heavy. I've been carrying my burden for a long journey, and now I think I'm ready to begin unloading it.

It seems I've forgotten how rewarding it can be to float freely and carelessly. I'm a tad rusty at the whole allowing-myself-to-be-happy philosophy. On nights like these, when my voice goes hoarse from whooping and my stomach tightens from laughter, I have to keep on remembering, let go. Even if it's just for tonight, let go.

To release my burden for even a few hours is to joke, smile and sing more easily. To feel deliciously light upon my shoulders. To rise above my heart's heavy load is to live enlightened, to squeeze the drops out of the new year, my fresh slate. Perhaps I cannot abandon my troubles for long, but when I do, it feels wonderful to let go.