Sundays make you not want to have to go back to work tomorrow

Lunch at the Pyramid Brewery after a productive shoot with model, Holly McCollum and photog-buddy, John Hogl, included steak salads for them, grilled chicken sandwich for me. Followed by this:

Do photographers have more fun, or what? Oh, and here's a sample from the day's "work":

We found an old, graffitti-ed up caboose and draped it with colorful sheers as props--and got lucky with the light and the weather.

just sayin'

I live alone. I wake up alone with my dreams and unfinished conversations, and all the rest of the consequences of accumulating years. Every morning I pad out to the kitchen to brew coffee and then sit quietly in the dark window, watching the sky grow lighter, listening to the radio. This morning the routine shifted subtly as I listened instead to a haunting and graceful CD by cellist Zoe Keating. Since it's a workday, after an hour I had to shower and get ready, but music drifted softly through the rooms as I dressed and made my lunch, a tuna sandwich and an apple, and poured the rest of the coffee into a thermos. Locking the front door on my way to the bus, I often have a sense of disappointment that I'm not staying home, lengthening out the peace inside.

I envy women who have the ease of a satisfying marriage, the reliable company and interest of someone who matters, and most enviable of all, the added income from a second earner in the house! It's natural to get lonely when solitude is so reinforced. Silence is silence. Nothing filling the air but one-sided community from the television, internet or radio, but sometimes even that false offering is a relief. I have the frequent balm of friendships and meaningful work, my life is not bleak in the least! But solitude can become isolation quickly when you allow others' expectations of your self-sufficiency to rule your own priorities and beliefs, and don't give yourself permission to go slower, be kinder to yourself. I am learning this lesson daily.

What's really hard is filling all that quiet solitude with purpose, instead of collapsing at the end of a 10-hour workday (actually 12 hours, portal-to-portal) and letting the television dictate my attention until I'm barely awake enough to send myself to bed.

What's really hard is returning to my own thoughts and ideas--allowing them to recirculate to the surface of my conscious mind, and out through the ends of my fingers onto the page--when I'm exhausted and my hands are stiff.

What's really hard is doing it anyway. And you know what? I did it. My book is finished and now with the publishers. And I have another idea for a book, so my mornings will still be softly, personally my own private conversation with memory and music and ideas, dreaming images for my camera. And my evenings will be whatever I can make them. And sometimes that's really hard.

Pacific Daylight Savings Time

It's a little bit hard to lose that hour. You don't want to let it go without acknowledging its loss, without marking the inconvenience of its passing. I did my best this weekend to savor what I could of the last, sweet indulgence of a solid hour that is going away too soon, and not returning for far too long. Thought about how much I love finding small corners of time to squander without guilt. Ah.

Took a walk to Whole Foods this weekend, through the upscale old neighborhood where I live vicariously on the fringey-edge. Found reminders that this is March, the month of transition from dark to light. My mother died in March thirty years ago, the age I am right now, and this year I am thinking of her almost constantly. I found daphne and bleeding hearts and lily of the valley, all small remembrances of an artist and gardener who loved spring and its vivid promise.

a modest sunrise, start again

Grayson spent the night and is sound asleep on my sofa, a late start to the morning as he stayed up playing with his gameboy and reading comics long after I went to bed. I woke up near midnight and noticed the lamp was on, and when I went to turn it out--thinking he'd fallen asleep with it on, as I too often do!--he was still quite avidly engrossed in the illuminated gameboy. Sheesh.

Anyway, Friday morning I got up early and made it out the door at 6am to meet up with my friend Pat who wooshed us away up to Rocky Butte for a sunrise photo sesh. We had hopes for a dramatic capture since the clouds were clearing, but Mt. Hood remained shrouded throughout.

Here is the best I could do:

Buckman's Flying Circus

I received a last minute invitation to attend the annual 2nd grader's circus at Buckman Elementary last Wednesday. All the second-graders at Buckman were featured! Unfortunately for my photographer's soul it was so crowded when I arrived (well ahead of the start time), I had to sit far back from the stage. But the nana in me got plenty of teary, throat-knotted "verklempt" moments watching the sweet, rambunctious innocence of all the clownfaced performers. Perfect.

an explanation, with pictures

Since October, I've been ill or recovering from illness nearly every week. My immune system is worthless, and my mood has been pretty dark for months. I miss myself energetic and positive, but my motivation to get with-it is low. Posting entries to this blog or to Flickr has been postponed indefinitely while I try to get my act and priorities together. And maybe I've put off connecting here because of the way it reminds me of the creative passion that ignited me so recently, but that now seems quite far away from me. Poetry and photography are iffy at best right now, but I've been reading like a fiend and that feels like a step in the right direction, albeit another exercise in escape.

A few months ago, I agreed to be a mentor for a high school student's senior project in photography, and have made a couple of trips out with Emily since January. They have been fun and at least a little bit productive for me. I hope she feels the same way!

Yesterday we went to one of my favorite locations, a neglected pioneer cemetery in North Portland, to see what we could shoot. The weather cooperated for once, and although it was muddy, the morning was warm and the light was pretty good for interesting shots.

I love this little cemetery for the theatricality of its impressive decay--it looks as though a Hollywood set designer was turned loose for a few acres of horror flick excess. Most of the amateur photographers I know in Portland apparently prefer the old cemetery on SE Stark (Lone Pine? Is that right? I can't remember the name of the place), and don't seem to know about my forgotten old wonderland. It's my gorgeous little secret, and I feel very protective of its unique solitude in my very hip, competitive, and noisy city.

It's not far from Doc's house, and he was the one who first introduced me to the ghosts there, walking me dangerously alongside a well-trafficked street without sidewalks. Since then I've found a safer way to gain entry, and we have returned several times together to wander among the sinking graves. We once took Grayson for a picnic, then spent the summer afternoon--all three on separate missions--peacefully solitary, taking pictures and just looking at the way things fall apart. A perfect day.

There are many graves of children, as well as family plots, dating from the mid-to-late 19th century. Some are so decayed they are impossible to read. A few are quite recent; I spotted one yesterday from 2009. Some have mementos left behind, and even fresh bouquets appear occasionally. But every time I visit, even with friends, the place is quiet, and we are the only visitors.

I have brought models to shoot here as well, and had good luck with the light and privacy, capturing some interesting contrasts and textures. Everyone new who visits this place is impressed by its gentle, sad comfort. It was exactly what I needed yesterday after months of self-pity and isolation. Today, while the weather holds, I'm going for a long walk and will spend the afternoon with my pictures and putting the final touches on my poetry manuscript. I have a book coming out this year--by spring with any luck--and must finally get priorities and motivation to their proper places again.

rainyday suns and confined succulents

Spent the weekend very close to home, taking pictures around NE Portland and even in my apartment (although I haven't processed those shots yet). Here are a couple of my favorites from a very productive weekend. My energy is beginning to return!