We’re slowly turning our urban backyard into our own forest haven. One tree at a time. This spring we added a baby river birch; I love the lightness of the leaves and the way they shimmer in the sun.
Once upon a time, I watched Eddie Rabbit perform this song on Solid Gold:
Well I love a rainy night
I love a rainy night
I love to hear the thunder
Watch the lightning
When it lights up the sky
You know it makes me feel good.
I had a big crush on him around age 10. And I really DO love a rainy night.
I admit, it was a total hail mary at the end of long day.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about giving up on this 365 project a lot lately. But after 130 days, I’m invested. I’m learning a lot. Creating every day. They’re not all masterpieces, but I see my style evolving, my body of work growing. And, sometimes, the desperation shots surprise me.
So, I’m not giving up. Not today, anyway. Sweet dreams.
I’m thinking of the famous quote by Georgie O’Keeffe (see below), about how nobody really sees a flower – not only because the flower is so small, but because it takes time.
That’s really my whole modus operandi when it comes to photography – taking the time to see. It’s especially true with familiar things, like a vase full of flowers. It’s easy to glance at them, there, in the middle of the table and think: fresh flowers! how nice! so pretty! But that’s like taking the beauty in one big, fleeting gulp and not really seeing the flower at all.
“Nobody sees a flower, really, it is so small. We haven’t time – and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time. If I could paint the flower exactly as I see it no one would see what I see because I would paint it small, like the flower is small. So I said to myself – I’ll paint what I see – what the flower is to me but I’ll paint it big and they will be surprised into taking time to look at it…” – Georgie O’Keeffe
Today’s photo is a little shot in the arm for all of us craving color, beauty, and, well, spring.
I found such a lovely poem – “Tulips” by A. E. Stallings – that really captures the essence of the flowers’ fleeting beauty:
Something about the way they twistAs if to catch the last applause,And drink the moment through long straws,And how, tomorrow, they’ll be missed.
It’s strange how one minute, something can be part of our daily life – a familiar piece of home – and the next, be street-side garbage. The minute it hits the curb, it loses its belonging. That thing that was part of every day becomes only a trace, a glimpse you might catch in a photograph or a memory. It’s just stuff. But it keeps on changing just like everything else.