Sometimes it is such a welcome change for me to turn to images. I’m so word-heavy, and in a way, pictures allow me to be quiet. They tell stories in a different way, carry moods, reflect and refract experience.
I remember making a pinhole camera in sixth grade. We were doing a unit about photography, and we had to practice taking different kind of shots. We learned how to ask questions of ourselves as we viewed the world through homemade lenses:
What was in the frame? Was it crowded on purpose or just messy? What was the object of our attention? What did we want to capture or express? How was the focus? What kind of exposure did we need to maximize – or minimize – the light?
I’ve been playing with some pictures from an outing yesterday to Huntington. A friend was having a 40th birthday party on the land where she grew up, such an incredibly beautiful spot.
Aviva and Pearl took turns with the camera. I think it was Aviva who went seeking out the light, that striking contrast of light and shadow illuminating the lush green of early summer:
Which leads me to believe it was Pearl who was playing with composition. This one could be called, “Berries and ‘biner.”
There were also pollywogs in the pond:
And mud, and sun, and the bliss of being one with both:
I’m grateful for barefoot, muddy girls riding a homemade train around a life-sized track, for the balance between reaching out and retreating, for the chance to look at pictures, showing me what my life is, for the natural rhythm of light and dark, without judgment or interpretation.
I may go around turning this into that, but the light just IS. The images, too. Static and true – and never the same moment twice. We look through the pinhole, and we tell a story.