Standing at the kitchen bench yesterday I was thinking of my mother gone, shoving corn chips in my mouth not because I was hungry but because I felt lost without her, and wanted to ease the ache of it. I looked across to the window, maybe a noise outside made me turn. I noticed the curtain moving in the warm afternoon breeze.
I paid attention. I made this photograph. I find it beautiful.
Taking note of these small quiet things that make up my life is like an anchor for me; a way home to my self when I'm feeling untethered.
The tiny holes in the selvage, the rythmic gentle texture of the fabric itself. The warm black of the shadows. The heavier more solid other curtain in the background not made for moving in the wind, but instead made for warmth and keeping out the dark.
We are told to live life large, to reach for success and the faraway stars. I have tried that and found it a painful anxious way to live. It seems to work for others, but for me I can't find purchase in that upwardly mobile life, and instead spent my days in a state of constant wearying grasping,
These days I've found a different way to live. I'm not reaching for much. Instead I've found something solid to hold on to: the quiet beauty of a small domestic life.
It unfolds right here in front of me. Every. Single. Day. Without me even trying.
All I have to do is to stand still enough to notice.
- Dec 14, 2017 Counterpoint Dec 14, 2017
- Dec 14, 2017 Gaps and distance Dec 14, 2017
- Dec 12, 2017 These red threads they tie us so beautifully Dec 12, 2017
- Dec 11, 2017 It's a dog's life Dec 11, 2017
- Dec 10, 2017 This too will pass Dec 10, 2017
- Dec 9, 2017 Taking it all down Dec 9, 2017
- Dec 8, 2017 Tie a yellow ribbon Dec 8, 2017
- Dec 7, 2017 Such a beautiful dream Dec 7, 2017
- Dec 6, 2017 This is what I hold on to Dec 6, 2017
- Dec 1, 2017 In loving memory Dec 1, 2017