Contentment & Friendliness, sunset in Prospect, TN
G.O.A.T. #3
Striking poses in the dusk, Prospect TN
G.O.A.T. #2
Bokeh & the Goat, Nov 2024, Prospect TN
G.O.A.T. #1
Privacy Please.
A less than a week old goat hides from unwanted visitors in Prospect, TN, November 2024.
❤️
for truth-telling
Sometimes a place is visceral. It touches you in a way you can’t quite describe, and you leave changed.
You shed tears at a place like this, the silence a weight you’ve never experienced.
The Memorial for Peace and Justice is one such place. A six acre permanent installation in Montgomery, AL, dedicated to the victims of lynching in the United States. This memorial is pure, devastating art. An acknowledgement of the worst of humanity’s actions in this country, and all that was done to brush aside the atrocities.
A collaboration between MASS and the Equal Justice Initiative, the installation walks visitors through 800 steel structures, each with a record of the county and individuals murdered there.
As you exit the memorial, the tone changes. The idea of freedom, and the responsibility it brings, is the focal point. We know better, we do better. We don’t give up hope.
Despite what seem like insurmountable problems, community leaders at ground zero of the civil rights movement are still working, pushing the boundaries, and fighting rising tides of racism within our nation. And the men and women behind this memorial are doing it in the most rebellious way, through art.
These photographs don’t do it properly. And to some extent, I’m glad. Everyone should visit this memorial, confront the history, and act upon the findings themselves.
This place is resistance.
inscrutable
the Galvanized woman
who sees it all, spread before her,
the necessary intuition,
the overwhelm that comes from being
unable to compartmentalize.
Galvanized woman
who moves to find her heart beat in anything,
in ultrasound focus.
oh the inconsistencies, oh the insecurities.
Inscrutable nothing.
Inscrutable everything.
sick day
What was supposed to be a week of starts promptly came to halt early this morning. A sick kiddo, and knocked down house, all of us fighting whatever yuck is currently hitting the masses. My youngest and I almost share a birthday, so the weekend was for celebrating. However, we all felt…off. That’s manifested itself in croup, body aches, and tiredness this fine Monday.
I suppose I could have written a cryptic poem about this, but I did not.
Sick days are weird days. As a parent, you rarely get completely knocked out. You can’t, really. I’m up and doing all the things, but feeling like my body is moving at 1/2 the speed. It’s lunchtime and my mind is a million places, trying to catch up with and balance this reality with what the plan for today was.
So here’s a snap of some beautiful mountains back in December. Over and out.
a nother year
Each year reminds me.. It’s the little things over and over that build up to the big ones. And often times when we’re in the big moments, those too are composed of a thousand small instances. 35 has arrived for me today, and with it comes my unoriginal but nonetheless important practice of introspection. I like to define words for a year, which is something that started when I turned 30. Subsequent years have been about listening, noticing, bravery, gratitude. This year, I think the word is action. Or rather, I know the word is action. There. That’s the commitment. Might as well start it here, with that declaration.
Action won’t mean sweeping motions always, but it will mean forward momentum. It will mean that even the tiny moments forward count. It will also mean allowing the tiny moments to add up to something bigger.
I feel quiet today, and small. But I do feel some clarity for 35, which makes me grateful.
a point of view
Perspective from the lens of a tourist in British Columbia.
a living
The heart needs another outlet,
but it can’t pour everything out to every thing.
Necessary is space for the business of this existence,
one wants a life, but needs a living.
a song
the music of this mist is such
that what can’t be seen,
can be felt and most certainly
will not be forgotten.
a snow day
Making the most of a modest amount of accumulation, our youngest still maintains the can-do spirit around the cold, excited for even the lighter of dustings. Plus, she didn’t have school today. Nothing to be mad about here.
I’m trying to be better about catching family moments, instead of just creating artful representations around our goings on.
My, how the turn tables… years ago my goal was to see things differently, share things differently. The big hope was to create art, less personal to our family, but more universal, around nature, life, and belonging. This goal has been firmly accomplished and solidified.. I’m proud of the work, happy to convey the mystical around this world of ours. BUT.. in a striving for balance, I do hope I can also photograph moments for what they are this year.
And, so, this is our almost nine year old, on the cusp of adolescence, seen from the porch, working the hill with a vintage Radio Flyer. She’s loving every minute of it, despite the lack of detail and monochrome edit.
CYH No. 5, in memory of my aunt
My aunt couldn’t be held down. She was a person who, no matter what life threw at her, met it with an honest smile, and unwavering strength.
She was the kind of person who could get away with laughing at a funeral. In fact, one of my favorite memories of her is just that. Sitting with her, witnessing her soft jokes, her good nature cut through the despair in the room. She could do it. Not everyone can.
She had her share of misfortune. She buried a child, buried her husband. She never made loads of money, or experienced massive critical acclaim for accomplishments. Yet somehow, I think of her as one of the happiest people I knew. A consistent force of warmth, a renewable resource of encouragement. Always ready to pick herself up, and lift those around her too. Unflappable. Genuine. Optimistic.
I’m going to miss her sweet southern draw, her ability to bust a move, her lack of concern for what anyone thought about her, her hugs.. the way she called everyone “baby.” I’m going to miss her laugh. It accompanied her everywhere. Things will be too quiet now.
My heart goes out to the many currently experiencing loss.
reflections in the lake, in Bellingham, WA.
CYH No.4
…Fallen pines to shape the skyline
Take me there
Beneath the barren colored moonQuit all that looking back
I quit all of that..- Gregory Alan Isakov, Berth
Trees at Lake Padden, Bellingham WA
CYH No. 3
It was as if I beheld Queens,
in robes of dappled sunlight
through the January clouds.
Taylor Dock, Bellingham WA
CYH No. 2
I can’t help but want to cue all the Dave Matthews Band music with this iPhone snap. Especially an oldie but a goodie: Where Are You Going?
His music can be divisive. I’ve never understood why, other than lots of people wait in line to Yuck the Yum of others. So don’t do that, friends.
We don’t need our energy going to those useless pursuits.
Lake Padden, Washington, via iPhone 15
CYH No. 1
The blue heron makes a sound like the world is ending.
Ripping like doomsday through the air.
a regal beak, a torrential sound.
I thought life might be over, if you’d heard it too, you’d know.
Don’t be spending winters staring at ghosts.
Get out and talk to the living.
Winter Morning
Softly, softly.