Table at meal time

This week's theme is 'a table at meal time'. Anyone who knows me well, is aware of my love of food and especially of my love for meals as a time to connect with those who I treasure.  I honestly thought this theme was my dream come true. I imagined beautiful pictures of soul food, of plates and plates of luscious treats, of a spirited family occasion and an aura of sheer nourishment. However, reality struck. I am running on empty this week and am having to dig deep to tackle each  day. I haven't had the time or enthusiasm to cook or be sociable. And so I surrendered to Nutella this evening. It just had to be.

If you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you love more richly those moments.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

A summer treat

This week's theme is 'a summer treat'. For me that first sip of a crisp, cold glass of white wine, on a hazy summer's evening, is truly bliss.

'Wine is earth's answer to the sun.'

Margaret Fuller

 

Hunting for light

It is that time of year again when I feel very much like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland; the last couple of weeks of school term when things should be slowly winding down, yet seem to instead have so much momentum that I am constantly trying to catch up with myself. One of the ways of keeping myself sane at this time is the delightful Light Hunters e-course, which I mentioned briefly last week. Vivienne’s emails are really igniting my photographic fire and are giving me a different perspective on the way that I take photographs. Until now I haven’t paid much attention to the light, even though  themes of warm light and dancing shadows run throughout my work when I take a closer look. What I love is that her prompts are there to make you think, to make you want to explore the light in a multitude of ways, without being too prescriptive- there is room for much interpretation and imagination. Unfortunately there hasn’t been the greatest amount of sunshine this week, but when there has been a glimpse I captured this shot of the sun setting in my garden. I am not quite sure what that white globe on the left is, perhaps I have a fairy visiting.

such wild love

do you think there is anywhere, in any language,

a word billowing enough

for the pleasure

that fills you,

as the sun

reaches out,

as it warms you

I am currently discovering my love for the poetry of Mary Oliver, she is very much another saver of my sanity. The above snippet is from The Sun.

But even rain has its own special kind of light, it has been great fun looking at the detail of each pear shaped droplet on my window panes. I love the prettiness of the Instagram filters, which add another dimension of atmosphere to my scenes. Although Mary’s poem Rain  concerns a birthday, it describes wonderfully the intentions of my Shadow Cat ( he has a poetic soul):

The rain is slow.

The little birds are alive in it.

Even the beetles.

The green leaves lap it up.

What shall I do, what shall I do?

In the garden

This week's theme is 'in the garden'. I was so tempted to produce a glowing flower shot as my garden is full to the brim with glorious blossom, but I made a promise to myself at the beginning of this project not to settle for the first interpretation that comes to me. I want to push my imagination and delve further into photographic visions. And so I created a series of shadow shots, which incidentally fits in wonderfully with the Light Hunters e-course, which I am currently participating in. Searching for light and shadow is right up my street and has also made me look at my world with yet another perspective. And so I shall share with you two of my favourite shots of my series so far.

'Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.'

Walt Whitman 

A story...

After much deliberation I have decided to share the story that I spoke of in last Friday's post. Although I am feeling pretty vulnerable putting my work out there into the universe, I also feel excited that I am at the stage where I am brave enough to do so. Although I share my photos and artwork with confidence now, I am pretty shy about my fiction writing. Interestingly enough I don't seem to count blog posts or poetry as 'serious writing' - what is that all about?! It may not be a prize winning piece but I do believe it is the beginning of something huge for me. 

The beginning of her story.

In her sacred place, by the raindrop splattered,slightly ajar patio door, she peered out over the early hours. She sniffed deeply, conscious of how  you could taste the juiciness of grass in the air after rain. Everything was still.  Each plant and creature taking deserved respite after the adventures of the storm. She knew that this was where the words would come, if they chose to come today. 

Nestling  herself into rose apple cushions,  she shuffled the chair back from the dining room table, clutching a precious cup of steaming coffee. She closed her eyes fiercely at first, until the  many dancing rainbow circles appeared in the back of her eyelids. Let go of the expectations. Write like you used to do as a child, with immense imagination and without adhering to the adult rules. She had written this in her diary days ago, as she examined why the stories in her heart were abandoned there. Those words would not leave her alone now. She had tried.

She felt the warm roast of the coffee trickle through her veins, teasing her tired limbs back to life with its curling fingers,infusing her with a deliberate warmth. Daring to open  her eyes, she traced the delicate tree outline on her mug, like a labyrinth, like the answer would come to her as she ran her finger a long the last spirals of the twisted roots. The tree’s contours looked so fragile, as if just by rubbing them they would disappear. Yet as her fingers came into contact with the fired glaze the solidity of the textures comforted her. 

Never quite out of vision, the crisp symmetry of her laptop  came into sharper focus. She got up hesitantly and then thought better of it, sighing with a heavy stone like heart as she slumped back down. But it was there. Waiting for her words. And so she wrapped herself tightly in her unthreading cardigan and shyly tiptoed over to her once best friend and now nemesis.

With every approved word she deleted three more; critical creatures swooping infront of her eyes and into her ears, suffocating any word they deemed not substantial enough. She opened and closed the lid several times with purpose and surrender. The right ear of her feline familiar twitched at every snap, the reopening  followed by a yawned stretch, with gentle purring in time with the humming screen. 

There were words which needed to be told, which  whispered with so much faith until they too were contenders for attention. They began to tell a story. One of her stories. 

The blue hour

This week's theme is 'twilight, the blue hour'. I can honestly say that I have never searched for twilight through the lens of my camera before. I've discovered that it truly has a unique light of its very own, with its own secrets to whisper. I hope I have managed to capture something of the stunning honeysuckle silhouette that gave me such pleasure last twilight.

"I often think that the night is more alive and more richly coloured than the day." 

 ~Vincent Van Gogh

Manifesto

Physically speaking, this week has been pretty much of a non event so far, as I have been ill for most of it. However I do have a poem to share with you,  inspired by Jen Lee's  Finding Your Voice e- course, which has been life changing for me in that I am writing again. My weekly blog posts have become second nature to me now but fiction writing and poetry have seemed out of my reach for so very long. Thanks to the riches of Finding Your Voice I have tapped into a part of me that needs to write again. I wrote my first short piece of fiction last weekend, the first time I have done so since the age of seventeen. I am still contemplating whether I am brave enough to share it here, but in the mean time I hope that this poem reaches out to you:

Story Manifesto

Stories are knowledge.

Pick them like glowing flowers,

Arrange them in your favourite vase,

Look at them often.

True words can be difficult to find,

Painful to release.

Do so with deep routed compassion.

Put them out there with faith.

Stories are gifts.

Wrap them delicately with shiny ribbon,

Or passionately with richly printed paper.

Send them intentionally, with a part of yourself.

True words have consequences.

Sit with them a while, offer tea,

And don't be afraid.

They will whisper when they are ready.

Stories are treasures.

Wear them head held high,

In a rainbow necklace.

Next to your soul.

Milena Widdowson