Receive to ask to receive

I am immersed in the creative flow of life. The abundance of coincidences are everywhere, and it is so interesting to realize those repetitions are coinciding with the thoughts that fill your head, the conversations you have, all of the minutiae that we focus our attentions toward. I find tremendous feeling in these moments, that make me smile and appreciate that they are happening. I am open to these experiences and trust when to act upon the ones that excite my soul.

What happens to art when it is not on display?

I am finishing up the edits on the wedding I shot a few weeks ago, sorting through the best images and deleting the ones that aren’t in focus, or that aren’t the best expression of what was going on in that moment. I’ll have everything done by Friday.

Spring purge is in full effect, and I am going to be repurposing things, donating, and throwing stuff away. As an artist, in addition to creating beautiful pieces, I have also made some really ugly, disdainful, and down right creepy artwork. I think that you artists out there (painters, writers, photographers, musicians, potters, etc…) have too created some really ugly things that you have either thrown away, given away, kept (gasp) or donated.

One piece that ways on me heavily, is a “self” portrait bust that I created from terra cotta clay. I put self in quotes, because I used myself as a model (a common practice amongst artists) though it bears little to no resemblance to me.

I made it in college, and I was very proud of how it turned out. I had spent hours carefully building her shoulders, clavicle, neck, etching her hair, attaching her ears, softening the creases of her eyelids and mouth. After our class exhibition was over, just imagine a white room filled with 20 ceramic busts on pedestals, and now imagine that same room empty. Where does the art go? In my case, it came home with me. It has commanded a lot of attention from my peers, family, and friends, though the context of the space that the bust occupies seems to determine how it is received. In the gallery, it amasses admirers, “I love the texture of her hair”, “very emotive”, in the home it garners, “who is that?”, followed by “wow”, and generally, “it’s kind of scary”.

Admittedly, I am amazed at my own creation, though I cannot escape her capability to frighten. So the question is, what happens to art when it is not on display? Where does it go?

I decided that I would perch the ominous figure on top of a bookshelf, and there she lurked in the shadows. One evening, I awoke certain that someone was in my room. Scared stiff, I didn’t move, nor breathe, all I could do was stare at the figure in the corner that was not moving, standing there hovering over me. Headlights of cars beam through the windows and I can see, it’s just her, just an amass of clay. I broadly exhale.

She is currently tucked away in my mom’s garage, though this habitat leaves her without the context for people to question her details, to view “in the round”, and appreciate fully.

In the near future I will decide, where does she belong?

It is raining, I have candles lit in my fireplace, my black dog curled tightly on the ottoman. I sip coffee. I went for a jog this morning and did a yoga session at home. I practiced my hand stand…they are really fun to try! Especially outside on a lawn of plush green grass.

I have been practicing yoga consistently for 3 years. I am truly amazed at what I can do, and also how I feel, what I have conquered, the ideas that come to me. I am so thankful and blessed to have a yoga practice. I am more confident, strong, graceful, and creative because of this meditative practice.

Tonight I head to Tampa for Guava Fest, looks like it is going to be raining, so I will be wearing my rain boots! I will be dancing like it’s 2003 to OUTKAST!

Saturday, I am shooting the wedding in St. Petersburg. I am really excited and a bit nervous too!

Intermezzo

Ok. So. I didn’t get the internship in New York. I would have the opportunity to work closely with a professional portrait photographer, eat/sleep/breathe in the city for a few months (which would be a nice departure from Orlando), it would have been interesting and a fresh new experience. Alas, I’m marching on to the next opportunity.

I am shooting a wedding in May. This is my first referral!! All the other weddings I did previous, were for friends. I really love the intimate nature of wedding photography.

Outkast is playing at Guava Fest in Tampa the same weekend. I am looking forward to that.

Right now, I am listening to the new Future Islands album. I instantly love it.

Following a spark

I have been a photographer for many years. I would consider myself an artist, I am a visual thinker, a writer, a designer, an athlete, and a lifelong learner.

For the past year, I have been taking an online french language course through Carnegie Mellon University. With the new year, I made a decision that I wanted to further my french studies and so I enrolled in a 6 week course through the French Alliance. It was the right choice, I definitely improved my knowledge of the language, and gained some perspective about the french culture. My motivation to learn the language is to be able to speak another tongue, to gain access to the culture, with the aim of returning to France (I travelled many years ago with my sister). Right now, I am looking to challenge myself artistically, intellectually, emotionally, physically.

Back in October, I read an article on the PDN website, and came across an article about American portrait photographer, Gregory Heisler. It was an article to promote his new book 50 Portraits, and it was an interesting read, with beautiful photos. It lead me to an article about Right Moves, geared towards up and coming photographers. I saw that there was an internship available through a New York/Los Angeles photographer Chris Buck. I decided to reach out to him and find out more about the opportunity. He wrote back quite promptly, we corresponded a few times, and that was that.

Months go by, and I forget entirely about our correspondence. Three weeks ago, I get an email from him to let me know that he is interviewing for the summer internship, and would I meet with him. So I went to NY for a few days, and I am awaiting a response. It would require that I move to New York for about 3 months. That sounds incredibly exciting and challenging, and thankfully there is not anything that I cannot work around in order to make it all happen.

My thought with it all, is that if this doesn’t come to fruition, something else will. I just have to keep trying, and look towards where I want my life to go, follow my intuition, and eventually I will be there.

To be honest with you, South Beach…

Is is just me, or when a sentence begins with, “to be honest with you…” the imaginary shackles on my back rise in preparation of what lies may spring forth.

So to be honest with you, I was in South Beach last weekend. Arrived with two friends aimed at having a fun weekend immersed in sun, art deco, babes and bums, and as a highlight, Art Basel. It was my first time experiencing Art Basel, and I’ll just say, I will go again next year.

I certainly did not do as much art seeing as I had imagined, nor did I see any live music. However, what I did see was interesting in the way that I question, what is art? Where does art belong? Why is art so grotesque sometimes, yet so attractive? I was mesmerized by a sculpture in the SCOPE gallery….(insert name of artist and title here…if anyone knows the piece I am referencing please spare me the agony of googling) It was exactly grotesque and extremely attractive.  A waxy, pale, hairless, heavy man standing in the midst of some very shiny and pleasant Swarovski crystal art. I spoke the highest compliment, WOW, and there I stared mouth dropped and experienced the most unusual distortion of space, he looked multidimensional, and stretched at just the right angles, yet energetically buzzing in his apt stillness.

I wouldn’t even know where to begin in creating something like that myself, I currently am working on an abstract landscape at home, and working fervently to create a soft vivid skyline, so my artisitc edge is being challenged with the notion of what a cloud looks like and even though I have seen thousands of sunsets, to convey the awe in seeing such a sunset is something that I am attempting…to produce the awe of color and light without the precision of a perfectionist.  Or am I? So I tinkered around the house yesterday morning, adding purple to the sky, blending white onto the clouds, standing back and going forward, working slowly on building the sky and one day very soon I anticipate it’s completion.

And to be honest with you, I may be a recovering perfectionist, but truly that which I seek is the power of synchronicity, and trusting in the perfection of that when I say, “I don’t know what I am doing,” the best results often emerge.

Written in Orlando

A year ago I traveled to Bali, and was with sister. Tonight, I am finished with work, and am wanting to make a big trip in the next 6 months. Admittedly, I went on many trips in 2013, and I was extremely fortunate to be able to make time for San Francisco, Seattle (my favorite city in the US), Columbia, and Brooklyn. In a few weeks I will be headed to Miami for Art Basel… which I am really excited about. I love the art deco architecture, the Delano, the beach, the plants, as well as the feast and fashion.

I realize and question as of late…do I need to travel in order to thrive? And why is that so?  And by thrive, do I mean in order to write? I am not sure, but I am cognizant that it is so vital that I be able to express myself, and often times writing feels like the best release and I love it because I can be deliberate with my words. And I also realize that I have come close to, but haven’t quite hit my stride creatively.

I love to tinker with my garden of succulents and orchids, do yoga, be outside, paint, photograph, organize the home…though I realize much of what I do, I tend to do alone. I need more social stimulation. I work nights, and have my daytime free. Is this the opposite of what most people do? One of my favorite things is being up early in the morning.

I have been taking a French course online, but would prefer to learn in a group.  Today I looked a meetup.com to find French meetups in my area, but there were NONE. Don’t worry that will not derail my eagerness to learn the language, I will find the francophiles in Orlando. You just wait.

I would like to plan a trip to France in 2014.  I want to go to the South of France, and back to Paris.  I went many years ago, and it is my dream to return and be able to speak the language. Recently, it has become so important to be able to cultivate what cannot be taken away.  I so appreciate physical things….furniture that is well made, clothing that fits beautifully, a well designed home…though there is the non physical that perseveres at a much slower rate, and that can matter much more. Some of these are to have compassion, to speak a foreign language, to have an education, to truly know…it is ageless perhaps.

I seek and speak the truth.  Veritas.  I know not any other way. Goodnight love, until next time.

Sister comes home. Today.

I took this photo in Uluwatu, Bali. It is one of my favorites from the trip.

I have managed to finally recuperate from being jet lagged.  I arrived home last week, and now it is sister’s turn to come home and experience her own delightful version of post time travel torture.

I flew from Bangkok to Tokyo, for a brief layover, and finally to Seattle for 24 hours. The first flight was solid, so I slept, however, the second was rife with subtle surges of turbulence. I therefore drank red wine, watched movies, wept silently, and began to miss everyone in my life. The only other person around me awake was a 5 year old little boy transfixed by Frankenweenie on the small glowing screen in front of him.  I imagine this world without me in it, wait for the turbulence to pass and ring again for the flight attendant. It’s funny how your own mortality comes on strong while 22,000 feet in the air and watching in flight entertainment.

I arrive a few minutes pass seven in the morning and take the light rail downtown and transfer to bus 40.  I only brought one cold weather outfit, and I left it in Seattle. Obviously, the balmy temperatures of Indonesia don’t require rain boots or sweaters.

Consequently, my trek back to Seattle I was wearing flip flops. And no they weren’t mine. They were sisters.  I of course lost my flip flop. Notice I didn’t say flip flops? That is because the night we celebrated my sister’s birthday on Padang Padang beach, I walked away with one of my flip flops and one of someone else’s. The other flip flop was my next door neighbor’s and she happen to return without any shoes. Rather strange, eh? Regardless, my sister let me borrow her flops for the remainder of the trip, and it is what I had to wear in wintery Seattle.

As I made my first unexpected skid down the slick walkway of the airport, I knew that one I needed to slow my walking pace and two, I needed to buy some boots.  Fortunately the bus stop downtown had a Payless across the street, and I settled on some brown suede-like ankle boots trimmed in cozy faux fur. I am also now the proud owner of six new pairs of socks.

Seattle mass transit is so easy! I had delusions that I was not tired, and that I was rearing to check out Seattle for one more blessed day. I soon discovered how tired I was when I got to my awesome frend’s place and I laid down “just to check my email”.   I woke up 5 hours later. To my utter joy, I am greeted with an iced coffee, bahn mi and soup. Now that is a fantastic friend!

To top it off, she made reservations for us at a sushi restaurant later in the evening. She does not suck, and nor did our dinner. Thank you, Sarah!

The night’s celebration grew when the dynamic Deb and Scott graciously join us for a night cap. We celebrate friendship and my eastern voyage return.

The flight from Seattle to Orlando hurt a little. It was an early morning flight. I walked heavy with exhaustion and eyelids closed, but also so thrilled to reunite with my family, friends, and of course my dog.

I know what I am going to sing next for karaoke

Sister and I spent 24 hours in Bangkok, and truly got lost in the city.  It is absolutely massive, filled with busy people, bustling markets and many side streets to meander through. Our intent for the day was purely explorative.

Our first stop was for breakfast.

We ate a spicy green mango salad, sweet and sour chicken with pistachios and curried chicken with sticky rice.  Sister showed me her sticky rice moves, gently rolling a wad in your hand to pick up delicious bites of joy.

Once we exchanged some US dollars for Thai baht, we set off trekking the streets. It was evident that a big celebration was on it’s way.  The king’s photograph was printed in a format larger than life and posted abundantly around the city. The king’s birthday, December 5th, was approaching and unfortunately we were not going to be able to witness the commemoration. So instead, we partied with the street vendors trying whatever food and drink looked the most unrecognizable and appealing.

Our curiosity led us to a modest street cart that had a setup with seven large metal caldrons, with homemade fruit and botanical juices. The woman took a plastic cup with crushed ice and ladled in a green mysterious potion. We ordered that one because it looked the most popular. If that is what the locals were drinking, it must be good.  She told us the name of it in Thai, but we did not understand. So we asked her to write it down, and after a few brief moments she hands us back the paper, with this written:

น้ำใบบัวบก

Sister and I look at the paper, smile and combust into laughter.  After conversing with a few people, we establish that it is pennywort and renown for it’s healing qualities.

We end up meandering through the Chinese section of town, and pilfer through various shops before being intrigued by a Chinese pharmacy.

There behind the glass counter is a pharmacist with torn pieces of brown paper about 6 x 6 inches. Behind him are large glass jars filled with mushrooms the size of your head and other dried plants. He measures herbs on a scale, and prescribes them on the paper.  The medicinal arrangements appear so ancient and lovely that sister and I can’t help but absorb the moment. We are in awe.

Our hunger speaks up and takes us to an Indian restaurant tucked off of the main street. The menu is vast, and we eventually settle on a delightful chicken masala with cheese naan, and an order of green pea pulao; and it does not disappoint.

The evening is approaching, and a few vendors are closing up for the day, although thankfully there are still enough markets open and thriving.

Next up is dessert, and in all fairness, I don’t remember which came first.  I believe it was the roasted squash filled with an egg custard and finished with thinly spiraled pieces of pumpkin followed by the mango and sticky rice oozing with sweetened condensed milk. We are not sad.

Fortunately there is a temple nearby with an altar of a standing golden buddha.  We slip off our shoes and observe the surroundings. A few people are kneeling before the buddha, incense is swirling in the air, and candles drip their colored wax in pools.

Our last triumph is finding the metro as we are a good 2 hour walk from our hotel. The line for the train is ten people deep, and we decide to wait for the next train to see if it is any less crowded.  It is not, so we slither our bodies into the second most crammed train I have ever seen. It is so crowded, it is barely necessary to hang onto the handrails.

Once we get off of the train, our short walk back to the hotel is imminent. Unforeseen however, is the crouching lady boy we spot applying lipstick on the street; and to that I say, to each shim’s own.

Excuse me, are you twins?

Today begins the venture back towards home. Goodbye to the beautiful turquoise waters of the sea, to the daily laughable antics of the locals–always stirring up playful banter, and also to horrible internet service. Alas, I am not complaining. We have spent several days enjoying our time in Gili.

The island is pretty small. Sister and I rented bicycles and traversed the island in under two hours. The roads change from mucked sand, dry sand and occasionally with paved bricks. Other than bicycling, you can easily get about on foot or by renting a pony and carriage. There are no cars.

The first day we got in, we checked out a few accommodations before settling on a pristine bungalow behind a “rock n roll” bar. It is $32 per night and private with air conditioning and breakfast included. It is the most we paid for a room our entire trip!

In front of the bungalows is a restaurant with a painted wall inside with this clever line, “I feel nervous when I no alcohol in”. There are also signs that read, “It’s only rock n roll, but I like it”. Fair enough.

Gili T is predominately Muslim. There certainly is an overemphasized “let’s go streaking mentality” and other muttered party anglo-isms. To me, that is the fun and confusing dichotomy of the island.

There are Muslim women who completely cover up and those who are tanned and clad in bikinis. Even though the visible and audible Muslim traditions are apparent, Gili Trawangan is regarded as the “party” island. High season is coming soon, but for now it is a rather tame low season sensibility. The locals we meet are hilarious and light hearted and we are often asked, “are you twins?”

There is a mosque on the island with daily and frequent reminders to pray. When I say reminders, I mean speakers, and when I say speakers, I mean loud and for long durations. In total, the “announcements” are five times per day. They start before sunrise, and end early in the evening.

The first night we were here, we went for a Bintang and roasted curried chicken on the beach. Gili Meno’s majestic mountains can be seen from the shore. The range enhances the sky with intersecting powdered ribbons of purple against the mostly bursting orange sunset.

We leave on foot, but not before seeing a guy dancing with batons lit with fire on each end.

The walk down the dark sandy roads towards our bungalow is pleasant and slightly spooky. We hear bells jingling at a rapid pace, and it sounds like it is coming our way.

The bells get progressively louder and finally we can see a dimly lit carriage in the distance. The dust clouds of sand surround the carriage. It is creepy. The pony’s large tufts of hair are illuminated and bouncing in tune with the bells and the clop, clop, clop of his gait.

The terror dissipates as we see a man in the carriage driving the horse and carrying a flashlight, and it looks like he has a pulse.

We peacefully return to our bungalow, blast the air con, and settle in to watch a movie.

The return home takes us to Kuta, Bali. We are here for 24 hours and then fly to Bangkok for a day or two. I settle in Seattle for a day, and finally back to Orlando.