Life without reference points; that is what India is. The comparison between my favorite children's classic, Alice in Wonderland and India is undeniable. Alice fell down the rabbit hole where her perspective was immediately altered. Stepping off the plane at the New Delhi airport did not feel much different. In India, like Wonderland, colors are more vivid, sounds are amplified, and smells are intoxicating. The term sensory overload only touches upon your experience. To truly grasp what India offers you must, like Alice, be curious and fearless. You need to leave your metropolitan vanities behind and be ready for an adventure of a lifetime. To savor its richness you must abandon your need for order, cleanliness and sanity. It is only then that you may begin to make sense of the madness. New Delhi has a youthful energy. Walking the streets you are reminded of a society that was once slow to embrace technology. Each street has a hanging maze of electrical wires that resemble a ball of yarn after a cat has had his way with it. But a glance down any sketchy alleyway and you find trendy shops, and big-deal cocktail dens that put Brooklyn hipster mixologists to shame. The convergence of the old and new is off-putting, and fascinating. Then there is the traffic. Traffic lights, blinkers, and double white lines only seem to be suggestions. The traffic is nothing more than a free-for-all, yet driving in the mayhem for two weeks, I did not witness a single accident. Just as Alice had experienced people, places, and things she never saw before, she endured because she remained open to the adventure, and became curiouser and curiouser. Traveling out of Delhi, into the mystical mountains of the Himalaya's presented yet another Wonderland. The first obstacle that you confront is the altitude, soaring to 10,000+ feet. Even the seasoned traveler's pace grinds to a halt. Fatigue, shortness of breath, and sleepiness consume you. The only prescription, rest. When your strength returns, it is then time to navigate the steep and craggy streets. The Himalayas are the last stronghold of the Tibetan culture. Buddhism is pervasive. It is no mystery why this rugged region was chosen by the Dali Lama as the hillside home of the Tibetan government in exile. Beyond the isolation and the terrain, the altitude forces you to slow down to a snail's pace. Walking at such an extreme altitude is no longer about getting from point A to B. Walking becomes an unhurried, intentional meditation. This slower pace reveals a cast of characters similar to the ones Alice found in her Wonderland. I encountered monks draped in crimson robes, nuns with freshly shaven heads, grinning Indian shopkeepers, dazed travelers lost in their phantasmagorical trip, Sikh's balancing orange turbans on their heads, and me, a curious blonde, trying to make sense of it all. It was then Alice's Wonderland and my India, merged. Both were enchanted quests where the characters were eccentric, the conventionality of life gave way to the bizarre, and the usual and predictable took a back seat to the improbable. Alice returned home from her adventure a changed person, as did I, and curiously we shared the same lessons. Life doesn't always make sense. To fully embrace the time we are given, you must remain curious, retain a sense of humor, and do not take yourself, or life too seriously. Don't cling to the past, welcome change, and look forward to the best version of yourself, which is continually unfolding. India is a wild and unpredictable land, where the extremes of life are embraced. For me, living without reference points, for my two week adventure was exhilarating and intoxicating.
If Alice taught us anything it is, one need not jump on a plane to an exotic location to find a wild adventure, one needs only to remain curious and fearless, for that is where you will find your wonderland. Live in color, Abby
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Heaven was all aflutter on the evening of September 10th 2016. Angels were giddy with themselves, giving each other high fives. What brought about this celestial excitement? A special earthbound delivery was made to a very eager and mildly apprehensive, expectant couple. The angels in charge of baby placement take their job very seriously. Day in and day out, baby orders are meticulously filled. However, on this particular morning, they received a special order stamped with the highest priority. Every generation or two, Heaven's BP team (baby placement) receive a special decree, instructing them to send a Keeper of the Crystal, when earthlings are adrift. A Keeper of the Crystal is someone that has been specifically chosen by the BP elders, to carry a rare and magical crystal to earth. The couriers considered for this assignment must go through a rigorous selection process, ultimately chosen for their unfolding bravery and wisdom. Their task is not only to carry the crystal to earth, but to share its ancient and vital story. As the present Keeper of the Crystal, allow me to pass along its story: Many moons ago, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a dashing young prince. His home was an imposing Medieval castle, nestled on the glistening banks of the mighty Alpenzee river, in the kingdom of Jord. The castle's soaring towers overlooked the lush, rolling pastures, that were the prince's playground. Our spirited prince was adored by all, especially by his menagerie of animals, all gifts from his doting parents. His furry clan included; Thor the hamster, Bromley a Potbellied pig, Durango a Shetland pony, and his cherished Newfoundland, Max. He spent his days with his roaming band of pets, immersed in the curiosity of the dense forest. The woods and its enchanted creatures fascinated him. Countless hours were spent tracking raccoons, garter snakes and anything else that slithered in the night. He scoured the palette of the forest floor, always on the lookout for freshly gnawed bark and the slimy trail of the reptile, leaving its glistening calling card. The woods were his domain. One day, unexpectedly, a great fog descended upon his valley and cast the entire kingdom into darkness. This was the kind of suffocating fog that rolls in, taking up residence with no plans of budging. It had become the kingdom's obnoxious houseguest that just wouldn't leave. For weeks, the sun's light remained obscured by this haunting fog. The young prince was locked in its misty shadows and was sadly confined to his tower. Day after day, he longingly gazed out his window, cut off from his forest escapades. This stubborn fog seemed to put a sullen weight on the entire kingdom. His land became steeped in an unshakable sadness. The simple pleasure of watching the sunlight dance upon on the rushing Alpenzee had disappeared. The morning dew on the rolling meadow no longer lit the grass with thousands of flickering reflections. The flowers that once gloriously trailed along the castle walls, now lowered their heads, weeping with sadness. Even our prince became cloaked in melancholy as he gazed out his window, transfixed in a palpable gloom. Hope of ever seeing his land bathed in light again, was slipping away. Each day our prince patiently waited for the fog to lift. However, each day brought more of the slumbering haze. Slumped with despair, sitting in his tower window, a tear slowly rolled down his plump cheek. It dropped and came to rest upon a handsome sterling tray, that held his morning tea. His beloved Newfoundland, Max, seeing his sadness, lumbered to his side. He greeted him with a nuzzle, as he slipped his velvety nose under his arm. The prince gazed into his chestnut eyes and became lost in his tender, twinkling reflection. Max knew the tickle of his fur, and a sloppy lick, would comfort him. There was nothing softer than the bridge of his nose, and nothing sweeter than his fragrant musk. The prince's spirits were immediately lightened. He grabbed his beast's massive head and buried his face in his thick luxurious coat. Max's tail thumped with delight, as a smile gradually appeared on the prince's innocent face. As the two hugged, a single shaft of light miraculously pierced through the fog, slicing open the murk. The stream of light entered his bedroom window, illuminating his silver tray, bouncing iridescent light everywhere. Astounded by the display, the prince and Max began to leap with elation, as his bedroom became engulfed in a vortex of color. The pure joy of being with his gentle companion, saturated in a whirl of luminosity sent them both into a good-natured wrestle. Dizzy with excitement he plopped himself in his over-stuffed chair, bumping the table that held the sterling tray, knocking the source of the kaleidoscope to the floor. The tear that had dropped from his eye and landed on his silver tray had magically been transformed into a beautiful multi-faceted crystal, casting light, and most importantly, hope of a new day. This enchanted crystal not only cast light into the darkness, but carried the essential lessons of promise and resilience. Gradually, the fog that had descended upon his kingdom, gently released its grip, giving way to the long overdue, glorious light. The prince gathered his merry band of four-legged friends, scooped up the crystal, and set off to the forest for the first time in weeks. As they made their way through the grassy woodland, he became mesmerized by the flicker of light through the forest boughs, and the enchanted shadows it cast. He paused under a great towering Oak, reached into his deep pocket and pulled out the magical crystal. Gazing into its cut planes, it was then he understood the wisdom of the crystal. He now had an awareness of the duality of life. It was the darkness that made him appreciate the light, and it was his sadness that gave way to his joy: two facets of the same crystal. The moral of crystal is to embrace all facets of life, positive and negative, light and dark, and bitter and sweet; uniting both opposites is where wisdom resides With that, Max let out a booming, yet playful bark, as the prince and his trusted companion jubilantly darted under the sun-streaked sky. The Beginning Jasper, I pass this story of the Crystal on to you. You are now its Keeper. It is your mission to share the wisdom of the Crystal with all you meet throughout your exhilarating journey.
Your forever sparkling Grandmama. Live in color, Abby Say it isn't so! How can this be? Just when my potted plants have matured into explosions of color, just when I can finally identify the constellations as they roll across the evening sky, just when my dinner consists of freshly picked corn, tomatoes and basil, it's over! How can this be? Summer seems to have been nothing more than a tease. As if a stunning blonde, flaunting her youth and beauty, filling you with hope and excitement, only to slip away leaving you cold and alone once again. Before we slide into the chill of autumn, we need to squeeze out every last drop of what summer holds. I will start in my meadow. The meadows in Vermont at the end of August are all abuzz with activity. If you listen closely, you can hear the flowers chant their final farewell. The sweetest of all the flowers are not the showy blossoms, the Daisies and Black-eyed Susan's, but the delicate weed flowers that paint an impressionistic wash across their lush palette. These are the unsung beauties that hold a quiet dignity to the pastures. So farewell dear posies, farewell golden light, it is sad to see you go. As September unpacks her cool evenings and falling leaves, the warmth of summer will remain eternal in my heart. Don't cry that summer is over, smile because it happened. Live in color,
Abby Lately, items that are worn or that are cast-off, seem to be catching my interest. To find something that has been discarded, or in decay and then to elevate it to its full glory, is what is calling me. On a recent weekend at the ocean, I scoured the shoreline for sea treasures. I am really talking about ocean debris. I noticed a simple shell that had been picked clean by a seagull, and left waiting to be washed back into the pounding surf. At first glance, the shell appeared to be simple, but at closer examination, it was anything but simple. The sea snail shell caught my eye because of its spiral design, or Nautilus. This isn't your average, run of the mill spiral, but a mathematically perfect spiral. Since the beginning of time the Nautilus has come to symbolize the cycles of life, and the spiritual journey. How could I not get drawn into its near circular labyrinth? It was time to elevate this lone shell, from an abandoned mollusk home, to the captivating symbol of cosmic energy and beauty it has come to represent.
The shell and I had a moment, for it was in that intimate moment the shell revealed its beauty. Live in color, Abby Have you ever wondered why, after a trip to the ocean, you feel alive and invigorated? On a recent beach holiday, I noticed after just a few hours of breathing in the invigorating air, my mood seemed to improve. I was more relaxed, and I could take a full breath, filling my lungs with what seemed to be energized air. I get it. The beach is beautiful, powerful and majestic; however there was something undefinable in the air. During my first morning stroll along the shoreline with a friend, we both felt we were hit by something palpable as we approached the water's edge. I turned to her and said, "Do you feel that?" She said, "Yep, it's the ions." So what are these ions? Seashore ions are not your garden variety ions. These potent little energized molecules are negative ions, but there is nothing negative about them. For all of you (me included) that fell asleep in Chemistry 101, here's the deal. The air we all breath is filled with molecules. These particles contain electrons and protons. When the number of protons and electrons are not balanced, the particles become either negatively or positively charged. A seashore ion is a negatively charged molecule, containing more electrons than protons. Sea air contains electron-rich particles that have healing properties better than the claims once made by snake oil salesmen. These ions are the real deal. Negative ions have been found to enhance your immune system, purify your blood and increase your sex drive. Oh, now I have your attention! Urban settings have high concentrations of positive ions, due to the irritating elements in our environment. Polluted air and electronic equipment are chronic generators of potentially harmful positive ions. However at the beach, away from pollution, negative ions rule. The plain fact is, negative ions help the body function more efficiently. They balance the autonomic nervous system, and act as a natural anti-depressant. For the next few days of my vacation, I greeted each morning with a deep breath of briny sea air, and reveled in salty mist. By the end of my visit my frown lines seemed to soften, my mood lifted, and a smile became firmly planted on my face.
Walking up the weathered ramp for the ferry ride home, I felt charged. I took my last inhalation of the curative ions... ready to conduct and transform my world. With summer now half over, I am writing you a prescription for a dose of beach. Rx: One beach visit, deep inhalation every 2 to 3 hours followed by rest and relaxation. Repeat as often as needed. Unlimited refills. Live in color, Abby Have you ever really experienced the end of a day? Have you ever watched, not just the magnificence of a sunset, but what follows? The time when stillness consumes the landscape and enchantment reins...dusk. This in-between time, straddling the fading light and emergence of the first evening star, evokes a sense of mystery. After the sun sets, curiously the evening breeze grows still, and bird songs seem to hush. Momentarily we are suspended between light and dark realms, creating a magical space to pause. Dusk is the day's intermission. Now don't waste this intermission to grab a snack. This intermission is meant to dangle oneself between consciousness and unconsciousness, providing a reflective space to inhabit. This space can hold an amalgam of sensations. One could be enticed into this mystical gateway, or be consumed by a fear of foreboding darkness. Dusk is the interval between the day and night, a darkening that still holds within itself the final, residual luster of the sun, now mythically embarked on its night-sea journey." This short yet bewitching time should be utilized wisely. Enter this interval to high five the day, or touch base with your powers that be...as the day's last glimmer of light is silently extinguished. Live in color,
Abby Saturday morning in Vermont means only one thing: farmer's market. The stalls are packed with the freshest of vegetables, and roaming the market in search of dinner's green is a tough job, but someone has to do it. Beets, garlic scapes, carrots, oh my! Produce that is vibrant with color and plump, exploding with flavor is what draws me in.
A lone bag of spring green sugar snaps catches my attention over the golden beets and heirloom carrots, a perfect accompaniment to the planned grilled beef tips. On the car ride home, somehow, a few snap peas mysteriously disappeared. I couldn't resist the delicate pods, and popped a few in my mouth to uncover their sweet burst of flavor. Not only were they cute, but they were delicious! Produce has a peak of freshness. Capturing greens, at their height is worth celebrating. With these sugar snaps in their prime, a photo shoot of the delectable pods, to revel in their peakness, was in order. I could hear my lone pod, when placed on a stark white plate say....."Mr. DeMille, I am ready for my close-up". Live in color, Abby Now more than ever I am drawn to the sea. There is a solace that only the water's edge can provide. After a weekend on the pristine beaches of Provincetown, I asked myself, what is it about the sea that makes my heart soften? Standing in the warm sand of a dune, as the wind engulfs me with a flag flapping force, I can witness first hand the precarious balance of nature. The fierceness of the water is tamed only by the gentle rising slope of the glistening shoreline, depositing fragments of shells along with other discarded ocean treasures. At the edge of the sea I find myself at an intersection between the vast and ever changing sky, the tumultuous tides, and me, a mere moral fortunate enough to witness this untamed commotion. It is that untamed character of the sea I am drawn to, reminding me I am not much more than a grain of sand holding ground until I too am washed away. At the edge of the sea…
Live in color, Abby Is a lifetime of asking questions a waste of time?
There is a good chance a toddler's first foray into verbal communication just might come in the form of questions. These questions keep coming and coming and coming, becoming more complex and enigmatic as we mature. Now don't get me wrong, questions are great. Questions are a sign of curiosity and intellect. However, at some point as we mellow, I ask the game changing question, "Do we really need to know all the answers?" Asking questions with no solid answers is frustrating. Just ask a person of science. A scientist will give you a hypothesis, or theory where answers are unknown, which for me, leads straight to a headache and two Advil. There is something to be said for being okay in the not knowing. So now in my sixth decade, I'm taking a new approach; I am embracing ambiguity. I don't believe it is giving up a good fight, but more opening myself up to creative thinking. Ambiguity creates a space where ingenious options reside. How about using that newfound space as our personal sandbox to muck around in? What if we throw out the need to know, and experience the freedom of digging deep into our limitless imagination and see what we can unearth. Shovels not included. Live in color, Abby In the bleak days of the winter of 1980, scared and totally unprepared, I awaited the arrival of my first and only child. I never planned on being a mother. That was for other women, certainly not me. I had chosen a life of travel and adventure, and frowned upon the parochial life of a suburban mom. I went kicking and screaming into motherhood, but in time joyfully accepted my job as nurturer, teacher and role model to a little boy who stole my heart. In the days leading up to my son's birth I agonized over what type of mother I wanted to be. I didn't want to make the same mis-steps my parents made with me. I vowed I would tell my child, he was loved every day, and I would encourage him to dream big. I was raised with limitations all around me, closing off a world of dreams. I taught my son he could be whatever he wanted to be, while remaining kind, considerate and compassionate. Wanting to reinforce these intentions for my unborn child, I started a needlepoint with a theme I loved - animals. The subject etched into the needlepoint's canvas was Noah's Ark, a story of unwavering faith and gratitude. My idea was to stitch a canvas of hopes and dreams. Each animal, held a key value that I wanted to impart to my child: the lion represented courage, the elephant, wisdom and strength, and giraffe taught resourcefulness and intuition. Stitch by stitch my intentions were sewn firmly put in place. In the final days of my pregnancy, I hung the canvas of intentions on his nursery wall. Now 36 years later, I have dug out that same needlepoint from my box of memorabilia, cleaned it off, and will present it to my son, and his beautiful pregnant wife, due this September. The energy of intentions that have been stitched into this needlepoint are still palpable. As I pass this embroidery on to my first grandchild, may he be guided by Noah's determination and the wisdom of these powerful totem animals. May he be strong, patient, resilient, creative and filled with passion. May this piece also remind my son that all our lives are interwoven, it is that connectedness that is the fiber of our very existence. Live in color, Abby Happy Mother's Day
Have you ever wondered what a photographer is trying to say with her photographs? Just as a writer needs to develop an idea before she sits down to her computer to write the next great American novel; a photographer also needs to be clear about the message she is trying to convey though her image. This week I am wrapping up a 12 week on-line visual journaling workshop guided by Kim Manley Ort and Sally Drew. The goal of the workshop was to develop the skills needed to become more self-aware of my thoughts, emotions and photographic voice, and learn how it affects the images I make. This workshop took me beyond the technical into 12 weeks of introspection. I examined the metaphors and symbols found in my images and uncovered themes, patterns and the universal messages hidden within the pixels. It seemed simple enough until the question was asked, "Why do I take photographs?" This seems like a easy question, but not so fast. What I discovered is that I had no idea what I was trying to say with my photographs. Was I just clicking away willy-nilly, or was there a clear intent or vision to my images? It took weeks for me to wade through my images and the thoughts that lay behind them, but finally a golden thread appeared. One of my final assignments was to write an "Artist Statement". OY! This was no small task. To make it even more difficult, I needed to whittle it down to just a few sentences. After several false starts, I began to weave that golden thread into the very fabric of my being. To understand the method of my madness, I offer you my Artist Statement: Alice had her looking glass, I have my camera. Just as Alice wanted to escape her reality, at times, so do I. By placing my camera up to my eye, I am suddenly propelled into a magical kingdom filled with phantasmagorical colors and shapes, curiously awash in enchanted light. I try to capture nature's hidden realms that are privy only to those with inquisitive eyes. My job is to create a space I can escape to, finding a momentary respite in which I can finally breathe. Welcome to my space. I'm not strange, weird, off, nor crazy, my reality is just different from yours.” The wonder of it all is what astounds me, perhaps you feel the same. As illustrated by these simple pussy willows, moistened by the morning dew; enchantment takes hold.
We all have our creative pursuits, whether it's photography, writing, painting, cooking, gardening, or whatever. Next time you have that creative urge, ask yourself, "Why am I doing this? What do I want it to say about me?" If you are up for the challenge, begin by being intentional, starting with your voice. Live in color, Abby Thank you, Kim and Sally, for gently guiding me to the self-reflection required to become more creative. To find out more about this workshop and others click onto www.kimmanleyort.com/blog/. She probably has walked these weathered, cobblestone streets all her life, and today was no exception. I was drawn to her floral smock, layered with a crisp gingham apron. Pride in her appearance was apparent. Her wooden cane added just enough support to her bowed legs, and balance to her weary feet, as she made her way to the morning market.
I can only imagine the savory ingredients, on her shopping list for this evenings family dinner; pungent herbs, farm ripe vegetables, and perhaps a fresh hen to round out the meal. There was a contentment and ease about her. Her strong, dignified presence and gentle demeanor convinced me she was content with her place in life. She was satisfied strolling the familiar streets, while running her mundane daily chores. Providing her family a nurturing and delectable meal, with the freshest ingredients gave her purpose, and that was enough. The streets are filled with many wise ones, sages, that silently walk among us, showing us a calm acceptance to life. How accepting are you of your life? Live in color, Abby One never knows when an amazing gift will come your way. A dozen roses showed up on my doorstep this week. These weren't your garden variety roses, but deep persimmon roses. They were beautiful and they knew it. Not only were these roses dazzling, they screamed Spring, calling me into action. With the morning sunlight casting a radiant glow on these perfect posies, I reached for my camera, and clicked and clicked away. I immediately went into the Georgia O'Keeffe mode, seeing the sensual abstractions that revealed themselves, tucked deep within their layered folds, as water droplets clung to their fleshy surface. When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not." This is why I love photography, discovering the hidden form and beauty in the everyday. The scent and sensuality of flowers is nothing to sneeze at. I hate flowers - I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move." Live in color, Abby HAPPY SPRING!
Every culture since the beginning of time has done it. The Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Celts, all the way back to the Babylonians have done it. It was time I gave it a try. Scrying is the practice of looking into a reflective surface, examining the non-physical shapes and images that reveal themselves to you. Scrying creates a meditative state in which you only focus on the patterns and lines before you. Different items may be used as a focus tool, water is the most common, however, mirrors, crystals, smoke, flames and even clouds has been used throughout time. In my case I chose ice, for which there is an abundance in Vermont, as the ground wakes from its winter slumber. With spring approaching, the rivers and streams of the Green Mountains are choked with massive, thick slabs of ice moving downstream. Like giant building blocks, strewn along the riverbanks, they called me in for a closer examination. The slabs average 6 inches deep, with some pieces spanning several feet wide. On this day the surface of these hulking blocks of ice turn into reflective pools of light from the warm March afternoon sun, a perfect opportunity for Scrying. Looking closely into these glistening glacial blocks reveals the cracks, scars and frozen bubbles from a winter with too many thaws and freezes. An icy cross-section can hold intriguing shapes and figures for the viewer. The mind struggles to find meaning in the abstract, but eventually it quietly settles into the hum of an internal wisdom, unmasking only what needs to be seen.
Whether we choose to scry or to simply commit to seeing more deeply there is an abundance of highly cool stuff out there to astonish and amaze. We can never have too much amazement, can we? Live in color, Abby We are all guilty of returning home from a wonderful vacation with the familiar, iconic photos that resemble postcards, more than a personal experience. The sweeping landscapes dappled with light, the grand cathedral in the bustling square, and let us not forget the ubiquitous sunset saturated with the day's golden afterglow, they all vie for your photographic attention. There is nothing wrong with with any of those images, but what does that tell of my personal and emotionally charged experience? On a recent return visit to San Miguel de Allende, located in central Mexico, I decided I was going to focus only on my abstract impressions of this charming colonial town. The reward of this exercise was that I actually, for the first time, saw this quaint town. Instead of targeting the classic compositions, I concentrated solely on color, shapes and textures. It was liberating. At this moment in time, I am drawn to the abstractions of the world. I believe abstract images are demanding and require more attention, affording an opportunity to delve deeper into the nature of things, unmasking unique emotional reactions. Abstract photography for me is the art of subtraction, eliminating most everything literal from an image, exposing the subject's true essence. Leaving behind the postcard images for another photographer, these are my impressions of San Miguel.
Live in color, Abby Can you always trust what you see?
I think not. In these days of Photoshop and advanced photography programs that enhance, tweak and transform, many of the images we see have been altered in some way. I am currently on a journey, attempting to reveal, dare I say, my inner artist. I start my day by perusing countless photography sites exposing me to not only fabulous photographers, but amazing techniques used in post-processing. Textures, grains, and layers...oh my! There are a myriad of options available to the budding photographer when editing one's images. But the question arises, do I really want to change the photo that much? I recently completed an artistic photography workshop. Fantastic results were rendered by layering and masking an image. The results were phantasmagorical, highly cool, but not to my taste. This morning as a walked into my garage, I noticed the window was speckled with frost. There I stood, witnessing the morning's gift, frost. I made an about-face, walked back into the house to grab my camera. With camera and macro lens in hand, I clicked away, trying to catch each perfectly unique formation. My favorite was the one above, which I titled, Keeper of the Crystal. I showed the above image to a friend and he asked, what did I do to the image to make it look this way, and how did I get that nugget in the center? The short answer, nothing. Sure, I tweaked the basic adjustments and added a vignette, but that's it. I could have added a texture or layers, but I chose not to. Why mess with nature? A sage once said, "If you can't improve on silence, keep quiet". Allow me to tweak that by saying, if you can't improve upon natural beauty, do nothing. And that is exactly what I did with this image. Don't thank me for the image. Thank Mother Nature. Live in color, Abby So what does a girl do on a chilly winter's day? Hightail it down to the creek, lay on a slab of ice, and take photos. Hidden in the solitude of Vermont, if one is crazy enough to withstand frigid temperatures, one can uncover extraordinary hidden treasures. On today's outing I parked myself next to a half frozen river and witnessed the magic. In one fell swoop, life is gushing with movement, yet also frozen in time. How does that happen? My words could not amplify the beauty I found within the ice. I will let the images speak for themselves.
Live in color, Abby Who are we if not our memories? A funny thing happens on the way to one's own antiquity. We try to grab on to the fragments of our life, desperately attempting to slow time down. Sadly, that doesn't work. Time marches on, slowing for no one. If we are smart, we surround ourselves with photographs. Photographs of the good times and of our loved ones, reminding us where we came from, who we once were, and who we think we are today. In the hall of my home, I once had a wall of family photos spanning decades. Images of my parents as young, impressionable lovers, grandparents long gone, pictures of my son at various stages, along with our dogs, in-laws that have fallen into out-laws, and a slightly faded Kodak print of me, a favorite. It was a shot of me at the tender age of four, or there about, with arms folded, already showing signs of defiance and independence. This photographic walk down memory lane was my window into who I was, and gave a nod to the people that added texture to my life. One day my son referred to this area as, "The wall of the dead,” harsh, but partially true. I quickly removed all the photographs. What I didn't realize at the time was that that wall was my anchor, which mapped out my voyage and my family's evolution. That innocuous wall, strangely, gave me comfort on my current circuitous journey. "Memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all… Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action.” ~ Luis Bunuel Memories aren't stagnant, they are a living grab bag of impressions and experiences that define us and fuel our creativity. So why do we bury away our photographs? Why don't we proudly show off all the phases of our lives? What if we were to print a few photographs today? Mount them in our favorite frames and carefully arrange them on our shelves. Flood our memory with images, for our memory is our unique story, revealing how we have grown, not aged. Live in color,
Abby Have you had a good rant today? It seems wherever I look these days someone is going on about the abysmal state we presently live in. Growing up we were told we were the good guys, the reasonable, educated ones, the leaders... How's that working for us? Oh, what a mess we have made on our watch! I am not here to be political or to have any neat and tidy solutions, I just want to shed light on something I have noticed with great regularity lately. We have become a country of sheep. The media is chockablock full of talking heads, all spouting views that instead of being calm, intelligent and rational, ignite and divide. Don't get me wrong, bring on the talking heads, the more views the better, however, how we each deal with them is the real problem. When has taking sides become so important? This all seems like high school to me, the need to fit in, bestowing your allegiance to one group, or a way of thinking, to be accepted. What happened to thinking for oneself? How about using the God-given talents we are all have, to form a unique perspective allowing us to assess the situation and work with others, as opposed to fighting with them. It takes a strong person to stand alone and not join an angry mob. It takes a strong person to take the effort to educate oneself from numerous outlets, formulate your own opinion, and not follow the masses. Sheep have a strong instinct to follow. Back in 2005 a story hit the airwaves about 450 ill-fated sheep. The sheep died as they followed each other off a cliff in the pastoral town of Gevas, Turkey. The fallen sheep plummeted 50 feet, creating a downy pile of carcasses which allowed the fallen stragglers to walk away unharmed. Sheep are social creatures, as we are. Flocking is ingrained in the breed with the notion there is safety in numbers: sound familiar? But are we sheep? More importantly, do you want to be the surviving straggler who walks away unscathed, whose only job is to bury the carcasses?
Live in color, Abby The attached photos are from an 2009 excellent adventure to New Zealand with my sister. I knew the photos would come in handy one day. Happy Holidays How do you know when winter has arrived? During the holiday season, it's easy. We watch the Rockefeller Center tree go up, or see the department store windows explode with gold and crystals in celebration of whatever seasonal holiday you may choose to recognize (how's that for being politically correct). My indicator for the arrival of winter is when my pond forms its first delicate coating of ice. The summer's pond is an epicenter for the native flora and fauna, all jostling for their piece of this pristine landscape. It's abuzz with fish, birds, turtles, and assorted varments that slink from the woods in the hopes of snaring a tasty morsel. Then November comes. This is a magical time. The turtles somehow know to disappear into their winter dens. The fish begin their sedentary existence in the depths of the water, while the ducks and geese have all flown south. What remains is an uninvited stillness that begins to descend upon the pond with stealth-like precision. The forever shifting surface of the summer's water succumbs to quietude as temperatures drop; while the chill of winter silently extinguishes any visible sign of life. Slowly, without fanfare, one molecule of water at a time, the surface beings to solidify, encasing the once dynamic facade into a veneer of glistening ice. The pond becomes bound in a suspended animation, forced into a frozen dormancy. Nature is constantly shape shifting, changing and evolving, just as you are. Take the time to immerse yourself in your natural world, for if you blink, you could miss these magical transformations, including your own.
Live in color, Abby This face has haunted me for 9 years now. In 2006 I left my comfy existence in Vermont for an independent tour of Southeast Asia. I flew solo for 3 months testing my courage and resilience on an eye-opening adventure. On a swing through Cambodia, and the obligatory stop at Angkor Wat, I met this young girl. She was just one of many scruffy, yet captivating, children that attempt to endear themselves to the hundreds of tourists that descend upon this sacred site. All this little girl had to do was look at me: I melted, and took this photo. The New York Times recently published a riveting 3-part story titled, The Displaced, about the 30 million, yes 30 million, children that have been displaced by numerous wars and uprisings around the world. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/08/magazine/the-displaced-introduction.html?_r=0 Please take a moment to read this article. 30 million children, frightened, homeless and all struggling to survive. Wrap that statistic around your head as you watch your children, or your nieces and nephews, as they clamor for the latest tech thingy or Balmain frock at H&M. Don't get me wrong, I'm not here to rant on the state of the global human condition, or overindulged American youth. I just want, as a photographer, for everyone to see the innocent faces of these children. We may not be able to appease tyrannical foreign governments, or cool radical extremists, but by looking into the eyes of some of these displaced children, and imagining their struggle, maybe we could do a better job in raising a more compassionate generation. This is happening on our watch: bad on us. A truly warmhearted generation may have both the understanding and means to make sure this never happens again. As for my little girl in Cambodia, pictured above, your guess is as good as mine. Is she still living in squalor along the river in Seim Reap? Does she have a young innocent of her own to feed? Is she still even alive? I don't have these answers, but this compelling little girl has touched my heart forever, just like the children in the Displaced story. All these faces have changed how I look at the world and its inhabitants. I have now begun to recognize the worldwide adversity and unfairness, especially for children. Can any of us afford to look away? A final image of another innocent of Cambodia, taken on the same trip.
Live in color, Abby How do you know when a chapter has come to an end; and how do you rally the courage to write a new one? Twenty-five years ago somewhere, deep in my mind's creative lobe, I designed a home that checked all my boxes. It was to be a getaway in the mountains of Vermont but turned into much more; this house became my passion. In just a few short years this dream project went from my imagination to an actual blueprint, to breaking ground. I was involved in every aspect of the design and building process, and loved every second. Nothing was done by chance, everything was intentional, right down to squirreling away crystals in the walls to ensure good vibes. My son was eight when we first walked the land, we imagined all that we would do on the vast rolling expanse. He was the one that named the property, Wildside, after Lou Reed's classic hit, Walk on the Wild Side. How fitting a name. Over the next twenty plus years we celebrated every holiday in this glorious home, enjoyed all the seasonal activities the Green Mountains had to offer, became an eager student of the mysteries of the woods, and raised 3 Newfoundland dogs, as I watched my son grow into a confident married man, now living aboard. In the silence of the star filled evenings of Vermont, I now find myself asking the question, in my life's story, is the chapter titled Wildside coming to an end? It's easy to stay put, to keep the status quo, but at what cost? Would I forfeit my next chapter because I am be too comfortable? Am I shying away from new challenges as the years roll by? "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived... I did not wish to live what was not life... nor did I wish to practice resignation... I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life." ~ Thoreau I'm not done challenging myself, no matter how titanic the decision of selling the family home is. Growth comes in the uncomfortable and challenging spaces, and the day I stop venturing into uncharted waters, I might as well just pack it in. So how does anyone say goodbye to a home that has protected you from the fierce winters, warmed you with its crackling fire, cooled you with its glistening pond in the summer heat, and fed the souls of all that crossed its threshold? I don't have the answer, but what I can tell you is, making the decision is heart wrenching. “I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do.” ~ Georgia O'Keeffe Am I ready to write a new chapter? Are any of us really ready?
Live in color, Abby In a 140 character, 24/7, nano second society, can we still appreciate the wisdom of the wise men and women that have walked before us? That was the question I asked myself on the plane ride home from New Mexico, from my weekend immersion into the wisdom of the Mayan culture. I had an opportunity to partake in a weekend workshop in northern New Mexico on a sprawling 100 acre compound. The workshop focused on the Council Wheel, a specific form of the American Indian Medicine Wheel. The Council Wheel is an oral tradition that has been handed down to mostly Native American medicine women. It was the women that carried the promise of keeping the culture and wisdom of the Wheel alive. The intrinsic knowledge of the Wheel came from past Chiefs, which addressed the relationship to the earth we share, and our responsibility to the life that emanates from it. The Council Wheel is a form of crisis management, a problem solving tool that could help a member of a tribe seek clarity to an issue, followed by a recommended course of action. The focus of our weekend workshop was to learn this tool and hopefully apply this ancient wisdom to our frenetic lives. Over three days, the eight participants, from various walks of life, delved deeper into the Council Wheel's history and learned of its essential characteristics. In a nutshell, the wheel is divided into eight sections, or lenses, each corresponding to the eight compass directions. The belief is that there is a unique perspective, or insight, that comes from each direction and that wisdom would then be clearly applied to the problem at hand. On our last evening, under a moonlit sky, we convened a Council Wheel formal gathering. Our eight fearless participants, accompanied by our two attentive directors, made our way through the rugged high desert. We walked in silence past gnarly bush, on a narrow meandering path which lead to an authentic tepee nestled amongst Russian olive trees. Crickets offered a cacophony of sound, emphasizing the stillness and the sacredness of the council. We had been all assigned a role and a direction. A question was posed and after great deliberation, we dispensed wise insight around a blazing fire within the warmth of the tepee. There is much reflection and ceremony that accompanies the Council Wheel, the gift arrives when we examine a problem from all perspectives, not just one or two. What I found was that there was a great commitment we must take to reap the wisdom of the wheel. It left me wondering, are we, as a modern fast paced culture, really committed to anything anymore to take on such a task? It seems always to boil down to commitment; the same commitment that is needed to excel in anything. There are no quick fixes, no magic pills to make us whole, happy and successful. No matter what culture we explore, we can find wisdom. The trick is to find a practice that resonates with us and commit to it. Upon awaking on our final morning, I was grateful for the insight into this new way of thinking and glad I now have more tools to add to my trusty toolbox. I was eager to leave the beautiful yet rustic surroundings, the basic cuisine, and most of all, to leave the compost toilet behind. My modern vanities were calling me once again. After our goodbyes and obligatory hugs, my husband and I hit the road. Vibrating from my newfound wisdom my immediate craving was for a Diet Coke; I'm just a simple girl. We drove though the pedestrian town of Espanola in search of the first fast food joint. We pulled into a Sonic, drove up to the drive-in window where dear husband was so confused by the absence of an actual restaurant, restroom, and completely befuddled by the ordering process and the multitude of offerings, he actually drove out!
OY, Commitment! Have we lost it? Live in color, Abby Thank you for joining me on this ride.
What direction Perspectives takes is still a mystery to me, like most things in my life. I am hoping this site will be more than pretty images, and intriguing narrative. I am hoping to touch upon life's conundrums, you know, the ones that make you scratch your head and say, WTF. We all struggle to make sense of life and may take assorted avenues to find meaning and purpose; my avenue of choice is photography. A quality image requires more than the camera of the moment, it requires an investment of my time and energy. If I whittle down, time and energy even further, the real prerequisite in photography is to be present, for it is in the being still that I can touch upon the vital undercurrents and clarity hidden within. Just as being present is essential for a good photographic image, it is also a requirement for a well-lived life. This week I am off to a Council Wheel workshop in the mountains of New Mexico, uncovering the legacy of the Mayan people. This is cool stuff! This workshop intends to unveil the ancient earth-based traditions of the Yucatan Peninsula, adding relevance to the world around us. The first request from our instructor is the commitment to be present. Hummmmm, its amazing how this being present thing keeps popping up. I look forward to sharing my Council Wheel experiences with you, along with any fringe and bead laden trinkets I may stumble across. Feathers, leather and beads, oh my! Live in Color, Abby Where do you go when you need a little calm in your life? When you had it with life's annoyances, where do you retreat to? Twenty-five years ago I ran away to the woods of Vermont, leaving behind my metropolitan vanities for the simplicity and grandeur of the Green Mountain woodlands. There I found a connection to the natural rhythms of the forest, which is what I needed at the time, however now, it's the ocean that calls me. Last month, I boarded a 80 foot schooner in the Boston harbor for a sunset cruise in the attempt to escape the despairing headlines and a frazzled mind. There is something about being on the water that lifts the veil of confusion and allows a momentary respite from life's melodrama. There is also something about watching athletic young men hoist unruly sails, harnessing the swelling canvas and the billowing wind. With the engines off, and sails weighted with the balmy fall breeze, the silence of the water consumes me. The only request I made of myself while boarding the vessel was to leave my monkeys on the dock. In meditation circles the term "monkey mind" is often used to describe ones overactive mind, comparing it to a horde of monkeys jumping and jabbering, all screeching for your attention. Each monkey has its own agenda and their names are a clue, Lethargy, Abandonment, and the most detestable of all, is the monkey named Fear. Confusion and indecision arise from these rampant primates, and it's our job to tame them. I wanted more than to tame them, I wanted to leave my monkeys behind on the weathered dock. As the wind picked up, the vessel listed to the starboard side; I hung on to the freshly polished railing, and just smiled. For me, there is nothing to be found on the water except freedom. We strive to find our unique place in the world, a solid place, sometimes described as one where your feet are firmly on the ground, yet gliding across the oceans wild surface, is anything but solid. So where does this calm come from? Could it be the surrendering to the unknown, accepting the mystery that encompasses us, to just hang on for the ride? It seems the simple act of being or surrendering, buttons ups the incorrigible monkeys, allowing peace and calm. My three hour cruise, minus the Professor and Marianne, proved successful; the monkeys stayed stranded on the dock, and on board, a slight chop and clear mind prevailed. Give yourself a gift and visit your sanctuary today. Reward yourself with a few moments of calm, tame your monkeys, or better yet, leave them on the dock.
Live in Color, Abby |
MUSINGSAn image alone sometimes feels insufficient, that’s where Musings come in. A space where words and images come together to tell the story. MAILING LISTI promise not to sell, rent, or share your email address with anyone. Ever.
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February 2024
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