Deep Blacks

Because after seeing this, I wanted everything to be deeply black.

Because I'm so grateful for your words to pull me from my own creative depths, I made something different.

Thank you.

How Long is a Funk No Longer a Funk and Just the End?

or Yesterday in Dippy Form

I decided a long time ago that I didn't want to do photography sessions for strangers.  I'll take good friends' referrals, but that's as far as I'm willing to go.  I don't want to market, schedule, or shoot strangers.  It's not my thing. **  There's plenty of talented (and untalented) photographers around, call them.  I'll even refer you to someone I trust.  

But when you don't want to take sessions and you fall into a creative funk, that's a scary drop.  Because if you fall far enough, there's no one to pull you out.  No one on your schedule to force you back in love.  Fall back in love or else your income dries up.  But when you do photography for yourself, you just respect the funk.  Know it will pass and patiently wait.

Well, I've been waiting and waiting for the funk to end.  I've been blaming work and busy house.  I've been hoping the light sparks again.  I've been telling myself, "This will pass.  It always does."  Then I sink deeper into the funk and spend a few days not caring if it ever ends.  What's the point?  I'm not doing it for a living or even extra cash?  I was doing it for me.  And if I don't care, why do I invest in feeling guilty about being funky.  Bad funky.  Not the awesome funky.  I push through the 366 because I signed up and I'm too stubborn to give up.  I keep taking a few pictures of the kids because one day they'll hate my camera.  But with every day, I sink further into "What's the point?"

I don't think giving up the 366 will make my funk go away.  I don't think photographing strangers will help.  I don't think doing another project will fuel my creativity.  Maybe my honeymoon is over and if I just accept that the glow is gone, I'll get to the comfortable zone of photography.  But that sounds like a woman in a shitty marriage saying, "He treats me like crap.  The kids are grown. I'm old.  And at least I have a roof over my head."  Bad analogy?  Makes sense in my head.  I just feel like I'm been treading water with photography for the past two months and sometimes I just want to sink and let it go.  Because what's the point?

Here's the point that keeps me kicking my legs: when it's good, it feels pure and golden.  It feels like the most honest and beautiful thing I can produce.  I think most creative people can identify with this reason.  It's the only thing that keeps me snapping those 366. But while I still have a shred of passion (eew, I hate this word) left, I'm invested in trying to fix this funk.  I'm reading "People Pictures" by Chris Orwing and "Photographically Speaking: A Deeper Look at Creating Stronger Images" by David duChemin.  I'm planning on using the summer to really learn and understand Lightroom.  I feel pretty comfortable in Photoshop, but knowing both would be nice.  I want to schedule some photowalks (email me if you're in Columbus) and use this weather to my advantage.  Forgive me is I wax on about my photographic style in an attempt to find it.  Forgive me if I post randomly or if the style seems like it's against the grain.  I have to figure out the Point of it all.  And if all that fails, I'll chuck the camera and I'll wait for a different hobby to sink into my heart.  Tatting or calligraphy could use some new followers.  If you really want me to avoid knots and ink, give me some advice.  What helps you when you get bad funky?  What books do you reach for?  Sites you have to check to perk yourself up?  Kick my ass, please.

Yesterday in pairs.

Spring risotto ingredients :: dishwasher is still broken.

Pup had a scare.  We had a scare :: Late Mother's Day gift.

Late afternoon sun highlights dinner's glass and a toy from Becks :: cleared plates means risotto goes into rotation.

Home Sweet Home :: Home Sweet Home.

**Side note to my Family & Friends: call me.  I'd be thrilled to document your lives.  Having a baby?  Call me.  I'll attempt to move my schedule around. 

Boys.

I've had a few people ask, "Don't you wish had girls to pass down your info about cooking, quilting, knitting, i.e. other typical women thingys?"  Nope.  I figured raising my boys to better understand women might be better use of my skills.  Fingers crossed I do that well.  But one thing I wish I could pass on, might be wasted on my boys.  And it's what I've written about at O+U today.

It's No Secret

I've been busy.  I try really hard to not complain about it, but I fail every single day.  Most days, I fail four times before lunch.  I'm always telling someone, "I'm so busy."  We're all busy in our own way, so I should keep my busy trap shut.  But I can't.  Because saying "I'm really busy" makes me feel better.  Or it gives people a reason why they're looking at a disheveled shell of a woman.  The dishwasher broke a month ago and we haven't replaced it.  It adds shit to my long To DO list, but I'm too busy to shop for a new one.  I'm too busy to write over here.  I'm too busy to take any more than one picture a day, because I'm too busy to even edit that one photo.  Why add more?  Work is the main reason.  But throw in some personal projects and I've got myself a shit storm of crap to do.

I feel bad when it gets like this because everything suffers.  We're behind on grocery shopping, doctor's appointments, clean dishes and laundry.  I come home.  Work a bit.  Cook dinner.  Fall onto the couch.  Unpack my suitcase.  Pack it again.  Repeat.  The boys have not had my full attention lately and I feel bad about that.  I'm stressed, so I pounce faster than usual.  As you can imagine I'm not much fun to be around.  

The other day, I was ironing.  I used a squirt bottle on a difficult wrinkle and decided to squirt Coop.  He found it hilarious.  Probably because it's been days since I was remotely funny.  I squirt him again and then gave him the bottle.  I took some fire and then let him chase his brother around the house.  When the water ran out, the kids and the house were damp.  That counts as a bath, right?

 

Single Shot Saturday: Someday I'll Write More Here, but Until Then This Guy Mocks Me.