Memories of Paris

Fifteen days in Paris....  

There is something about Paris that has pulled at the strings of my heart since I was a young girl.  It whispered to me in my dreams, this mythical capital of culture and love, luring me with promises of romance and grand architecture, of accordians and cafés, of promenades through winding streets, of parks and gardens, of its iconic structures and hidden gems, of freshly-baked baguettes and glasses of wine, of flower markets and bistros, of fashionably attired men and women, of the most amazing light I had ever seen.  Like so many others before me, Paris loomed large in my psyche, and for more than thirty years, my desire be there intensified with each passing year. 

Champs de Mars

In February, I spent fifteen days in Paris.  She was everything I had expected and more.  All of the things one might associate with Paris were even more magical in person; there was nothing cliché about them.  The Eiffel Tower, for example, is truly awe-inspiring.  The intricately woven iron girders seem almost delicate and lacy.   The first story of the structure is decorated with the gilded names of those involved in the construction of the tower.  When the sun is at the right angle, their names glow in remembrance and pay hommage to their skill.  The presence of la grande dame is felt in the city, as if she were a guardian watching over us all, illuminating the darkness and calling us home.

Sacré Coeur

Sacré Coeur, the basicillica, which presides over Montmartre is also a marvel.  There was a stillness inside this grand edifice, despite the throngs of visitors.  A thousand tiny, red prayer candles illuminated the alcoves, a thousand whispered wishes and gestures of gratitude from a multitude of souls, some lost, some wounded, some found.  Soft light spilled in through the stained glass windows, each one a mastepiece in and of itself, bathed the pews in an otherworldly glow.  We sat in reverence, holding hands in this sacred space.

Notre Dame (rear view)

My last afternoon in Paris was the day we visited Notre Dame.  It was a grey day, typical of that time of year, and yet there was a luminosity that added to the mystery and timelessness of the grand structures near the cathedral. Notre Dame is situated on an island (Île de la Cité) in the middle of the Seine, the grand river that runs through Paris, and traverses northern France to terminate at the Atlantic Ocean.

le Pont d'Archeveche

Notre Dame was incredibly crowded that day, and we were unable to visit the inside of the cathedral.  We strolled around the exterior and through the little garden behind the church.  We traversed the pont d'archeveche (the lover's bridge) strewn with locks, symbols of love and promises.  

Scène de la Rue:  Île de la Cité

A typical Parisian street scene.  The ever-present Seine is at the far right of the photo.

La Seine

The buildings lining the streets of Paris exude a charm I have never seen in the US.  As one who is partial to grey and shades of cream, I immdeiately felt at home here.  I am drawn to their stone façades, their intiricate ironwork, their tall windows.  

Serenade

As we headed back to the car that day, back across the bridge, we were serenaded by an accordian.  Strains of music drifted across the bridges and down the streets, floated above the Seine, and now linger in the halls of my memory.

Until next time...

À bientôt...

Anne

 

 

 

Like Every Grain of Sand...

How many billion tiny moments constitute a life?  

Each one perfectly formed; each one unique.

Some overlooked, some taken for granted; others held in highest reverence.  

Elusive, they slip through our fingers, cascading like a waterfall.

Trying to hold onto a single one is like trying to preserve the first flake of new-fallen snow

or the first bite of a freshly picked strawberry,

or the scent of a line-dried sheet.

I cradle the sweetest moments, of both memory and dream, in the remote forests of my mind.

There they lie, safely encased in a coffin of glass, awaiting true love's kiss to animate them once more.

Like time, we are ever-moving, ever-changing, with this push toward the eternal.

What was once comfortable becomes threadbare.  What used to fit no longer feels right.

We shed our skins and our inhibitions;

we shed our fears.

Like dunes on the beach, we shift with the prevailing winds and tides,

becoming ripples across the sands of time.

Like Every Grain of Sand

Until next time...

Anne

 

 

 

When Thoughts Take Flight

The grey, moody days of December have lingered for awhile.  There are many people who grow weary of this monochromatic world.  I, for one, relish it.  As a photographer who primarily works in monochrome, in my mind's eye, I see photographic compositions in black and white. The haze and pale skies have been a perfect backdrop for my work, and I have been venturing outdoors to shoot.

A whimsical new series I am working on centers around a cluster of black balloons as inspiration for a story.  The photo I am sharing with you today is the first one I have processed-- not necessarily the first one in the visual narrative, but I was too excited about the image and the concept to not share something with you.

When Thoughts Take Flight

Stay tuned for more installments as the story unfolds.

Until next time...

Anne

 

The Long Road Home

Roads take us many places in life.  Some take us off to new adventures, when our spirits are elevated with wonder and possibility.  Other roads take us to places of drudgery or hardship.  I think the sweetest roads are the ones that take us home.

Home can be a state of mind, another person, the place where we grew up, a dwelling where we lay our heads to rest.  It can also be a place where we have never been, but have always longed for, some place that calls to us in our quietest moments.

 

The Long Road Home

This image was taken on the road in front of my little house in the country.  The gravel road stretches down the hill and round the curve, disappearing from sight, leaving that notion of home up to the interpretation of each viewer.

Ultimately, home is where we feel the most comfortable, the most secure, the most like our authentic selves.  

Wishing you the comfort that comes with making your way home, wherever that may be.

Until next time...

Anne

 

One December Morning

Yesterday morning In the rain and fog, I ventured out with my camera.  Dense mist hovered over the ridges as I drove through the hills of the national forest near my home.  The lake beckoned.  It had been months since I'd visited her.  Over the summer, we'd spent a lot of time together.  This time, however, in the December rain, I enjoyed her beauty from the shore.

I encountered a flock, if you will, of black vultures.  There must have been twenty of them lurking in the trees near the lake.  They were not happy with my intrusion and voiced their displeasure, but tolerated it, allowing me to set up my tripod and adjust my camera settings.  

Cedar Lake:  Morning Mist

Cedar Lake:  Morning Mist

Now when I look at this photo, the stillness of that morning infuses me, returning me to that moment in time when everything else faded away.  There was only the water, the mist, the morning air, the trees, and the vultures looking down upon me.  And I was a part of it of it all.  That moment is now frozen in time.  

I have read that simply looking at images of water has a calming effect.  In my experience this certainly seems to be true.

Until next time...

Anne

 

Dark and Dreamy

As cooler temperatures and shorter days have forced me to create photographs inside, my work has taken on a different tone.  It has become darker, dreamier, more sensual.  I recently did a series that was inspired by the musical, The Phantom of the Opera, a work whose dark sensuality I find to be extremely moving.   I am sharing a couple of the photos from that series with you.

These images play with light, shadow, and depth of field.  On the technical side, I used a 50mm lens that has a large aperture (f/1.8 in this case). This leads to some nice blurring of the out-of-focus areas and highlights certain aspects of the photos, giving the overall scene a dreaminess and a softness.  

Abandon Thought and Let the Dream Descend

Only Then Can You Belong to Me

With winter approaching and my introspective side coming out to play, you can expect to see more work from me like this.

Until next time...

Anne

Ghosts of September

With the senescence of autumn, the landscape takes on a loneliness; a barrenness, despite the skeletal remains of plants and trees dotting the hillsides; a sense of melancholy.  The lush, noisy days of summer are gone.  A quiet settles over the land.  On frosty mornings, the solitude is almost palpable.  

My latest series of sepia-toned portraits in the landscape reflect that sorrow, that isolation, and the loss of something both rare and fine.

November's Child

The Distance From Me to You

The Leaning Tree

If Only

In the Changing Light 

I Remember

The formal gowns in these photos relate a sense of being all dressed up with nowhere to go or of the party being over, a sense of something that was but no longer exists.  The black shawl speaks of protection against the elements.  The gowns contrast in texture and context with the rustic backdrop, whether it be the fluffy heads of dead goldenrods and asters in the meadow or the log siding of my house.

Seasons change, time marches onward, people come and go from our lives.  Birthdays come (mine is next week); we grow older.  These photographs honor those inevitable changes and our ability to not only withstand them, but to persevere with grace and one's sense of self intact.

Happy November.  Happy dio de los muertos.

Until next time...

Anne 

We Have a Winner!

This photograph from my Ladies of the Lake Series was just awarded a third place ribbon in the "Visions of Southern Illinois" Art Exhibit, 2014.

Lady with Black Umbrella

It was taken in August, 2014, at Cedar Lake in the Shawnee National Forest, just after sunrise.

I am honored and grateful to have received this award.  It encourages me to keep pursuing my vision, to keep following my heart.  To sweeten the honor even more, there are multiple people interested in buying this photograph (printed versions of all of my photographs are available for purchase.  I have a professional printer that accommodates 13" x 19" paper, and I use archival ink and papers in my printing.  These prints have an amazing depth of color!).

And, most of all,  I'm extremely grateful to all of you lovely readers who take time out of your busy lives to read these posts and offer me your on-going support and encouragement.  

Thank you!

Until next time...

Anne

 

 

Holding on-- Part III in the Series

In the past week, I have taken photographs of additional models for this series.  The variety of objects that people bring to the photo shoots are surprising, as unique as each individual who poses for me.  The things we hold onto say as much about the person who has kept them as they do about the person they originally belonged to.  They are steeped in memory and nostalgia, connections not only to the people we have lost, but also to the people we were at the time before we lost them, connections to that time of innocence.  

 

Mary Ann:  My Grandmother's Figurine


Cyndi:  My Father's Book and HIs College Ring

Kevin:  My Grandfather's Watch (which was passed down to my brother and then, after his death, to my mother, and then to me after her death)

Pam and Paul:  Our Son's Dogtags

Carol:  Joe's Book

November:  My Dad's Watch and the Bracelet Containing His Ashes

Pam:  My Sister-in-Law's Bracelet

Mary Ann:  Mr. Carrot, My Dog, Clovis', Favorite Toy

jj:  My Grandmother's Figurine

Faye:  My Father's School Bell (which I also used when I was an elementary school teacher)

Kim:  My Mother's Strawberry Pin

Anne:  My Son, Ryan's, Sweatshirt

As one friend said recently, the objects only have meaning if we ascribe it to them.  In and of themselves, they are simply material objects.  Yet they come to embody the very memories and connections we seek to preserve.  

Until next time...

Anne

Catch the Wind

"When rain has hung the leaves with tears... Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind..."  These lyrics are from one of my favorite songs, Catch the Wind, written by Donovan Leitch, which makes a great soundtrack for an autumn day. 

The day these photos were taken, the leaves were heavy with rain, and a wind blew up from the southwest.  Overcast skies deepened the colors of the season.  Wind wrapped itself around my body, twirling my hair, as I stood in the meadows that line the perimeter of my property.  

Autumn Breeze

The Valley Below

Catching the effects of wind in a photograph is something I strive for.  Wind changes everything, not just the way my hair falls or the drape of my skirt, but also the landscape.  Nature seems to either lean into it or bend with it, depending on its force and the direction from which it is coming.  

Isn't that what we do in this life, when something strong and fierce is bearing down on us?  We either lean into it and fight to hold our ground or give into it and let it blow us away.  I am one who is working on staying grounded, on not allowing myself to be blown away-- except by beauty and good poetry and authentic emotion and, above all, love.  Those elements are an entirely different story! And not only do I want to catch the winds that brings those things my way, I want to harness them and ride them as far as they will take me.

Until next time...

Anne

 

Rainy Days of Autumn

In southern Illinois, fall typically seems to be the rainy season.  This October seems to be no exception.  We have had rain and clouds for four days in a row.  Some people might see this as depressing or dreary.  They may tire of the grey skies and the damp.

I, however, love the grey days of fall.  When the leaves start changing color, beneath a cover of clouds, they glow with a vibrancy that belies their slow, inevitable demise.  These days invite contemplation and reverie.  I tend to write more poetry in the fall, to daydream more, to journal more, to read more.  For one who is an introvert, it doesn't get any better than this.

The other day, while driving back from a photo shoot, I stopped at the scenic overlook near my house and snapped a few photographs with my black umbrella.  There was a drizzle coming down, punctuated by heavier bursts of rain.  Mist rose from the valley below and billowed around me.  A light wind swirled through the tree tops.  It was absolutely magical!

These days of autumn are golden.  May you enjoy their quiet beauty.

Until next time...

Anne

Capturing Moments

Sometimes the goal of photography is to capture the essence of a subject or way light falls upon something.  

The other day I took some photographs of my friend and her little boy.  This was the first time I had worked with a child model.  His energy was boundless and full of joy.  With children, who move so quickly, whose expressions change in the blink of an eye, the goal here is simply to capture the moment, to stop time for a fraction of a second.  

Not only did the camera capture these fleeting moments in, it also seized upon the love and tenderness between this mother and child.  All children should feel this safe and this loved.  It was an honor to be able to document this family as they prepare to welcome a new life into their fold.

Until next time...

Anne


Holding on-- Part II

In the past week, I have taken additional photographs of other people holding onto objects that speak of their losses.  And in mining my own box of treasures, I found a few items that belonged to members of my family who have long since departed.  Some of the new photographs are associated with the literal death of beloved person; in one case, the photograph involves the figurative death of an abusive spouse/marriage.  Loss does not always equate with physical death.  Anything that profoundly changes us, causes grief and heartache, that divides our lives into "before" and "after" is a loss.  Loss is something we never "get over," but rather something we learn to live with.  

Dan:  My Mother's Pearls

In this photograph, my husband is holding some incredibly gorgeous pearls that belonged to my mother-in-law, Audrey, whom I never had the pleasure of meeting.

Anne:  Great-Grandma Blanche's Rosary

This photograph shows me holding a rosary that ,was given to me by my great-grandmother Blanche, when I was seven years old.  She died not long after that.

Paige:  Mama's Necklace

The photograph above shows the hands of a little girl (about age 7), whose mother died when she was just shy of 6 months of age.

Tami:  Wedding Ring

This photograph represents the losses associated with an abusive marriage.

Steve:  Ryan's Guitar

This photograph depicts a father, my former husband, holding onto the guitar that had belonged to our son, who died at age 18.

Dan:  The Mourner's Kaddish from My Father's Funeral

In this photograph, my husband is holding onto the prayer booklet from his father, Sam's, funeral.

Robin:  A Tape of My Sister Singing

The woman in this photograph is holding onto a tape of her sister's voice, something most precious to her.  The memory of a loved one's voice fades much too quickly.  

Steve:  Gramps' Pliers

This photograph shows a man holding onto pliers that belonged to his dear grandfather, whom he was especially close to.  Those old pilers are still being used to this day.

Anne:  Gold Star Pin for Uncle Carroll

This gold star pin was given to my great-grandmother, Esther, by the US government after her son, my great uncle, Carroll, was killed in World War II on D-Day.  My grandmother passed it on to me last year.  It is a treasured bit of family history.

Each object portrayed in each photograph is steeped in memory, imbued with emotion.  Healthy grieving involves connecting with those memories and allowing oneself to feel the emotions associated with them.  

These photographs also demonstrate one of the ways we live with loss:  Holding on while letting go.

Until next time...

Anne

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holding On-- New Series

I am working on a new series, personal narratives of loss, which I am entitling "Holding On."  This series focuses on the things we hang onto after losing someone who has been important in our lives.  Loss touches everyone, and the longer we live, the more we are touched. 

The photographs in this series are simple, only hands cradling an object that once belonged to someone beloved.  I am interested in the relationships we create with these objects, in the sacred significance we place on them.  They remain a connection to the people we have loved, and holding on to objects owned or used by those we have lost is a way of holding on to the people themselves.  We look at these inanimate items, and we see the people we love and miss, we remember their influence on our lives. 

These first photos in the series are of my hands holding objects that belonged to my dad, Tony, my son, Ryan, and my great-grandmother, Esther.  There are other people whom I have lost, like my grandpa Al, but in doing this project, I realize I have nothing tangible that once belonged to them.

Tony's Watch

Ryan's Sunglasses

Grandma Esther's earrings


Ryan's Driver's License

This post is a call for others interested in being a part of this series and sharing their stories of loss through art. I am interested in hands of all sizes, skin tones, shapes, and ages-- the more diversity, the better. If you live close to where I do (southern Illinois) and would like to participate in this project, please contact me via email.  Click on the "Contact Me" link on this website or send me a message via facebook.  

It is my intention to create a powerful and beautiful body of art, exploring a theme universal to our human existence.  I would really appreciate adding your story to mine.

Until next time...

Anne