brooke schmidt

some days are just good

2012-02-11T17:31:00.004-05:00

Today seemed beautiful, everywhere I looked.

lucy, the dog who could almost speak

2012-02-09T08:13:00.000-05:00

I made a perfect little person, somehow

2012-02-07T20:07:00.000-05:00

his little foot

It was so much fun to see banjo scooting around this afternoon, with all his perfect bones in place, and his little hands and feet waving around. We saw his heart chambers, his esophagus, his smile, the lobes of his brain, and his perfect chain of a spine.

And we unmistakably saw that he is a boy. I was very surprised.

And we are very happy. To celebrate, tim and I went for a hike on hawk mountain and watched the rosy skies and sat on the green licheny rocks and counted strings of geese in V's a half-mile long. I drove us home while the sun set in a great coral round between the dark miles of trees, and by the time we arrived, the full moon was up, pearly and ancient.

sushi and boggle both contribute to peace of mind

2012-02-06T21:25:00.000-05:00

So, we lost the house. Due to no action of ours. It shouldn't have happened. Rather devastating but there are always silver linings, and after a few stunned hours of aimless mental drifting which ended with me organizing my jewelry drawer, we gussied up and went out for sushi (cooked for me), and came home to play a few vicious and hilarious rounds of Boggle. Perhaps we'll be able to do a little traveling this spring ~ a road trip and some camping which had been set aside in the new house planning. There are still things to do and life is still good.

Our dreams there will have to be reeled in, tidied up, and furled up until the place we are really supposed to find turns up, and then the whole affair can begin again. I was hoping to be re-settled before june, before the baby came, so it feels rather rough to nestle myself back into our present (and lovely) home. But there is the garden to think and dream about...and spring neighborhood garage sales...and our favorite cafes, and river strolls...and our beautiful wood stove to enjoy while we are here.

I am also 20 weeks along now, can you believe it?? It is becoming tough to bend over to put my socks on. The belly is beloved. Tomorrow morning we find out if little 'banjo' is a he or a she.

xo brooke

the sit and relax cat

2012-02-03T15:23:00.000-05:00

For all the occurrences in life that repeat ad nauseum (the dishes, the bills, the running out of eggs, the vacuuming, the errands, the same stoplights when I'm almost home),

there are the things that never get old. Mostly these are things connected to living creatures ~ watering my cacti, daffodils sprouting in the garden, a package in the postbox from a friend, lighting the candles just before I sit down to dinner with tim, choosing this season's seed packets.

And mimi.

She is my little sidekick, independent and completely loving. Always a joy, always the sunny and sweet of my day. When the thoughts get same-old, redundant and stale, I sit for a bit with her on my knee, and refresh.

When I picked her out of the lineup at the spca almost 8 years ago, she was just the same as she is now, self-possessed, very calm, with those golden yellow eyes. She knows what she likes, and gently persists in attaining it, and yet is quietly firm about what she won't put up with. Every day, snow or sun or rain, she takes herself out into the garden for a zen 10 minutes of sitting in amongst the purple sage, and I often find her out there at midnight, soaking it all in.

I didn't realize she was such a quiet teacher.

breakfast at the beach

2012-02-01T15:54:00.001-05:00

A proper eggs-toast-and-bacon breakfast at noon on the quietest january beach. We went for a long walk in the afternoon with the sun gleaming off the flat expanse of the sea, little pebbles at our feet, the dogs dragging driftwood.

In the afternoon we read and drank tea and sat by the window. Just a perfect little break for our brains these days.

Almost all the pictures I took yesterday at the beach were film shots. I'll share them soon.

this afternoon we walked along the sea

2012-01-31T20:49:00.000-05:00

and it was enough.

vultures in the midst

2012-01-30T11:00:00.002-05:00

all shots 35mm kodak gold 400 expired film, canon camera

So, the other day I was driving, and a thick fog was floating up from the warm rain drizzling on the evaporating snow fields. By the side of the road I noticed a group of vultures, some of my favorite birds, majestically perched in a copse of trees and attempting to dry out their feathers. I pulled over and went for a little snowy hike to get a closer look.

Those kinds of detours are always worth it.

We're going to the beach for one night tonight. Can't wait to hear the sounds of the sea and be in another space for a little bit! Find some more detours.

xo brooke

a little film goes a long way

2012-01-29T13:00:00.003-05:00

35mm film shots from the past month or so. The top photo is one I took in the thrift shop mirror as I was testing the camera before I purchased it. The middle, from one of my friend somer's visits. And, mimi wasn't supposed to be in that last shot, but she follows me around whenever I seem to be doing something interesting. I found a storm-downed, beautiful tier of last year's wasp's nest on the grass during my walk the other day, and carried it for a while until I realized it still had three sluggish yellowjackets in it. So I just took a piece. Not sure why the wasps were still there ~ only the queen survives this season. It's been so balmy lately I suppose they just kept going, even as the paper nest sloughed away around them in the winter rains.

the bare bones of it

2012-01-28T13:58:00.003-05:00

part of the hide series

one600 polaroid camera, polaroid 600 expired film

I wish I had it in me to write and share beautiful things but all that seems far away as each day is simple bare bones and obscure decisions. I gain satisfaction from concrete actions like sorting laundry, walking, and re-organizing the house and studio. I wish my life had more poetry, more ritual, at this time but it all just seems too foggy to figure out. Other things loom for my attention.

One of the deeper experiences I am accumulating as we strive for our future home is the knowledge of how extremely hard it is to deal with incompetence. With the passionlessness of other people ~ people in authority who may hold something very dear to me without care, as if it were nothing. When I pour myself out, do everything within my power to make something happen, do everything right and then astonishingly: my all, my guts, my very fiber aren't enough. It seems like I don't matter. I could die for something and it wouldn't even leave a ripple. It feels so personal although I can't believe that it is. Yet when all the cosmos has to do is take a tiny step...why doesn't it? (Why is there so much that's wrong in general going on?)

I guess wrapped up in there as well are thoughts on the nature of desire. If I want something so bad, if it seems good and right and perfect, then how can it possibly not come to be? How can I bear that? The nagging knowledge that millions of people do have to bear it is not calming. The obvious answers are not comforting.

The nature of (im)patience. Of waiting. Of the limbo of unknowingness. Of injustice. Of questioning the nature of the cosmos. These are not new things. And yet they seem so fresh and raw to me each time I come across their familiar and infuriating personalities casting their grumpy shadows over my life.

distracting myself with foggy walks

2012-01-24T11:16:00.000-05:00

We are still laboring (there is no other word for it) for the house; slowly making progress. (What, still working on the red tape? Yes, we are.) It's hard not to imagine ourselves there; we have fallen in love with it, and our future there. I keep having flashes of memories we haven't even made, and this morning I awoke with the entire plan for the side patio clear in my mind (laid river rocks, with low-growing herbs in-between). It's bittersweet delight, but in the end, I think it's all going to work out.

It is almost a relief when the weekend hits, offices close, and things come to a brief halt. I light an intention candle to continue our wish for us.

Yesterday morning I went for an early walk in the deep fogs with my film camera. At our neighborhood pond the trees mirrored themselves in the puddles of the cracked ice. The streets faded to white at each end. My feet went softly and deeply in the melting snow, the air heavy and warming. I hardly needed my mittens. When the rain began to fall the world became even more private.

Today the snow is almost completely gone, vanished, evaporated, and strong sunlight has warmed things up into balm. I know weather influences my mood and that sunshine is so clarifying.

What are you up to this week? Have you seen any great films, read any good books, or tried any new recipes lately?

just about to make an omelette

2012-01-21T12:48:00.003-05:00

I had plans this morning. But there is ice all over the car. I gave up all my plans. I built up the fire.

The honey is softening by the gleaming stove, the birds are scattering on the snow outside searching for seed, and the cat is winding her warm way around my shins while the dogs give me plaintive eyes pushing for their breakfast. I brought my work down to the quiet table in front of the wood stove where the light comes in reflecting off the sky. I like working through the weekend. In a pinch I can take a break to make pancakes, or crack my newly-covered moleskine and write down something that seems very important, or read a few pages of a book.

The best parts of working and the weekend.

xo brooke

fingers still crossed

2012-01-20T13:07:00.003-05:00

Kombucha with fresh-pressed ginger (in one of our wedding cups). A little pick-me-up because, wow, the amount of hoops and red tape we have to jump through for the house is staggering. We are good people. We want this house. We are hard workers who are willing and excited to move into a fixer-upper. I don't think the sellers could be working any harder to prevent people from buying this house. I honestly don't know if it's going to happen for us. It is a complete roller coaster from one hour to the next. It causes a vague constant cautious unease.

Thank you for all your well-wishes! Let's hope they pull it through.

I've been staying busy and have added a bunch of polaroid postcard sets in the shop ~

The baby is kicking so that tim can feel it now. The movement is different than even a few days ago. I also started going to acupuncture again after a few months break last night and do I love it. Just love it.

We're expecting the first snow tonight. Perhaps tim can break out his new cross-country skis...

xo brooke

They say babies bring gifts

2012-01-18T16:52:00.003-05:00

So, we got the house.

The house with the pond, the meadows, the wide windowsills capturing sunlight. The years of farmhouse history and evocations, the unknown roots under the winter soil about to sprout into unknown plants in a few months, the lacey bare shrubs waiting for spring. The possible foxes during our morning cuppa, the moonrise over the little pond...stop.

Because we're about to find out if this house is really meant to be ours ~ really meant for us, because now is the time of inspections. We'll find out about the septic, the well, the myriad little details that will decide for us is we're meant to continue. It's quite stressful. It's a bit of a fixer upper. More waiting and juggling until we know for sure!

They do say babies bring gifts. Have they brought this house? I hope it all turns out, if it's meant to be.

hope

2012-01-16T14:14:00.001-05:00

We put our bid in on the house. Fingers crossed. Today was our last visit to it as we inspected the slates on the roof in freezing sunshine, toes numbing, the ice on the pond breathing in strange warbling croaks and the knocks of the woodpecker echoing across the empty grasses crackling with hoarfrost.

On the way home we stopped at a little local place with wonderful turkey club sandwiches which come with a small hot bowl of french onion soup. We chose to sit in front of the fireplace. It is beyond freezing out ~ the kind of cold that your fingers and legs know is dangerous because they can feel the crystals wanting to form and the only thing that keeps them at bay is the warm beating of your heart muscles.

I am all over the place today

2012-01-13T14:12:00.001-05:00

I chose new flowers yesterday, white with purple tips. Little bouquets are in the bathroom, by the bed, on the table, on the sink...

And we took donovan our rottweiler to the vet, because he is lumpy, but it's just age, so that's a relief. All of our pets are 9 years old. They are going to live forever, I know it.

We are waiting to hear back on a bid we put in on a house. With deer tracks across the land. And cattails in the pond. And the stone remains of the barn which I want to turn into a secret garden. There is a fine line between dreaming and not counting our chickens before they've hatched. And yes, we'll get chickens. And a goat. And a third dog.

Two pineapples and a cantaloupe are sitting on the counter. Banana-oatmeal-cinnamon bread is heating up in the toaster oven.

It is 33* out, with 28-mile-an-hour winds. I haven't started the fire yet, and only warmed up on the last 1/2 mile of my walk this morning.

Yet sunshine and blue skies are so, so good.

Just buckled and ordered Kinfolk.

Last night tim made amazing potato-leek soup for dinner. Grated with cheddar, it stuns me with its perfection. I'm a potato girl.

We switched up at which end of the bed we lay our heads, and now the moonlight comes in across our pillows.

Two days ago we heard the baby's heartbeat for the first time. They kicked the doppler. In a few weeks we are going to be able to find out if they are a he or a she. Finding out is still in debate. But I think we have a name regardless, because I think I know what I am carrying.

We'll see.

xo brooke

p.s. also wanted to say I have updated/ clarified things on my sidebars over to your right there. Take a look around if you are curious. I am also putting a bunch of new work into the shop these days.

I took myself outdoors

2012-01-10T17:30:00.001-05:00

Short on words here, so, hello.

xo brooke

summertime, wintertime

2012-01-09T14:18:00.000-05:00

I found more pictures from our holiday this summer that I hadn't posted yet. I miss this place.

Meanwhile, a flock of geese flew over our back garden in a V this morning. Tim saw a squirrel fighting with 3 blue jays the other day, and on yesterday's walk I saw the neighborhood hawk soaring overhead on curved wings.

Mimi has her paw jammed under the studio door, shut to keep the heater efficient. She wants to come in. A fresh glass of kombucha with pressed ginger root is to hand as I print polaroids, one of which is going to quebec (I've never even been.) The sun is shining, the baby's moving, and hunger drives my days. I go to bed with snacks, and awake ravenous.

3am and the house is quiet

2012-01-07T02:34:00.001-05:00

I love this shot. Taken at the cabin this summer and I don't know how he squeezed in there. He weighs 90 lbs and is no slim jimmy.

I'm still up and I know I just posted a few hours ago. Making chocolate chip scones at 11:30, heavy on the chocolate chips, will do that to you. I was nestled all snug under our warm new white flannel sheets and suddenly thought of something I had to write down. An hour ago. Still here, still up. The fire is embers. The dog is downstairs again and confused. I've discovered a bunch of photographs from this summer that I never posted.

(Yoga starts in 7 hours.)

I'm thinking of starting a 365 project. Just something to keep me photographing each day. Especially with my film cameras. Have you ever done one?

xo brooke

orange sunrise to velvet dark

2012-01-06T21:42:00.002-05:00

I see the orange of sunrise through the curtains but keep sleeping. The morning sunshine finally wakes me up, the houseplants happy, the cat yawning, the dogs warm and sleepy. We breakfast. I turn the heater on in the studio and set myself in there to work amidst the hundred distractions of the everyday. It is my plumb line. Little by little the ideas come, and the work finds its new homes in colorado, california, australia, england. That is the best part ~ that those breathing words and works of mine create a bloom of recognition in someone else's hands and mind, as if made for them.

In the evenings the fire is lit and I drink glass after glass of cool water as I sit in front of it for hours, reading. These wintry winds are hard on the spirit. The dearth of evening light is tough. The red velvet flowers I bought before the holidays are fading, and need to be refreshed with others. Refresh is the word to explore during winter.

crocodiles make great mothers

2012-01-05T15:32:00.003-05:00

My mom found this piece of snakeskin for me on a hike last month.

I love snakes. They are my totem animal. I have kept a snake dream notebook about them for years since I dream about them so much ~ the symbol of transformation, wholeness, and eternity. The ability to experience anything willingly and without resistance. When I see one in the wild, I'll stop and watch for as long as I can.

That said, I haven't dreamt about them since I've been pregnant. My dreams now are full of the ocean, swelling waves, and gigantic crocodiles, sharks and breaching whales, all of which I watch without fear, a fascinated bystander. All metaphors for motherhood (crocodiles are great mothers), hidden instincts, childbirth, and moving between the physical world and the deep ocean of the unconscious.

me with a baby alligator, growing up in florida*

There is always something fascinating to learn every day, isn't there?

*photo by my mom

last night it got down to 17*

2012-01-04T14:01:00.000-05:00

yesterday's visitor

I'm finding it really hard to create anything in the studio these days. I don't know if it's the extreme cold or a normal lull or the growing baby taking up more inner space each day, but my creative intellect seems to have taken a holiday.

the year is in infancy

2012-01-01T22:35:00.002-05:00

I took a lot of self-portraits this year.

A lot happened over the past 12 months. I wonder if each year of my life will be so packed with experiences, but it does seem that this happens every year. Aging brings towers of change and ripening. Some of the pictures were of me just before or after things happened. Looking back with the crystal clarity of hindsight was like looking like a documentary I didn't even know I was making.

But I am happy to be here where I am. I don't rue any of it. I'm excited for what's to come, thankful for what has passed.

Last night I stayed in, built up the fire, and opened the door at midnight to let the old year mingle with the new. There was a tiny shock of sadness just at 12:01 when I felt separated from the old year, now gone forever, and pushed into the new.

But I think it'll be a good fit.

xo brooke

in winter when the garden delights in midnight

2011-12-30T22:05:00.001-05:00

About all I've been able to work on lately. The words are coming and I'm glad of it. They can be found here.

How was your christmas and what are your plans for new year's eve? Tim works and I'll be cozying up by the fire, cooking myself a delicious dinner, and going for a late night stroll.

the weather outside is frightful

2011-12-27T19:45:00.001-05:00

Tonight's wind is gusting the tarp up off of the stacked firewood outside. Yesterday's hike by the river didn't repeat today due to the drenching rains. So we're staying inside, and cooking with our houseguests. Piecrust, bread, quiche, chocolate almond biscotti, zucchini pappardelle with fresh pesto. Delicious food, animals underfoot, invigorating company.

christmas brunch, now quiet

2011-12-25T14:12:00.001-05:00

And a walk out along the street in the cool crisp air, down the avenue of sycamores against a mackerel sky, under the flying hawk causing all the robins to be silent, catching mason, the little dog who slipped his collar, and along by the house with the suit of armor wrapped in christmas lights, the carols coming from the windows, people on their front stoops for a peck of fresh air, gardens with naked trees of red berries and frost-kissed wilted blooms and back home to the quiet hum of my wood stove.

a bough for a tree, and later, quiche

2011-12-24T11:31:00.035-05:00

The tree has been up for a few weeks ~ just after thanksgiving I found a huge 10 foot bough which had cracked off a tree and I carried it home, sawed a few feet off it, and put it up in a stand. The bottom is swathed in an antique crazy quilt and the branches are hung with my collection of glass ornaments, gifted from my mom or found at the thrift shops (and there was that year I found 35 of them out with the trash in a box on someone's curb.)

The sun awoke me this morning and I came downstairs to let the sleepy dogs out, had a green smoothie and finished up Fanny at chez panisse while continuing I dreamed of africa. I went for a very cold morning walk and came back to make banana-blueberry muffins while tim made pancakes. Carrying a baby makes me so starving these days and he is often pressed into cooking duty when I know what I want to eat but can't face making it. The house is filled with red velvet carnations in readiness for a friend visiting tomorrow for the week, and I need to make quiche crusts for christmas festivities today. This week has been very relaxed ~ I think I let a few things go and it feels wonderful. The stress is not missed.

I truly hope you have a wonderful evening, whatever you are doing and wherever you are. Enjoy the stars. Enjoy your friends or your family, your animals, your weather and I hope you feel cozy and find little happinesses.

xo brooke

solstice

2011-12-21T10:14:00.002-05:00

The solstice occurs here tonight at half past midnight. Tim and I began exchanging gifts on the solstice instead of on christmas a few years ago, and it always feels like a fresh, clean day with no expectations or pressure. There is no juggling of family obligations like christmas eve and day. We can relax; we don't owe anybody our time. We try to go for a walk. We build a fire. Maybe we play scrabble or we just talk. We feel the magic of the day of the year which has been recognized for as long as humans have been. The longest night of the year.

It's also our half-anniversary. Happy solstice!

xo brooke

banjo, and the beautiful fading of the roses

2011-12-19T17:30:00.000-05:00

canon, kodak gold 200 expired film

I set the alarm early yesterday to go for a frosty walk with lucy and enjoy the morning sun. It gets so dark and cold around here so early and that still feels unexpected. I can't believe the solstice is only in a few days, and then things will start to brighten up again. In the evenings I light a fire and read or clean or work on something, but that transition at dusk is always hard.

We have a busy week ahead of us. But I'm looking forward to it. Meanwhile, I've been cleaning my studio which I've been steering clear of for the past few months. It feels so good to reconnect with myself in there. I am an artist and I feel off to not be making something (besides a baby. You know what I mean. Did I tell you we nicknamed the baby 'banjo' and that banjo is the size of a lime this week?) I shared a bunch more of my artwork here if you've never seen it.

And I've been buying cacti. I keep finding myself at our garden center meticulously inspecting the cacti. I even put 'cacti' on my list for christmas this year, along with a pink geranium which we sorely lack. I have a secret love of crowded and green windowledges at odds with my minimalist leanings. I bought a hanging plant last week called mistletoe cactus, and its hairy legs have begun to bloom at the tips, white and starry like edelweiss.

I used to be all about travel and discovery and change and adventures, but as I grew older I realized that that idea of women having a strong domestic side is so true. I find deep contentment in my house, our things, and how it all seems like a greater extension of myself, my ideas, my dreams, my abilities. It doesn't seem limiting at all. It feels like there are great roots growing down, as I knead over my day and all the tasks that make it up. It feels nourishing, like touching and caring for all that surrounds me is caring for myself. It is wonderful to be a woman.

Amanda shared a post today on having time to watch the flowers grow. It feels so simple and true. Do we have time to do that? To notice those little things and to slow our pace?

I just realized that I've been enjoying watching the flowers die. That sounds morbid but what I mean are those december roses. Frost after frost has hit them and in the golden hour before dusk they still rise, their colors fading, their softnesses folding. They are continuing to be beautiful. I don't think I ever noticed the december roses before this year.

every morning

2011-12-18T11:03:00.000-05:00

She does this. It gets me every time.

last but not least

2011-12-17T12:50:00.000-05:00

The last of the pictures I took while at Somer's house in cambridge. So cozy.

getting the ball rolling

2011-12-16T10:53:00.000-05:00

sx-70 polaroid land camera, polaroid 600 expired film

It's funny how when you put something out there, finally get the guts to say, write or whisper it, it starts happening. And sometimes it takes so long just to think of what it is, and afterwards, it seems like it was the simplest thing in the world.

starting to feel like color again

2011-12-13T10:30:00.000-05:00

So yup, I'm pregnant! And glad of it. Thank you all for your well wishes! They mean a lot to me.

This pregnancy has not been very joyful. I hate writing that, but it's the truth. It's where I am. Well, I supppose where I was, since things are shifting. Thank fortune.

After my unexpected (aren't they always?) miscarriage in july, I hoped I would get pregnant again. I didn't really fear for a struggle with infertility (but isn't that usually unexpected, as well?) and was happy to soon be expecting again. There seemed a good rhythm to it, a fullness of time, a readiness. I started going to accupuncture and I was all set to rock things.

But as time passed, I realized something of the innocence, the joy, the happiness, the thrill, was gone. And I couldn't access it. I imagined it would be like the first time, where I had dreams, hopes, plans, and focus. But I just didn't have that spark this time. It was like a part of me outside of my conscious control decided to shut down a little bit, in case that bolt-out-of-the-blue happened again this time. As if it probably would. So I shouldn't be too attached. And I couldn't shake this mindset. My pregnancy lacked color. The bloom was off.

Perhaps it was the nausea. (Imagine feeling like you're just about to come down with the flu, and add a generous pinch of carsickness. Now go out and do some food shopping, put a few hours in doing something creative, and vacuum all that dog hair up. Don't forget your daily walk. And do this for 6 or 8 weeks.) I couldn't take photographs either, just wasn't interested. Wasn't interested in much, and that is not like me! Then suddenly came a time a few weeks ago when I recognized myself again. I felt peppy. I didn't have to wake up at 2am every night and eat a hard-boiled egg. I could stand the sight of a green vegetable. I started coming back, but I didn't feel prepared.

I want to be here for this. Fully here.

How can I trust and be present? Those words that I think about so often and can't seem to unpeel. Am I missing something obvious and major? 'There is as much darkness in growing life as there is light,' someone wise wrote to me recently. It certainly brings a lot of things up. Like fear, uncertainty and vulnerability. The thought, can I do this? the right way? what is the right way? what if I can't do that?

I want the meaningfulness, the comprehension, the being inspired, the joyful knowing. It's what I wanted in my daily unpregnant life and it's what I want even more now. I'm not sure how to tap it, but now that I'm feeling myself again, I'm going to try. I want to live each day with intention.

I want the magic.

A few flowers in every room and large doses of morning sunshine are crucial. I'm currently working on finding a doula and prenatal yoga and keeping the fridge stocked with organic vegetables. Writing and thinking and reading and envisioning. I'm glad the clarity has been coming back to me so I can start to see it. See what can be.

a little announcement...

2011-12-12T13:39:00.005-05:00

xo,

brooke

make your own luck

2011-12-11T08:00:00.007-05:00

sx-70 camera, expired polaroid 600 film

This is an ecuadorian prosperity bowl. The black and red huayruro beans are kept in homes to promote abundance and good relationships. Seven of them are kept in a wooden bowl with dry rice grains, 7 monies found at random, along with a vase of water, a plant and a candle, representing the five elements (I love this stuff) of earth, wood, air, water and fire. (I made the sage stick from my garden for her.)

Somer gave me 7 beans to bring home to start my own prosperity bowl, and I have it all set up: a little bowl with my rice and all my tiny rocks with holes for extra luck. I just needed to find the monies and, oddly enough, I began to find single coins around the house, so I collected them, delighted that I was finding luck in my own home. Then, the other day, tim walks by in front of me, looks over his shoulder, and flips a single coin out of his pocket.

I'm pretty sure that's where all the coins came from.

Here're the rest of the 35mm film shots from my visit to her house last weekend ~

above and all following: canon camera, kodak gold 200 expired film

morning, with december roses

2011-12-10T08:00:00.000-05:00

have a great weekend.

xo brooke

and the woods were quiet

2011-12-09T08:00:00.002-05:00

above and following: canon, kodak gold 200 expired film

the light of hidden flowers

2011-12-08T11:35:00.000-05:00

sx-70 polaroid land camera, polaroid 600 expired film

Amazing that an old expired pack of polaroid 600 film I found this summer at a garage sale (sitting in the full sun probably all morning) and a one roll of a very dusty expired 4-pack of kodak gold I found at a drugstore at the beach would produce such bright and perfect memories.

For some reason it reminds me of the pablo neruda poem...

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.

above and all the following: canon, kodak gold 200 expired film

this one was an immediate favorite.

2011-12-07T18:40:00.000-05:00

sx-70 polaroid land camera, polaroid 600 expired film

one of the most important things

2011-12-06T11:33:00.000-05:00

sx-70 polaroid land camera, polaroid 600 expired film

As MJ said in yesterday's comments, ...the older I get the more I realize that distance needs to be less of an issue when it comes to good friends.

Good friends are really hard to come by. The kind where you don't have to wonder what they think of you, or if you said the wrong thing. Where when you get together, even if six months have passed, it feels like you might have left off just last evening. Where hard things can be said, if they need to be, because the truth is important, but compassion and loyalty are always there. They know your faults, and take them in stride, and they also know the little details that make you happy. They are there through all the other things that can loom so large and change so quickly. They mean delight and acceptance and challenge.

It's a rare thing, to be cultivated when found. It seems to me that friendship, that understanding connection, is one of the most important things.

brightness and light

2011-12-05T19:29:00.000-05:00

sx-70 polaroid land camera, polaroid 600 expired film

the book, 40 years of chez panisse, is very good

I took a roll of film as well and am excited to drop it off tomorrow. Now home again, with interest in the home things, getting back into the studio, getting more work into my shop, catching up with letters and postcards.

We went for a hike today, through woods that were straight out of a fairy tale. The light was bright but overcast and diffused and all the colors were taupes and greys with rich spots of red leaves, magenta berries or purple vines. I kept expecting a centaur to crest the hill or the sound of dwarf-hammers to ring out. (Am I the only one who feels like I'm in Narnia sometimes on days like this?) The trail wound through thin tree trunks and over little creeks along a cliff edge lined with cedars. We put the doggy backpacks on the dogs because it's the hunting season and they trotted along willingly carrying our cast-off wristwarmers, hats and even my jacket. An impromptu picnic lunch in the woods (with sea salt and vinegar chips) finished off the walk in the fading light, and then we drove home.

xo brooke

brunch in cambridge

2011-12-04T23:07:00.000-05:00

We had an amazing brunch this morning, then I drove 6 hours home. Which isn't so bad when there is a lemon sunset and a few good books on cd and some things to think over anyways. What a great visit. Sometimes I need the energy of someone else to help me access my own.

raven feathers, shorebirds' plumes, whale's vertebrae

2011-12-01T08:00:00.019-05:00

my friend jen tossing rocks for my 'throw' series, pacific ocean

polaroid 600 expired film

We decorated our new windowsillls with treasures found close about: raven feathers, tan and white shorebirds' plumes, glossy bits of lava, egg-sized chunks of pumice. A seal's jawbone with a curving canine tooth. Old green-glass fishnet floats, like the ones Nancy had seen for sale in an antique shop in Rekyjavík. We hung a horseshoe on the wall, placed a weathered oar on nails above a window.*

I loved reading that. They also had a whale's vertebrae as a stool. The fantastic realities of nature are big with me, too.

I'm off to Boston for a few days of fresh air and camaraderie with a friend. Much needed. Hope you all have a great week-finish and week-end! Happy december ~ can you believe it's already the end of the year? Are you looking forward to this season or do you dread it?

xo brooke

*from summer at little lava, by charles fergus

until the sunlight, then

2011-11-28T23:23:00.000-05:00

view from the santa monica ferris wheel

all shot with my canon, kodak gold 200, from my visit to jen's house

I really like being let loose in someone else's house to take photos. I see all kinds of inspiring details and get to bring them home with me, on film. I've been trying to photograph my own house lately, because we've made some changes (and put the tree up!) but the sunlight hasn't been cooperating.

Perhaps soon.

xo brooke

40 items of gratefulness

2011-11-24T08:00:00.000-05:00

1. sushi
2. that orange morning light when I wake up then fall back asleep
3. the scent of a good paperback
4. writing checks
5. melty chocolate doggy eyes
6. nasturtiums
7. scrabble
8. coupons
9. apple crisp
10. stripes
11. japanese paper lanterns
12. woodfire smoke smell
13. early bedtime
14. orange juice
15. earth smell
16. wax paper
17. smartwool socks
18. cloth napkins
19. wooden cutting boards
20. yellow rugs
21. tiny framed things
22. toe polish
23. composting
24. handknits (not by me though: I don't know how)
25. twinings tea
26. good recipes
27. geraniums at the library
28. easypass
29. real maple syrup
30. velvet, flannel, corduroy
31. postcards
32. woodpeckers
33. taking off the dogs' collars so they stop jingling
34. sandpaper
35. buckwheat pillows
36. consignment
37. haiku
38. vitamins
39. rocks with holes in them
40. sculpey

Hope you have lots to be thankful for today ~ happy thanksgiving!

xo brooke

a bit of inward

2011-11-22T20:37:00.002-05:00

Rainy here, and the words haven't been forming in my mind lately to share anything much of interest. I wish they were flowing, but...

They aren't. The rain is. We looked at another house today, on some acreage, with a pond. There were willows, and I found a praying mantis egg case. I don't know how we find these places, but we go and look and one of these days we'll find our spot. The spot we want to be living on for a long time to come ~ private, with lots of wildlife just out the door, and room to grow, room to be simple. It's hard to wait.

It's really hard to wait for the things you want, you know?

photo by tim

the darkness of the delicate days

2011-11-20T21:14:00.001-05:00

Tim and I went for a hike for his birthday through woods whistling with a stiff breeze. All the leaves are down and the quiet forest floor hid the sound of plume-tailed deer who watched us warily, curiously. Somehow the transition into winter is a bit bewildering. I just don't think I'm quite ready for all this darkness yet. But I know the solstice is in view and soon the days will be growing longer again.

Anyone have any fun thanksgiving plans? I don't usually decorate for christmas very early at all, but this weekend I might start putting some of my favorite vintage holiday things up, just for the cheer and sparkle.

xo brooke

a very merry birthday

2011-11-17T11:37:00.000-05:00

It's his birthday today. True to form, he has not yet decided what he wants to do. Last evening was a large family party and I made a big cake and tried my hand at spelling 'happy birthday' across it in homeade white icing, only I spelled 'happy birtday' instead.

But he got the point.

Happy birthday, tim! Welcome to 32.

bookshelves are better than diamonds

2011-11-13T12:05:00.000-05:00

We built new bookshelves this week, in the alcoves. I can't stop looking at them, sitting by them, picking out old favorites.

And someone has been building a friendship with the blue velvet chair.

the spider

2011-11-12T11:02:00.002-05:00

taken in canada this summer, at the cabin

I waited for her for hours, camera in hand, sitting on the stone step in the hill which was covered in pine needles. She sat mostly in her tiny tunnel, legs folded forward like umbrella spokes, waiting for that tell-tale jiggle with a heartbeat in tow which could not be tempted by pine needles gently tossed onto her web. When a moth finally appeared she was out in the center of her wheel quicker than a gasp.

the sunset has been toasting itself into evening all week long

2011-11-11T10:00:00.002-05:00

This week, there was a morning when I woke up suddenly, very early, and the sunrise was streaming into the room and throwing patches of orange-rose squares on the walls. Everything looked different with long blue-gray shadows. It was startling to think that this happens every day and I sleep through it.

There was that moment when I found the tiny bird's skull in the garden.

There was a night when I went for a walk and the sunset slowly toasted itself into evening above the blush, and that sort of wonderful taupe tinted with pink ~ the trees heavy with foliage, torn edges frittering themselves away and down to the ground. The moon was so white, so round against the colors, bobbing along on my walk with me, hiding and reappearing from between branches and above houses, moving at a terrific pace; I could hardly keep up with it. Then it found itself softly over a field, soaring as slow as the day is long.

The afternoon my parents came for lunch, sharing bear and moose and eagles stories from their trip to Glacier this summer, my mom with feathers and shed rattlesnakeskin and thrifted books for me.

And a day just after breakfast when tim and I went to the park, at my request, and hiked up on the flood-bared trails, a rustling smooth path of leaves leading into yellow tunnels of fall sunshine. The weather was warm for november, and we sat by the creek on our different rocks, in sight of each other but not within talking distance, and I looked at driftwood and watched the shadows underwater shift, the green water carrying its load of yellow leaves. The empty hummingbird nest was gone, swept away by last month's hurricane. I could see tim sipping his coffee, through the trees, perched on his rock, and I could feel the chill of winter in mine under me.

It's been a good few days here.

a day with the olde family photos

2011-11-07T23:29:00.000-05:00

My uncle, nailing his siblings (quite efficiently) with the hose.

Old family photos. Been scanning boxes of them this afternoon. Sometimes there are special little mistakes or objects ~ a feather, an old camera, the shadow of the photographer. I look and marvel and inspect, trying to recognize myself in those people.

An unknown relative, yet one of my favorite photos. Ocean city, new jersey. A classic shot.

PopPop holding, I think, my mother. It's so hard to tell at that age, especially when they're bald.

And to the right, my mother for sure, saucy yet stylish at 15 months.

Someone, I'm not sure who, peeking and taking a photo of my great-grandmother Lillian, who is feeding birds from her hand.

The ubiquitous 'farm dog on a chair' snapshot. There were more than one of these, and in fact most of the photos with my grandmom or her mom have at least one dog in them. If you look closely, this dog is wearing some kind of bow tie.

Grandmom Elly with her pet chicken, of course.

One of the farm horses. This photo is why digital will never be better than real film. (I say boldly.)

Look at that snowy field. It looks just like mashed potatoes.

PopPop (to the right) sawing wood when he was a mailman in alaska during WWII. Oh, the icicles on that tent, and he without gloves.

PopPop apparently allowed bears to get foolishly close to him while serving in alaska.

I go crazy for pictures like the one on the left. The poetic trees almost transparent in the sunshine, the crisp arctic shadows, the cool taste of the well water in his cup, the classic white tee, the wooden planks.

That's my PopPop while he was a single man in alaska, wooing my grandmom long-distance with letters. To the right is him playing horsey later with my mom (the letters worked, smart man.)

On his wedding day, with a friend and their cameras! He's taking a photo of my grandmom, his new bride. She wore yellow. A wartime wedding in the country.

And later on, my cheeky uncle (or again, it might be my mother...it's so hard to tell at that age...) in a wonderful old stroller, in front of the Nicholson Bridge, iconic to my family.

And grandmom Elly with her son, my uncle, strong little lad. She sewed her own shorts and halter tops.

Elly. I love finding photos of her I haven't seen. She's been gone almost a year.

A big box full of photos of animals, places, shrubbery, gardens, fields, homes that no longer exist, people without any names. But at the time it was all as fresh as things are now. Life is funny.

sweet sweet home

2011-11-06T18:04:00.000-05:00

Don't be fooled ~ my home is an absolute mess right now. Yesterday I found a blue velvet chair at the thrift shop and put it into the back of my car ~ trunk open, tied in with twine ~ for the ride home. It fit in like it was always here, and I keep nestling into it for a chapter or two. That seems more important than putting away 26 half-finished projects.

This morning we rolled out of bed, threw on our warm and woollies and went to our favorite spot for brunch. Tim tried the pumpkin french toast, I, the quiche lorraine. Then the dog got walked.

The sunlight is already fading, and that was our day.

I think I'll make a cup of tea, and tidy a bit. Although if blue velvet calls to me again, nothing much might get done.

xo brooke

fall is a heady draught

2011-11-05T08:00:00.002-04:00

The last vestiges of summer are glorifying themselves into pure sunshine these days. Tim and I went for a hike this week, crunching through bracken and spotting white deer tails bounding away from our noise. We followed the horse hooftracks through the woods and the mud from all the recent rain was prodigious. At one point I looked down and there at my feet was a huge hawk feather. A kingfisher flew chattering down the river, and more than once we caught sight of the unexpected blood red of the woodpeckers. We spent a long time just tossing pebbles into the creek, listening to the different sproink!s they made.

The nights are cold and jupiter floats above. I go out each night to look for a moment at her, and her four moons, through my binoculars. It seems rather amazing that she's right there, real, with moons, just for the looking.

yesterday was a little anniversary

2011-11-04T10:50:00.001-04:00

pentax, fuji 200 film

The anniversary of my first cappuchino. I tend to pay attention to firsts. Exactly 5 years ago yesterday, I drank this cappuccino. I was in Italy. I had been engaged for 7 days. Tim and I were at a little cafe which hung out over the sea on the rocky northern coast, and the sea breeze blew salt into my mouth and my hair into my face. The drink was both bitter and sweet and I had a paperback tucked full of postcards in my bag, and I brought one out and drew a little picture of the cappuccino, with a little drop of the coffee in the center.

I never did end up sending that postcard to my friend and have it still, sewn into my journal, with that drop.

the summer of water and sunshine

2011-11-01T17:40:00.000-04:00

holga, kodak gold 200 film

canon, 50mm lens, kodak gold 200 film

holga, kodak gold 200 film, harvesting hops

canon, 50mm lens, kodak gold 200 film

holga, kodak gold 200 film

canon, 50mm lens, kodak gold 200 film

All film shots from this summer, at the ocean, at the cabin, at home. Outdoors. And as you can see, mostly with tim as my model. I shall pursue the habit of turning the camera on myself more.

I am so happy to be using film again, although I feel a bit wobbly still from the long hiatus. Wobbly is good though, I think ~ keeps me on my toes.

Now there is snow outside, a load of wood stacked out back and a roaring fire at my back as I type, a warm and sleepy dog at my feet, potato-leek soup a-boil. I keep checking on the swallowtail caterpillars and so far, they seem to be doing fine out there. I hope they make their chrysalis' soon, because this is no type of weather to be frolicking about in without winter clothes.

xo brooke

been wanting to do this set for a while now

2011-10-31T19:29:00.001-04:00

the impossible, the impractical: my all

2011-10-29T20:30:00.000-04:00

Thank you for your comments on the last post. I knew, of course, that I wasn't alone and your words made me both sigh and laugh. (Are we all crazy for trying so hard?) I've tried for a few days to write a post in response and the complexities of my thoughts have been canceling each other out.

I've been re-reading Plant dreaming deep by may sarton (poet), and Daybook by anne truitt (sculptor), intrigued with how they each constructed their days to be productive, work with energy's ebb and flow, and find the inspiration and wherewithal to follow their creative callings.

There are so many options in life ~ so many details to clear up, and I experience the feeling that I can and should be able to do that (since I'm aware of them), to the point where I get muddled because a part of me is saying enough and I'm not listening to it. It comes down to wanting to get it all done, feeling satisfied about it, and then being able to rest with a peaceful feeling.

Looking over it now, I see that's not possible or practical. All is one of those very demanding words: causes stress, anxiety, perfectionism. Not really where I want to be.

Hmmm.

xo brooke

well, that's the question, isn't it

2011-10-26T11:45:00.000-04:00

How does one have a lovely tidy house (vacuum, laundry, dust, paint, arrange), a beautiful garden with plenty of vegetables (plant, weed, cook, compost, can, freeze), happy pets (feed, play, wash, walk daily), keep fit (greens, home-cooking, walk, yoga, meditation), have a healthy marriage (time together, time apart, good communication), keep up with friends and family (phone, letter, visit, dinner), do some traveling (fly or drive, price of gas, pets or no pets), and produce fine and mighty work in the studio (be inspired, create: sew, write, paint, polaroids, draw, collage, build; edit, preserve, frame, photograph, email, resume, show, sell, mail, packaging, paperwork, taxes)?

And do it all to the best of how I know I could be doing it? Am I doing to much, and really, how does one stop when everything seems equally important?

holga, kodak gold 200 film

A good life is a lot of work. There's simply so much to do. And not enough time. I feel like I'm always a step or two behind where I want to be. Going, going. Unsatisified about what I've accomplished, and yet not on top of what is to come. Often in a muddle (as Miss Honeychurch would say.)

I think I need the fresh air of some outside thoughts ~ how do you find or pursue balance in your life?

xo brooke

it would take a book to explain, but

2011-10-23T22:00:00.000-04:00

Taking photos is one thing that always makes me really, really happy. And a little nervous, a little curious. It's a good mix.

It's a way to speak without language, to tap into all that other stuff that is life without words.

There is so much in that place.

morning hike with invisible bears

2011-10-22T10:18:00.001-04:00

california, on highway 1

sx-70 polaroid land camera, polaroid 600 expired film

The sun on the sea, and jen pulling the car over so that I could climb a hill to take a polaroid far enough above the ocean for it to fill the frame. We had just come from camping ~ the morning before I had gotten up and walked in the rain, passing a sign that said a mother bear with cubs had been spotted nearby in july. My glasses kept fogging up and I finally turned back from climbing higher, just in case. Little birds flew through the wild anise studded with raindrops. When I turned back I saw the sea beneath me, shining in the cup of the mountains.

this and following: canon, 50mm lens, kodak gold 200 film

*taken by jen

house-hunting and hawks

2011-10-20T21:33:00.000-04:00

photo by tim

We went for a little hike today. Fall has hit us hard and for the 1.5 hour ride the car windows were filled with foliage. The sharp-shinned hawks were catching the light over the mountain and we sat for a short while just enjoying the sight. Then we had a home to see.

House-hunting is interesting. Upon arrival I get an immediate feel for the place that I sometimes wish was transferable through the online photos. Sometimes the owners are there and communication is a little weird ~ they are leaving, for various reasons, and we are strangers entering and inspecting their private home. Some houses are filled with sorrow and sadness, and others with delightful nooks and whimsy. There is always a story.

I'm waiting to recognize the one we fit into.

xo brooke

the selkie

2011-10-18T23:45:00.000-04:00

*canon, kodak gold 200 film

her house

2011-10-17T11:00:00.001-04:00

...was amazing. I love visiting friend's houses and seeing how their day-to-day is. There were hummingbirds buzzing through the backyard ~ hefty ones, not like the east coast's ruby throated miniatures. My room was a little bright back one by the garden under a roof overgrown with trumpetvine ~ over which I could hear the neighbor's cat quietly picking her way each night. Bougainvillea, roses and succulents lined the neighbors' yards, and the salt of the sea wafted all the way up the street, where we could watch a portion of the sun on the waves from her front porch. We walked down the beach to Santa Monica Pier and went on the ferris wheel, and at the top, I could imagine the coast as it would have been a thousand years ago, fierce waves and wind blurring the sunset into the mountains.

It was a home to come home to.

weekending

2011-10-15T12:05:00.000-04:00

a perfect polaroid

2011-10-14T21:29:00.003-04:00

kristen, california

you're invited

2011-10-13T20:02:00.000-04:00

(clearer picture if you click on it)

I have a solo show coming up!

opening reception 5 - 8pm, friday october 21

show runs from oct 21 - nov 23, 2011

art association of harrisburg, pennsylvania

just dropped off the works today

(in the rain)

everyone's welcome

if you can make it!

birthday camping

2011-10-12T21:41:00.000-04:00

Thank you for all the birthday wishes! They were appreciated, for it was a full moon and I tend to find full moon days kind of intense with emotion and rather moody. (I'm noticing a trend in retrospect.) I'm a little relieved it's over, though I am happy to be 34 and fortunately, we celebrate a birthday week around these parts, so the good times have just begun.

We tried out a new campground yesterday, building a big fire and zipping the tired dogs into the tent, at their request, long before we zipped ourselves. We slept late to the sound of raindrops and hiked through woods with trunks floating in yellow foliage, meandering along the blue-blazed trail. Near the end, we boiled water for hot drinks over the Coleman stove and were surprised by a huge dragon of starlings overhead which filled what sky we could see.

practically a full moon birthday

2011-10-11T08:00:00.004-04:00

jen drinking tea on her front porch, in view of the sea

Mimi is seated between my knees and I can feel the purr in her throat. The past few days have been full but good. I have details to finish up for my solo show on the 21st (little details that don't take my whole brain, so I'm also half-watching the british cooking show/comedy Two Fat Ladies), I decided to repaint the bathroom (white), and today a fit of thrifting took me and I spent all afternoon gathering treasures from some of my favorite spots, unvisited for weeks.

Since I seem all full of action and not so many words, I wanted to share the beautiful writings that Jen and Kristen have shared about our californian adventures. (and Kristen made a video short of me playing with the campfire which I keep watching.)

I turn 34 today, at 2:20pm. If anyone is up for a happy postcard! from me this week, send your address to me at flypeterfly AT hotmail DOT com.

Tim and the dogs and I are going birthday camping just for tonight ~

xo brooke

fresh air & sunshine on the sea lead to some pretty nice evenings

2011-10-10T18:37:00.003-04:00

california was a joy

2011-10-09T13:02:00.000-04:00

jen helping with my throw series

Much film was taken, and many polaroids as well. Kristen took a beautiful one here (I'm in the front holding my trusty sx-70.)

More soon. You know how it is when you get back from a week away. About a billion things to do, and I don't know whether to cry or jump with happiness.

xo brooke

california bound

2011-10-03T08:00:00.002-04:00

Today I'm heading off to visit a friend on the west coast until saturday. A much needed rest. I realized yesterday that it's been almost three months, and I've been feeling so under the weather and fatigued. So tired. Like the need to take a very long nap is on my periphery every day.

We push ourselves so hard, don't we?

xo brooke

portrait of a hummingbird

2011-10-02T10:44:00.001-04:00

I sat in the adirondack chair over near the pine tree where the hummingbird feeder hung and read my book all morning, while the hummingbird flickered in and out. She would check me out and then sit on a little branch nearby, tiny and triumphant, fluffing her saucy feathers. Then I stood in front of the chair for about 10 minutes, holding my sx-70 plastered to my face and moving incrementally closer to the feeder until the hummingbird got accustomed to my presence standing so very close. I waited for her to come back and feed a few times and then, just as I had everything perfectly the way I wanted it, I took a polaroid.

I felt like a million bucks. I tucked the polaroid under my shirt as I always do to warm it up, and waited for a few minutes while it developed. Then I pulled it out.

She wasn't there. She was so quick that in the time between the button clicking and the shutter snapping, she flew away.

But the polaroid is still one of my favorites from the trip. A portrait of a hummingbird.

in the studio

2011-09-30T08:00:00.001-04:00

the art of not being bothered does not begin at home

2011-09-28T23:05:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago when we were at the cabin, I wasn't worrying about keeping things 'my way.' There was a lot of exposed wiring and some of the chinks had fallen out of the log walls, and I had to climb on the roof to cover the chimney so the mosquitos wouldn't come down it at night. In the mornings sometimes we could tell the mice had been on the counters, there were pine needles in the bed, and the blankets smelled somewhat like mothballs. We washed the dishes in a dishpan, and the shower, though warm, was not luxurious, and had to last under five minutes or something would burst. The tap water came straight out of the lake so we bought all our drinking water in town.

None of this really bothered me.

At home, it would bother me.

This is why I travel.

seated so high we could see their eyes

2011-09-27T08:00:00.016-04:00

canon, kodak gold 200 film

There was supposed to be a little red-backed vole in this shot...I think he got away.

holga, kodak gold 200 film

Film from this day's hike watching the raptor migrations over hawk mountain. That last photo is from my favorite part of the trail, right after hopping through all the pennsylvania granite on the path and just before the north lookout, where the trail takes you right up into the sky and the little chipmunks run around by your ankles.

And today, like that day, I keep seeing monarchs. They are flapping past my studio window.

Life is good, people.

xo brooke

sea jumping and the pink moon

2011-09-26T08:00:00.001-04:00

This summer we watched a pink moonrise. I took my camera and waded into the sea that afternoon before it rose, as tim sea-jumped.

xo brooke

holga, kodak gold 200 film

beet seeds between the raindrops

2011-09-24T21:01:00.006-04:00

It has been raining like mad around here, but yesterday I got out and planted some beet seeds between the raindrops. When I look out the front door the street is flooded like a river.

In the mornings I've been trying to spend the first half hour in nature, whether that means a walk around the block or breakfast in the garden. Not doing much, not thinking about my day much, just soaking it in.

Today I spent the afternoon re-upholstering a pair of wooden stools I found at a curb down the street. We've been waiting for a set to turn up to put at our kitchen counter.

It's also time to bring out the fall sweaters, the danskos, the coats, the scarves. Time to add the woollies back into my wardrobe on evening strolls and running errands. I'm looking forward to being cozy.

Happy autumn! Do you do anything special to get ready for fall?

canon, canon 50mm lens, kodak gold 200 film

35mm + holga + ontario

2011-09-23T10:30:00.001-04:00

all taken with my Holga when we were in canada

Another thing I love about non-digital film is that weeks later when you get the roll developed, you get to relive all those experiences that have passed, and re-enter that feeling again. (Although, as I was telling tim last night while we walked to 7-11 for ben & jerry's, digital film is like polaroid because it gives instant gratification, which is pretty enjoyable.) When we picked up the 2 packets of photos yesterday I held them in my lap for a little while as we drove home, before I opened them, because the anticipation was so sweet.

These are all taken with my cheap plastic Holga camera, which I've never used before. I had no idea what I was doing, had the settings wrong each time, doubly exposed shots unintentionally and am delighted with how things turned out. Oh, the power of the amateur!

Holga 135, Kodak Gold 200 film

35mm + canon + new york city

2011-09-22T13:42:00.007-04:00

Some of the 35mm photos from my new york city trip, meeting up with my oldest friend. During the rainy hours, we kept ducking into little spots to grab a bite to eat or a pot of tea. That's what I love about new york. It's like a giant living room.

xo brooke

canon AE-1, canon 50mm lens, Kodak Gold 200 film which expires this month

a pocketful of silver dollars

2011-09-19T19:00:00.003-04:00

self-portrait, gimmelwald, switzerland, in the bathroom mirror, 2005

Sometimes when I take a photograph I'm so excited I almost feel like I'm going to hyperventilate. I've been thinking about instant film and 35mm film and digital film. And in the way of the interweb, found myself on this page where andrea explains things so well.

There is just something about film that digital will never have. Film exists in real time, with a tangible physicality that digital lacks. The weight of the camera, the smell of the film unrolling, the satisfying click as the shutter opens ~ heavy sounding like the catch on an engraved locket or a pocketful of silver dollars. The waiting and uncertainty and expectation of getting the film developed.

I spent three days in new york city last week, leaving my digital and polaroid cameras at home. I brought my old Canon and 35mm film, just like I used to do when I was a teenager on a road trip, or a twenty-something studying abroad and catching trains. It is like an old friend with its own ways and peculiarities.

The bus dropped me off at 34th and 8th and I took the metro down to the west village. I wandered in the diamond sunshine and crisp air, dropping into shops as they took my fancy. Exploring streets with a map folded up in my back pocket. Watching cupcakes being frosted through the Magnolia bakery window. Meeting up with a friend and walking in the rain-showers and talking. The wildflower meadows near the glacial rocks in central park, the heat of the sidewalks and cool pockets of the subway cars, tree leaves bright against the buildings like polly apfelbaum installations. People-watching and occasionally, not very often, taking a photo, the unexposed photographs carried like furled buds in a slowly collected bouquet.

french toast, or the importance of ritual

2011-09-18T23:24:00.001-04:00

Last night tim called me from his work ~ he's a nurse in the ER at a local hospital ~ and asked what I was doing this morning. French toast?, he asked. I acquiesced and he got off the phone and returned to the chaos of his surroundings and I returned to recovering from a three day visit to new york city. But we had french toast to look forward to.

Our special breakfasts. The importance of ritual.

He's at work or I'm at work and so we make these breakfasts to meet in the downtime ~ they are usually cobbled together at the last minute but we treasure them, and one of us turns on the stove and fills the electric kettle, while the other one asks which color plate do you want? and sets the table. Each movement a ritual in the whole event, which is cultivated to acknowledge that this is the moment, this is life. It's not just the food that nourishes.

blue skies and bright orange spots tottering their way to mexico

2011-09-13T17:18:00.001-04:00

tim hiking in ontario, august

Each fall I feel like I need to migrate. I can't get outside enough. We tend to find ourselves outdoors a lot, exploring local parks and trails, following the foliage and storing up the colors of sunlight.

We took an impromptu drive yesterday to hike on Hawk Mountain. The raptors are migrating by the hundreds through the valley, so we sat on top at the end of the trail with our binoculars. We perched next to a bunch of other bird-watchers on the white granite rocks, while red-backed voles and chipmunks skittered around the pathways at our feet. (they really do, bold little things.)

And we waited. The mountains rippled away in blue at our feet. The berry bushes were scarlet against the green of the rhododendrons, and the air had that silent deep clarity of the mountain top.

Soon enough, far-away spots turned into bald eagles, hawks and kestrels. Osprey and falcons flapped or glided by, some quite close, others just silhouettes against the cloudbanks. Many majestic vultures lazily caressed the invisible airstreams. Funnels of black pepper specks were a kettle of hawks 40 strong, catching the warm air up to higher paths. Spots of bright orange tottered their way to mexico ~ monarchs against the sky, skimming over treetops.

I could soak it in forever. The brevity, the moment, the light, the being alive, being there, the falcon's eye turning to look at me as it passed.

We came home to a later blue evening and a burnished ivory moon that would knock your eye out. In autumn, nature is getting out all that it has thought about all year.

The (randomly chosen) winner of the polaroid giveaway is MJ. MJ, send your address to me ~ flypeterfly AT hotmail DOT com, and I'll pop Icarus in the mail to you!

xo brooke

a thirst for reading (and a giveaway)

2011-09-07T15:45:00.000-04:00

When I was little, I used to read so hard that I wouldn't even hear people talking to me. I don't remember how I began to read, or when, but I remember the smell of the library, the lovely children's books with cellophane wrapped hardback covers and great glossy pages. That feeling of reading so fast it was like gulping. I remember the thrill of falling in love with a story ~ of entering that world. Of meeting those exotic people and walking through the strange forests and cities and doing incredible things. It informed my play: acorns and miniatures and houses build out of vines. Treeforts and a box of jewels and a cave under the headboard. I used to think, if I tried hard enough, I would find an opening to Narnia. (Aslan, after all, said there were more.) It was a terrible ache that I could not make that happen.

My life is still very influenced by memoirs, journals, children's stories, mythology, magic and surreal possibilities ~ the ability to be in norway or in ancient greece in the moment of picking up a book. The experience of a different life, and what I can bring back to my own after having been away.

I brought Anne Frank with me on our trip to canada. My bread-kneadings and walks outdoors, vistas and fresh air and swims were experienced while a part of me was with her in the top floors of an office building in Amsterdam. Five years ago I visited that house, and I have stood in her bedroom. The knowledge of her experience, and her dreams, were very vivid to me as I got to enjoy all sorts of things she never did, and never shall.

Tim took Bilbo and the dwarves with him, so the lake and the rainstorms, his runs through the fields and all the animal sightings were all overlaid with giant eagles, trolls, the shade under Mirkwood and long sunny lonely treks with vistas of mountains at their end.

This week I am partially in Italy with elizabeth gilbert, partially on the Nile with hercule poirot, and yet another part of me is wild-swimming with roger deakin throughout england.

It has come serendipitiously to my attention that this is my 500th post. In honor of this, if you leave a comment telling me which polaroid you would like to own from my shop (look here), I will randomly pick a winner and gift them the polaroid print of their choice. Comments end when I put my next post up.

xo brooke

swimming with the loon

2011-09-02T13:25:00.001-04:00

There was one really fantastic moment that I haven't yet told you about, while we were at the lake.

One evening, when the winds were chilly and brisk, and the sunlight was just hitting that marvelous range where everything feels golden, I looked up from my place on the end of the dock, and there was a loon.

It was very close. I usually saw the loons from far away, where they looked like small black slivers of lake shadow, hardly distinguishable from the waves rippling. They look like they are wearing black rubber wetsuits readying themselves for their deep dives. All that was usually visible was a slice of back, almost sunk under the waves, and the iconic bill. I can't even describe their bill ~ it is different than a duck or a heron or a gull, and I hope you have seen one for yourself.

Each night when the loons called during the last shrinkings of sunset, I sprang to the door and went out to hear them, their warblings hitting the eardrum closer and sharper than the mosquito's whine. The sounds rippled from lake to lake as if they were in an opera house with perfect acoustics. They called their mate far away and soon enough, the other would return and they would talk in their weird hovering cries as the air turned black and velvet.

So that day on the dock when I saw one quite close, close enough to discern the white feathers on the belly and the spots on the sides, I was entranced. I watched it duck its sleek head under water, back and forth, as it looked across the lake floor as clearly as a hawk over a field. It would bring its head back up, without a bead of water on it, like poured glass, and gaze at us. The dogs sat perfectly still.

I like to think it felt my longing. I held my breath, and gazed and gazed. I tried to imprint every lapping wave upon my memory like a tattoo. The loon dived, and my heart burst. The loon surfaced and I was all attention. I slid over the side of the dock, slowly, and let go and swam gently out, as it bobbed not very far away, curiously looking at me. The waves that touched me might have just touched its feathers. Its gaze was wise.

We swam together for a short while, before it dived to fish, and I knew that somewhere near, it was underwater and could probably see my pale legs dangling under the green evening surface. It took me in stride, and I will never forget it.

the imaginary photos

2011-08-30T16:51:00.000-04:00

walking in ontario, taken by tim

Last winter, I put a roll of film into my old Pentax camera. Every so often, I would find it and snap a picture. I have about 6 cameras going at any one time, so there was no rush. Last week, I got to the end of the roll, all 36, and when I went to roll the film back I discovered that it had never caught. The whole roll had been an imaginary undertaking.

For some reason, I wasn't really bothered. I can, in fact, still remember some of those shots that weren't shots. One was a single mellow golden window lit in the very top of a dark house, in the blue hour of dusk. Another was a white plane contrail in a deep pink sky, the black fringes of trees just showing at the bottom. When I take film shots, I really make sure it is a shot I want. I walk about and arrange the composition exactly. I notice the colors, the light, the details. I absorb the place. In the end, I don't even really need the photo.

a little more from our trip

2011-08-29T19:55:00.001-04:00

Kind of wish I was still there.

battening down the hatches

2011-08-27T18:45:00.006-04:00

tim last week at the cabin

We are battening down the hatches here as we prepare for the mighty storm to arrive. The neighbor across the street, I can see from my studio window, is tying his grill down with a rope. Right now a pleasant sideways rain is falling and the wind hasn't really picked up yet. There won't be a sunset. In preparation for a few days indoors (with maybe a few rain-walks), this morning I went to the pond and watched turtles.

They will probably not mind the winds.

Tim is talking about starting the wood stove, just to take the chill off, and is presently working on the backsplash over the kitchen sink. I'm ensconced cozily in my studio, which received a major tidy-up after coming home from vacation. There's nothing like spending a week away from things at home to make me realize I can let go of some things I was holding on to.

hops harvesting and a hurricane

2011-08-25T22:01:00.000-04:00

Tim harvested the hops yesterday. He puts on his ipod and listens to music, pulling the vines gently down and plucking each pine-sweet hop one by one. It's been raining buckets and in between times we've managed to go to the woods by the river and run on the trails there. The water is flooded and the color of caramel, and the lowest branches of the trees are submerged in it. An occasional duck floats by looking like it's having a grand time, and I like to look for wasp's nests, now empty and unfurling.

altered books in the studio

We're expecting a hurricane this sunday, and as long as nothing crazy happens, I'm rather looking forward to it. I love nothing better than a really good rainstorm. It lets me feel free by limiting my choices. I can't walk the dog, run errands, or return the library books in a torrential downpour. It is intimate ~ we are all cozied up warm and dry inside the house, and the garden is getting watered to boot. Perhaps the electricity will go out and we'll have to light candles and eat all the ice cream in the freezer.

a new studio corner,

pastel drawing by chris witkowski

I was able to get outside tonight and watch the sunset, something I've been trying to remember to do. In the mornings I've been waking up earlier and spending a quiet hour in the brilliance of the back garden, with the umbrella raised and the cat on my knee.

the makings of the perfect vacation

2011-08-24T17:03:00.000-04:00

We spent the evenings while making dinner listening to canadian radio, which is so much more interesting than american, perhaps due to the accent, or the intriguing shows on native peoples, or the stations from montreal. I made my gramom's cake and two loaves of bread in the tiny kitchen listening to a french station I loved and the fact that I couldn't really understand much was trivial.

We experimented cooking with coconut milk, hiked to a bluff overlooking a beaver pond, counted 8 snake sightings during the week, and the raccoons ate the trash on the last night.

This is just the kind of vacation that we love. Lots of reading, relaxing, being outdoors, animal-watching, primitive living, good cooking, me toting a camera around, and hopefully a nice road trip to take us there.

I've been enjoying reading about your vacation experiences in the comments of the last few posts. What do you typically do on vacation? What makes the world seem perfect for you as you are away from home in a special place?

Just wondering.

x brooke

everything is linked

2011-08-23T10:02:00.001-04:00

For me, part of the need to go away is the need to come back home to my familiar haunts and my too-familiar self, and see them afresh. Sometimes something has to change, and if I can't do it myself, I get to where the surroundings will do it for me.

Some places are better for this than others.

I have seldom read a book without hoping that in the text there will be some message, some form of self-awakening, that will help to enlighten me in the manner of my living.*

I watch my daily life for signs. A little head nod from the cosmos.

The last evening at the lake, loons called far away, miniscule black grains of rice on flurried waters, then a long hooting and they were flying right over me, twenty feet up, and I could see the white feathers dotting their belly. Each moment is so quick it is all I can do just to keep up, to think ~ this is happening.

The leopard frogs jumping in dots and dashes, the piece of wasp paper in my path, the hummingbird wiping its beak right-left, right-left and stretching in a feathery shudder. Snakeskins on the jumping rock, the heron landing in the tree in front of me with a delicate crash, the sunset creeping in like a striped tiger. Milkweed puffs floating like pearls.

Autumn rain on the grasses sounds like hail dropping on frozen snow. Everything is linked.

*derek tangye, 'the ambrose rock'
**taken by tim

frequent silent sunshine

2011-08-22T18:07:00.002-04:00

*taken by tim

on the lake

2011-08-21T18:50:00.001-04:00

watching donovan swimming

This little ontario cabin is one that my family has been going to for ages. I found one of my grandmother's patchwork potholders there, from the years when she used to bring her sewing machine with her. The cupboard was filled with pyrex mugs and little aluminium drinking cups just like we use for camping. I kept finding things that made it seem like it was already home.

The great blue heron was there, and the turtles, and the kingfisher. At night we sat down on the dock and watched the gibbous moonrise and listened to the ever-beautiful call of the loons, while the beaver slapped his tail at us.

If the loons called at night, I leapt out of bed and ran to the window to listen for as long as they tremolo'd.

Walking out of the cabin, the lake was there before us. Its moods became a part of our day. The winds brushed the cedars, the hummingbirds had their wars over the feeder, the osprey carried a fish by, the loons circled the lake.

sitting by the lake
I see a turtle's head
but it is a leaf

fish jump at night
like pennies tossed
into a fountain

mosquito
the slimmest
most invisible violin

a dark shape
crosses the moon's path -
beaver night-swimming

there and back again

2011-08-20T21:47:00.000-04:00

just got home.
more when I'm rested.

xo brooke

*taken by tim

getting gone

2011-08-12T14:00:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow we'll be there. Wading with unbelieving feet into the quiet warm lake and watching for loons.

Today is packing up batches of no-knead bread ingredients, and bringing the recipe for my gramom's famous lemon cake and, this evening, a documentary on manhattan's beloved red hawk, Pale Male.

Pretty sure I probably won't get much sleep tonight. We are leaving at four am. I love getting up in the dark and feeling that jolt of excitement, dressing in pretty, comfortable things, putting on a pair of special earrings and curling a purple scarf around my shoulders, swiftly getting the car packed with the piles by the door, having a last chat with the houseplants and the cat, and making a quick cup of tea to take with.

We'll bring the confused, warm-from-sleep dogs outside to jump into the back of the wagon and settle onto their plaid comforter. We'll nestle ourselves into the chilly car and turn on the news, joining the people on the radio already awake and perky, and turn the volume down low. I'll kick my shoes off as I pull down the street in the grey dawn and follow the signs a few miles to the turnpike, and then we'll really be on our way. Only two roads to follow till we hit canada.

See you when we return!

*photo by somer

stars, loons and back-diving off the canoe

2011-08-11T16:55:00.002-04:00

sand

Yesterday at the beach I continued a photo theme that I started two years ago in colorado ~

snow

Don't ask me why. It makes me happy. I'll see what I can rustle up to throw this week at the lake.

Things have been pleasantly hectic (I like that word) around here lately as we prepare to go to ontario for a week's vacation. This trip has been long in the works, and I'm very excited. I could write a book about my experiences in canada ~ as a child, a teenager, on road trips, with friends, with tim. It holds a special place for me. But I don't have time today to speak of it.

Suffice it to say there will be stars, loons, painted turtles, chipmunks and local ice cream. We have to bring our own water to drink and I hope our cell phones don't work. The dogs are coming. I plan on back-diving off the canoe in the middle of the lake.

Do you have any special spots you return to year after year?

xo brooke

I collect rocks.

2011-08-06T21:46:00.000-04:00

I collect rocks. When I am in a place I want to remember, I bring a piece of it home with me. I always imagine that someday I might return the rocks to where they came from. Or perhaps someone else will.

Tim collected rocks too, before I knew him (he came with a few special rocks of his own) and he would hold them and impress upon them the place of their origin, so when he held the rock later, it might tell him. I instead put the place names upon my stones with little cut-out book letters.

Rocks are what they are, certain and solid. They are strong, slow and they show where they came from. When I tumble my collection together, I see colorado meet italy, prague meet maine, california meet ontario. The white quartz stone from the first appalachian trail hike tim and I took sits next to the rock from berne where, years later, he secretly bought my engagement ring while I was at the paul klee zentrum.

I found that little moon-shaped rock in california's half-moon bay, walking on the seaweed-strewn beaches looking for green sea glass, about to camp in the chilly windy night along the stretch of beach thrown up against the dunes.

That tiny rock says all that to me. It's less subjective than a journal entry or a photograph. When I hold it in my fingers, it's proof that I was there.

Vernazza, italy. A salty swim in the bay, along the coast, bright blue fishing boats and seaweed clinging to the rocks, after a long hot hike. I was 28, and it was heaven.

Garden of the gods, colorado. I was 18, and my gramom and I shared a hotel room while we saw the national parks with my parents. She was 76, and we hiked to delicate arch.

Valley of the moon, sardignia. A hike at sunset to pink wind-sculpted rocks on the edge of the ocean. I wore linen pants, and a silk scarf, and I was 22.

There it sits now among its peers from california, nova scotia, switzerland. Each one holds a story.

Cheticamp, cape breton, nova scotia. Our honeymoon road trip, moose, the ice wine vineyards with crab shells under the vines, the breathing of the whales audible in the quiet air of the clifftops.

Stechelberg, switzerland. A long thigh-jellying hike down a mountain, hundreds of stairs through the woods, and a roaring foaming river at the bottom.

Gimli, canada. A solo pilgrimage to the narcisse snake dens, the last morning ~ watching gulls on the lake ice, collecting their dropped feathers, that delicious huge cinnamon bun from the little bakery.

My favorite rock is the one from the roman forum. It is very smooth, pale and unassuming. When I was studying in rome, I used to leave my apartment and walk past nero's palace, past the colosseum, and down the ancient roads in the forum. Sometimes I would tag along with tours and sometimes just walk, imagining. I would always look at the house of the vestal virgins for a long time. When I hold that little stone, trodden by the feet of thousands, I feel myself back there, finding my way down the crooked streets and breathing the air that they had breathed.

the in-between places

2011-08-03T14:24:00.001-04:00

visiting capri, living in rome, 2001

You are all awesome. Thank you so much for your golden insights. I treasure each of your comments. It is amazing, humbling and also powerful to experience the energy that can literally be felt and known when we share.

My friend elizabeth wrote something in the comments that caught at me: 'Once I learn something about me or my truth, really learn it, I know it in my body. Slowly, from that point on, it becomes a part of me and my choices.'

I went through my box of photos last night just revisiting myself back in the past ~

All my self-portraits at that time were very warrior-woman. Very strong and solitary figures. I realize now that most of them are near water or woods, and there is a lot of jumping. I wanted to hover or float in the in-between places.

I had a little point-and-shoot camera, and I swam with it and propped it on rocks and car hoods, or I handed it to a friend and told them how I wanted the picture to be. I had it all figured out how I wanted to look. Who I wanted to be, what I wanted to feel ~ an iconic figure which wasn't me, but whom I felt drawn towards.

ontario, canada // ostia, near rome

If I could look like someone who was strong, maybe I would turn into her. Even though I felt unsure, I was filling up with possibility. Self-knowledge was filling up and leaking out. Looking back now, I think I must have been that woman, strong and flexible, even though I didn't feel it at the time.

I think that we are always more than we believe.

ontario, canada

Things I was learning back then:

pain can drive you and be a catalyst
nature heals
travel will explain more than any person ever could
find out what makes you happy
trust your intuition

I had a few like-minded friends and when I took photos of them, I saw their strength ~

Over a decade later, I feel strong and flexible and decisive. I feel open. I want to pull out my film cameras again and take self-portraits, and see myself through the lens. I want to be near water and woods. I have grown up. My hair is growing longer again and my pants are linen and the road beckons. I have choices now. I can call my soul my own. And if I'm not feeling it some days, I know how to cope. I know what the flip side of suffering looks like, and it is compassion. I notice when I stop breathing and I can start again. I have let many things go, and life feels no longer like too much, or too little.

I am so glad to have met so many of you, and to hear your stories as well. What have you found to have brought with you from your younger years?

x brooke

*photo by kat
**photo by jenna

a survivor of childhood

2011-08-01T17:04:00.004-04:00

berkshires, at kripalu

I have a thing for queen anne's lace.

And, I think I should warn you, this post was going to be a nice post about queen anne's lace bobbing and brightening up the backgrounds of my childhood vacations by canadian lakes, and instead, a whole 'nother story poured out.

It's the flip side of the same coin, and it began when I wrote these words:

Queen anne's lace is a pure and dainty plant, with a strong scent, and it grows where the ground has been disturbed, along roadsides and in fields. It is very hard to transplant, for the taproot will snap. It must be started from seed.

Then I found, 'A teaspoon full of crushed seeds has long been used as a form of birth control, its use for this purpose was first described by Hippocrates over 2,000 years ago.'

And I just thought to myself, wow.

How everything that goes around, comes around, in life.

me, around 17, in a field of queen anne's lace

Each summer my family would drive from our home in florida and, later, pennsylvania to a rented cabin on a lake in ontario. I knew I was near when I would begin to see the red-winged blackbirds, the purple loosestrife and lacy bobbing doilies of the queen anne's lace. It meant bare feet on scratchy grass, seaweed and frogs, lapping water, the herons, painted turtles and snakes, lake swimming and huge appetites. It meant private discoveries, water and wet and sun and skin and breath and my own thoughts and huge huge nature loves and wishes and possibility. It was always devastating when my father would decide to bring us home one day early, so he could recoup before getting back to the office.

It is a plant that grows on disturbed soil.

It is really tough being young. It was for me. I had to make a lot of other people happy. I didn't understand, nor did anyone around me, that I was highly sensitive. If I stayed in my room too much, I was anti-social. If I asked why too much, I was too intense. Questions outside the box of the belief system I was raised in were viewed warily. To survive, I held myself together, detached, tried to keep my head down, not cause ripples, and dreamed one day of escape. How, I did not know. I became severely depressed, and for many years wished I could disappear.

Me, disappear.

How did I cope? I don't think I did. I wrote a lot of poems in my journal, took pills from 7-11 to pep me up and to put me to sleep, ran in the neighboorhood at night towards the stars when I just had to do something, escaped by long road trips to niagara falls or cleveland, but mostly I turned it all inside. I doubled up on myself, and tucked all my nasty feelings in, and pretended, and I'm still feeling the repercussions of that today. It's hard for me to be my real, authentic self because it grew in kind of like a chinese woman's bound foot.

austria, aged 21

What changed for me to bring me to where I am now? For one thing, I began to make art. It came out of me and freed a passage through the darkness of my mind. It drained poisons. It was something I knew I was good at. I knew. Also, I left the country at age 21. I went to Italy with a backpack and a friend for 3 months. It was the first time I had ever been able to go a whole day, a whole week, a whole month, just trusting my intuition, my interests and my own inner guiding. I moved there the next year for two semesters of college.

I was stronger than I knew.

In Europe, the little package of my mind began to breathe, began to send out small roots gulping. It took the Atlantic to break the taproot. And I was left with little seeds of my own. Seeds that I contained, secured safe, fiercely defended.

Last fall I came across the question, 'what would you do if you knew you could not fail?'

And in amongst the 'learn french,' 'keep bees,' 'write a book,' 'learn to knit,' 'get a horse,' was 'have children.'

I didn't really notice it until I hit the end of the page.

For years I decided I would never have children. I feared that when I became a mother, I would somehow default to my upbringing, as if all the intervening years had not occured. As if I had no choice. As if I would surely fail. I would make my children safe by not having them. It was enough that I was free, making my way, and fighting. Finding out who I was and starting myself on the path to meet myself where I am now.

It feels scary to even write this, like I'm going to jinx things. It feels scary also to let go, to allow to happen, what might happen, if...

It's another unpackaging of my mind to the air to breathe and gulp.

Queen anne's lace, the plant of my childhood. It grows on disturbed soil, and it must be started from seed.

*photos by my mom

**photo by tim

studio storytelling

2011-07-29T11:56:00.001-04:00

(the poem in there is this one)

I gave an interview over at 'Handmade in PA' which talks a little bit about my being an artist and how I got into altered books and polaroids. Whenever I give an interview I learn something new about myself.

Do you ever ask yourself those questions ~ what circumstances brought me where I am, am I happy here, what am I wild about, what would I like to shift and how could that look if it happened? I generally write a little bit about those things every so often, just to air out my subconscious. I try to catch it off guard, and I tell you, some funny things have happened when I have.

xo brooke