Thank you, Amy. Reading your essays is always a call to increased mindfulness for me. You're teaching me how to see more deeply, to dig a little more for feelings and insights in my own writing. And thank you for not disappearing in this time of grief. For showing up, even though. That's enormous.
“The formula for doing a good job in photography is to think like a poet.”
Imogen Cunningham
This week was the first week in over a year that I did not open my journal. Can I blame ICAD? I do think that counts as daily art, even though I miss my daily drawing. Also, my heart is breaking in many places, and I’m scared to put it on paper.
In July I must pack my house up.
I wish there was something I could do to make you feel less alone. It’s a feeling I know all too well. I want to build a virtual bridge from me to you and be there. I know it’s not the same.
Daily art is always good - any kind. Your ICAD series is wonderful. With so much change coming up, I hope you find your journal a helpful space, but it may simply be something that either served its purpose or that you return to. And that’s okay. I think there is value in putting things in words or on paper — Hopefully the move is going to work out the way you want and be good and a positive next stage. I’m sure it feels like a mountain between now and then. Good to see you today.
You're right. There is no single way. Whether it belongs here or not (talk about vulnerability) I'll go on record in acknowledgement of likely being one of those people who offers unsolicited advice. True or not, there's no need to respond to that thought. Just know that I appreciate the reminder to pay more attention to that.
Thank you for your honesty, Amy, and for sharing from the heart. The photos are a study in contrasts, bright brights and dark darknesses.
My project for July is staying centered and trying to maintain balance as I start a new job. It's hard to be all of me when the better part of my waking hours are spent meeting goals that come from external sources.
A new job! I hope it is a change you are excited about. I am sure a lot of emotions might come into play. I will be wishing you much luck from afar. And thank you for reading - and for commenting - and for being insightful.
I am left realizing today’s post may have been more risky than I realized. I am grateful for you and the others who left words in reply. It makes such a difference.
Excited, yes, and also feeling some anxiety - naturally. Risk can turn out well sometimes, can't it? Thank you for the good wishes and the thoughtful post.
So many powerful descriptions here, Amy. I’ve read through several times. The way you put words together draws me in and holds me there…makes me think about things, while at the same time just appreciating how you phrased your thoughts. And the way you consistently show up to do that…put words together and lines down on paper… I appreciate and admire that too.
This description was one that really stuck with me after reading this:
“I am simply mapping terrain, lining things up, gathering twigs, breadcrumbs, fallen leaves, and bits of glittering light, wrapping threads around milestones and random markers, measuring distances, pondering shortcuts and off-roads, and moving farther and farther into the unknown.
YES! I totally agree with your first paragraph. The authenticity and drawing together of thoughts in such a beautiful way are what I connect with most.
Amy it is a good solid post. An honest one,a thought-provoking one, a beautiful drawing together of the strange soupy unfamiliarity of your journey right now.
Taking photos like the ones you shared help reconnect us with the world, often with what is good, simple to understand with glimmers on the edges when we aren't taking notice. When all else is confusing, challenging and heartbreaking taking a moment to appreciate nature and everyday life going on helps me to appreciate the world isn't ending but it still ticking over in my absence, a constant, a sameness I can come back to. Small hidden gems that I zoom in on when the wide lens of my reality is too much. Interesting you used black and white as that simplifies and calms what you are taking in too. The removal of colour allows you to see the subtleties of light and dark, the tiny details you might otherwise miss.
Your definition of navel gazing is quite different to mine. I always thought it was about taking time to contemplate your thoughts, to look inside your self. Really should look up the definition I suppose, 🤔
That ice cream sounds AMAZING 😍. Yahoo for Mums and Ice creams
Thank you, Lisa. This is such a beautiful response.... and such a thoughtful reading of the role of the photographs and the black and white. I really appreciate this. As for the navel gazing... that's funny. I'm pretty sure it's got some innuendo. Lol. But some of us are stuck there, and that's okay, too. Once again you gave me a really interesting mirror back and a wonderful phrase.... "the strange soupy unfamiliarity" -- Thank you.
Damn! I realized when reading and responding to your latest post that I never actually sent my 6/30 response to this one. I went back and saw your morning-after note. Oof. I’m not sure if it was the words or the moment that had you questioning whether or how to post. Here’s what I do know:
I, too, am mapping terrain, finding comfort in myth even as I search, relentlessly, for the true shape of things. I, too, know the strange, alienating, exhaustingly present place of Not Reading. And I absolutely know the interminable nights of exposure relived.
I feel only compassion and wonder when reading these words you’ve strung together. Perhaps you can’t see it right now: This epistolary lifeboat you’re building is for others too.
Here’s my initial response from 6/30 (which I realize now sounds a little bossy, like my “discernment” harangue, but meant to be supportive and mainly reflects my own exasperation with being bossed and misunderstood 🤣):
First Off: Navel gazing is a ridiculous insult thrown by shallow people (or the arrogant impatient “Act Don’t Think” and “ready fire aim” sorts) at people with a creative and/or analytical habit of mind; the reflective, introspective, and cerebral — both contemplative and rigorous; the intellectuals, the dreamers, the poets; the discerning.
Navel gazing? I almost giggled when I read it. It’s something the bitter mother or loutish father says to the sensitive child in a young-adult novel. Sister, I share so many of your concerns, and resonate with so much of your worldview, but you can let that one go!
As for the related issue (insufferable narcissism vs “indulgent” self-reflection): Sure, there are plenty of arrogant Thackerian ass-hats out there going on about themselves, but that’s not you either.
Invisibility and overexposure — I know these poles. I’m enchanted by your ability to capture the nature of each — and the transit between them — in words. And about words. The life of the translator. Peeling layers from walls and skylines, yarn and leaves and ink.
I’m always incensed by all the crappy things people say and do and don’t when they encounter you, us, paused in the face of astonishing loss, while the world gallops on. That incessant forward motion seems in itself an affront — thoughtless, brutal, absurd. The thunder and churn of the passing herd bewilders.
And yet. And yet the world never really leaves us behind. “The animals, after all, are tethered. They move in a circle.”
There is no formula for the irrational logic of grief. In your work as archaeologist/translator/sculptor, in the evocative interplay of veil and lens, I find respite, see a path.
So beautiful. “ Invisibility and overexposure — I know these poles. I’m enchanted by your ability to capture the nature of each — and the transit between them — in words. And about words. The life of the translator. Peeling layers from walls and skylines, yarn and leaves and ink.”
Thank you, too, for understanding the irony of the carousel horses even as I removed them.
This back and forth is mysterious and challenging and might require a dictionary, but I greatly enjoy and appreciate it. Thank you.
Thank you, Amy. Reading your essays is always a call to increased mindfulness for me. You're teaching me how to see more deeply, to dig a little more for feelings and insights in my own writing. And thank you for not disappearing in this time of grief. For showing up, even though. That's enormous.
Thank you, Nan. I really appreciate your words — thank you for commenting on a post a bit on the edge.
“The formula for doing a good job in photography is to think like a poet.”
Imogen Cunningham
This week was the first week in over a year that I did not open my journal. Can I blame ICAD? I do think that counts as daily art, even though I miss my daily drawing. Also, my heart is breaking in many places, and I’m scared to put it on paper.
In July I must pack my house up.
I wish there was something I could do to make you feel less alone. It’s a feeling I know all too well. I want to build a virtual bridge from me to you and be there. I know it’s not the same.
Daily art is always good - any kind. Your ICAD series is wonderful. With so much change coming up, I hope you find your journal a helpful space, but it may simply be something that either served its purpose or that you return to. And that’s okay. I think there is value in putting things in words or on paper — Hopefully the move is going to work out the way you want and be good and a positive next stage. I’m sure it feels like a mountain between now and then. Good to see you today.
💜💜💜
You're right. There is no single way. Whether it belongs here or not (talk about vulnerability) I'll go on record in acknowledgement of likely being one of those people who offers unsolicited advice. True or not, there's no need to respond to that thought. Just know that I appreciate the reminder to pay more attention to that.
Thank you for your honesty, Amy, and for sharing from the heart. The photos are a study in contrasts, bright brights and dark darknesses.
My project for July is staying centered and trying to maintain balance as I start a new job. It's hard to be all of me when the better part of my waking hours are spent meeting goals that come from external sources.
A new job! I hope it is a change you are excited about. I am sure a lot of emotions might come into play. I will be wishing you much luck from afar. And thank you for reading - and for commenting - and for being insightful.
I am left realizing today’s post may have been more risky than I realized. I am grateful for you and the others who left words in reply. It makes such a difference.
Excited, yes, and also feeling some anxiety - naturally. Risk can turn out well sometimes, can't it? Thank you for the good wishes and the thoughtful post.
So many powerful descriptions here, Amy. I’ve read through several times. The way you put words together draws me in and holds me there…makes me think about things, while at the same time just appreciating how you phrased your thoughts. And the way you consistently show up to do that…put words together and lines down on paper… I appreciate and admire that too.
This description was one that really stuck with me after reading this:
“I am simply mapping terrain, lining things up, gathering twigs, breadcrumbs, fallen leaves, and bits of glittering light, wrapping threads around milestones and random markers, measuring distances, pondering shortcuts and off-roads, and moving farther and farther into the unknown.
If there are birds, I make a note.”
YES! I totally agree with your first paragraph. The authenticity and drawing together of thoughts in such a beautiful way are what I connect with most.
Thank you, Lisa.
Thank you, Erin. I so appreciate your presence as a reader (and listener) and your thoughtful comments each week.
Amy it is a good solid post. An honest one,a thought-provoking one, a beautiful drawing together of the strange soupy unfamiliarity of your journey right now.
Taking photos like the ones you shared help reconnect us with the world, often with what is good, simple to understand with glimmers on the edges when we aren't taking notice. When all else is confusing, challenging and heartbreaking taking a moment to appreciate nature and everyday life going on helps me to appreciate the world isn't ending but it still ticking over in my absence, a constant, a sameness I can come back to. Small hidden gems that I zoom in on when the wide lens of my reality is too much. Interesting you used black and white as that simplifies and calms what you are taking in too. The removal of colour allows you to see the subtleties of light and dark, the tiny details you might otherwise miss.
Your definition of navel gazing is quite different to mine. I always thought it was about taking time to contemplate your thoughts, to look inside your self. Really should look up the definition I suppose, 🤔
That ice cream sounds AMAZING 😍. Yahoo for Mums and Ice creams
Thank you, Lisa. This is such a beautiful response.... and such a thoughtful reading of the role of the photographs and the black and white. I really appreciate this. As for the navel gazing... that's funny. I'm pretty sure it's got some innuendo. Lol. But some of us are stuck there, and that's okay, too. Once again you gave me a really interesting mirror back and a wonderful phrase.... "the strange soupy unfamiliarity" -- Thank you.
I always appreciate the way you help me see the world differently! 🌈❤️ I'm very thankful for you 🫂🫂🫂
Thank you so much, Melissa.
Damn! I realized when reading and responding to your latest post that I never actually sent my 6/30 response to this one. I went back and saw your morning-after note. Oof. I’m not sure if it was the words or the moment that had you questioning whether or how to post. Here’s what I do know:
I, too, am mapping terrain, finding comfort in myth even as I search, relentlessly, for the true shape of things. I, too, know the strange, alienating, exhaustingly present place of Not Reading. And I absolutely know the interminable nights of exposure relived.
I feel only compassion and wonder when reading these words you’ve strung together. Perhaps you can’t see it right now: This epistolary lifeboat you’re building is for others too.
Thank you.
Part ll: Part l
Here’s my initial response from 6/30 (which I realize now sounds a little bossy, like my “discernment” harangue, but meant to be supportive and mainly reflects my own exasperation with being bossed and misunderstood 🤣):
First Off: Navel gazing is a ridiculous insult thrown by shallow people (or the arrogant impatient “Act Don’t Think” and “ready fire aim” sorts) at people with a creative and/or analytical habit of mind; the reflective, introspective, and cerebral — both contemplative and rigorous; the intellectuals, the dreamers, the poets; the discerning.
Navel gazing? I almost giggled when I read it. It’s something the bitter mother or loutish father says to the sensitive child in a young-adult novel. Sister, I share so many of your concerns, and resonate with so much of your worldview, but you can let that one go!
As for the related issue (insufferable narcissism vs “indulgent” self-reflection): Sure, there are plenty of arrogant Thackerian ass-hats out there going on about themselves, but that’s not you either.
Invisibility and overexposure — I know these poles. I’m enchanted by your ability to capture the nature of each — and the transit between them — in words. And about words. The life of the translator. Peeling layers from walls and skylines, yarn and leaves and ink.
I’m always incensed by all the crappy things people say and do and don’t when they encounter you, us, paused in the face of astonishing loss, while the world gallops on. That incessant forward motion seems in itself an affront — thoughtless, brutal, absurd. The thunder and churn of the passing herd bewilders.
And yet. And yet the world never really leaves us behind. “The animals, after all, are tethered. They move in a circle.”
There is no formula for the irrational logic of grief. In your work as archaeologist/translator/sculptor, in the evocative interplay of veil and lens, I find respite, see a path.
So beautiful. “ Invisibility and overexposure — I know these poles. I’m enchanted by your ability to capture the nature of each — and the transit between them — in words. And about words. The life of the translator. Peeling layers from walls and skylines, yarn and leaves and ink.”
Thank you, too, for understanding the irony of the carousel horses even as I removed them.
This back and forth is mysterious and challenging and might require a dictionary, but I greatly enjoy and appreciate it. Thank you.
Thank you so much for mentioning my essay, Amy. And what captivating journal notes, photos, and explorations!