In lieu of the standard apology that I have traditionally administered in the past after prolonged and unexpected blog absences I thought I’d take a different approach here. Dive right into the stream of consciousness that has been keeping me preoccupied and away from the computer. No redress or mea culpa, just this. Me. Away. From home and from this place. But I’m back now. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to talk about it.

Any parent knows that the word vacation is a misnomer. There’s no vacation from early rising toddlers or moody adolescent ‘tweens. I don’t know about your kids but mine need to be fed (at least) three times a day and even with the overwhelming success of my first vegetable garden—someone still needs to go grocery shopping (apparently cherry tomatoes and cucumbers aren’t enough to live on).  Laundry doesn’t clean itself just because it’s vacation and toilet training tushies need wiping even in paradise. (Too much information?) It doesn’t matter where we are, someone needs to intervene when my children are bickering, and traveling or not, if someone is sick, I’m the designated nurse.

This isn’t a list of complaints, and I’m sure none of it is news to you. (It is, however, the reason that I’m in favor of leaving the kids with the in-laws or, in our crazy flavor of blended family madness, my ex-husband, and escaping real life for a weekend every now and again. But I digress.)

So we go on vacation and we don’t exactly take a break, but—and here’s the thing—we do it all in a different place.

In the past I’ve made no secret here that our lives are full of compromise. We don’t live in our perfect house or work at our dream jobs and times are tough. We’ve made choices and we’re making them work. Mostly. And it’s not always pretty. When we can, we go pretty places. Like this month. We went here:

I’ve been coming to this place or some place just like it since I was a child. Visiting with my own children carries with it equal elements of peace and longing. Hard as I try I still haven’t mastered the art of soaking enough of it in to be able to draw it back to the surface in the heavy darkness of a January afternoon. When I’m in it I spend rather a lot of time trying to come to terms with why we ever have to go home. The dichotomy between vacation and real life doesn’t make any sense when we’re standing on the beach at sunset.

How does vacation mean places that that inspire our senses and ignite our spent fires, and home means compromising on such things?

But it does. And we do.

I’m hoping this year when the inevitable weight of that January afternoon settles on my chest these photos* will bring me back. And if not? Well, there’s always next summer.

*Please note that if you aren’t interested in more photos of my lost month of August you may wish to avert your eyes for the next few posts since that’s mostly what I’ve got in store.

or: where photography and life converge.

when i first started taking pictures—and for years afterward—my best images were made when i stepped closer to my subject. possibly, maybe even probably,  composing the shot to exclude the ‘main’ activity and hone in on some small detail. (lately i believe i’ve begun to achieve some success with a wider range of subject matter, but still, only with a narrower angle lens). this might be why i like to shoot with my aperture wide open—so that i don’t get too distracted by the background.

it’s (yet another) way I find photography to be a metaphor for life.

too much information is difficult for me to process.

the front page of a newspaper becomes a giant blur and i end up retaining nothing.

or a city street assaults my senses and i retreat.

i’ve learned that one story at a time is how i process best.

this made school difficult and it isn’t any easier now that i’m living in the real world.

try telling three boys at the dinner table not to talk over each other when they’re excited about something because mommy’s senses are overloaded.

or changing lanes in traffic while they are bickering in the back seat and the music is too loud and your husband is on the phone.

i wish i could tell you that i’ve developed a sophisticated coping strategy but—not so much.

i get pushed out of balance easily. always have.

it’s not all bad though. this intensity. it forces me inward. to pay close attention. to look closer and see the details. of everything.

i love this about photography and about writing, and i love it about how writing and photography intersect. And I’m learning to love it about myself.

This weekend my littlest monster turned three. How I managed to be parenting one boy who is transitioning to puberty while the other is transitioning to underpants, seems either to be sheer genius, or a huge planning mishap. Either way, here we are.

There were birthday festivities.

And peaches and tomatoes. There will be peaches and tomatoes—and zucchini—from now until September. But it still won’t be enough for me.

And we will travel on a ferry and swim in The Atlantic. And the children will bring sand into the house.

But it won’t matter.

And the evenings will start earlier then they did last month. And we will play scrabble and sleep on the porch. And we will wear pajamas until noon and never put on shoes. And visit with friends and worry about seventh grade and cook everything on the grill and eat outdoors. And we will fret over how quickly it’s passing us by.

And we will savor every delicious moment of it.

And I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve been invited by Molly and Emily to guest post over at Habit this month so I’ll be spending some time over there. Won’t you stop by?

August.

As my dear friend Stephanie once said about my house: ‘it’s a three-ring circus of batshit crazy’. And she was right. Most days it’s a conglomerate of blended family chaos and stay-home mom, work-from-home-designer and just plain too-many-projects-going-on-at-once-stew. Please note here that these projects are largely self imposed and that I am not complaining. I love it. I love the noise. I love the revolving door of neighbors and friends and scheduling and organizing and endless undertakings. But not today. Today the universe conspired to keep me from my appointed rounds. Everything went wrong and nothing went right. And I just thought I’d vent about it with you all, my dear supportive friends. I had a frustrating crappy day. And mostly it was all my fault. I set myself up with too much to do and my knees buckled under the pressure. I should have known better.

Anyway. Thanks for listening. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming and some photos from a delightful day spent at the beach last weekend.

Just popping in to share a link with y’all. I recently completed a blog redesign for a photographer whose photos I’ve admired on Flickr for some time now. I was thrilled when Maegan hired me and I loved working with her. I’m excited to continue working together on a portfolio site for her business.

Maegan often writes about her creative process and inspiration and she hosts a series on the subject titled: ‘Dozen Details’ where she interviews artists about theirs. Today I’m honored to be featured on this series and I hope you’ll take a few minutes to stop over and take a look. While you’re there, be sure to say hi to Maegan—tell her Amy sent you!

We’ve all engaged in discussion of what makes art, and moreover, what makes good art. It’s my opinion that the latter is subjective. But the former? Art and it’s pure definition? Honestly, I haven’t a clue. I know what it is when I’m looking at it, however. When I’m moved or perhaps more succinctly, when everything else stops moving and the moment gives way to the art.

As a photographer I never set out to make art. I seek to see inside a moment or express a feeling. I really never know if the feeling I had hoped to convey is the one the viewer is experiencing when they see the image. I’m fairly certain that it doesn’t matter though. If you’re looking at an image and are moved to any emotion I think something wonderful has happened, and wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to assume what your emotion should be. What one finds exciting another could easily pass over as mundane. It’s the mystery of taste and style, and finding what ignites mine is the force that drives me creatively.

Nothing has ever spoken to me quite the way photography does. The entire concept of capturing light and color overwhelms me. For years I was frozen in my admiration of the photographs of others and have only recently unlocked enough to make images that please me at all. And still so much of it is in the making. The seeing. The taking and the creating. Sometimes the final image isn’t final at all and the pleasure was all in the process.

What moves you in art? Please share your link or thougts in the comments below.

laugh at yourself
learn what makes you happy and do it whenever as possible

apologize when you’re wrong
bring baked goods to new neighbors
watch the sun rise occasionally
ask as many questions as you have
obey traffic signs
don’t label yourself (or anyone else)
traditions matter

everyone is weird
one cigarette is too many
older is (almost always) wiser
karma goes both ways
dark chocolate is better
people can change

different = interesting
forgiveness is redeeming for both the forgiver and the forgivee
you are amazing

more here

My camera broke three days before we left for vacation and I felt as if someone told me I couldn’t bring my arm with me.

I tried having the following argument with myself: maybe this means you’re (I speak to myself in the third person) supposed to step out from behind the lens and experience life instead of recording it.

It didn’t work. (Mainly because that argument is a crock.)

My camera does not cause me to separate from the events around me at all. The reality is just the opposite. My camera causes me to engage deeply in what I see. Tiny moments that may have otherwise gone unnoticed become forever etched in the colors of my memory and large overwhelming events are suddenly broken down into manageable pieces.

I walk through days of usual and ordinary and I see things that are anything but. Light becomes a commodity when you’re a photographer and it takes on shapes and forms that brighten even the darkest days.

So I tried another approach.

I dug out my old Canon and one prime lens and I shot entirely in manual the whole week. I wanted to see what would happen if I was limited by my equipment and returned to the basics.

And wouldn’t you know? I learned something.

I learned that it’s me who makes the pictures, not my camera. I am the artist and my camera is my tool. It’s my paintbrush or mound of clay.

So do I miss my Nikon? Hell yes. But does it matter?

Not at all.

Riddle me this.

What do you get when a bunch of old friends from the theater (and their kids) get together and go on vacation together?

Answer: a very dramatic vacation.

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Love,

Amy