and it comes from slowing down long enough to...

There's a certain peace obtained by integrating past and present parts of my life.  Pulling out an old, old quilt from my childhood to patch and lay down on my bed, editing piles of old photos to frame one and archive the remaining important ones properly, pulling out a cup given by a loved one long gone and drinking tea in her memory; these actions stitch past into present.  

That peace balances out that ever-flowing excitement for the future; what to make for supper, what to do tomorrow, spaces to create, skills to hone, gardens to plant and harvest, and on and on.  Too often I wash myself away with relentless waves of ideas.  

My good friend, in whose home my studio dwells, laughs every time I realize that my new, amazing idea and plan is one I've already been working on for years, and is half-done when conceived.  This chronic eureka is such a relief, and it comes from slowing down long enough to curate my accumulating creations.

The balance of integrating artifacts of the past with excitement for the future gives me a strong footing in the present moment.

da cinque anni fa...

Through 3-year-old eyes (and a funky plastic lens):

A morning with family in the playground, through three-year-old eyes:

I love my Lomo. (...and my family!)

Rain or shine...

I stumbled upon this scene:

I have learned to watch my feet, that I not smash tiny theatrical spectacles in my giant and ordinary movements.