pink walls and safety pins

when it rains, it pours. no work for weeks and weeks and now there's so much we are swimming in it. of course, this is good news but it's all come at once and now there's much head spinning and stress dreaming and gnashing of teeth. well, no gnashing of teeth. well, maybe a little gnashing of teeth.

the truth is that I'm prone to silliness when the workload hits a fever pitch. I feel compelled to organize the safety pins by size or begin eleven new books or bake a complicated cake from scratch. and people, I will always stop and photograph a dirty pink wall. always. no matter what kind of rush I'm in.

but you know what really gets me through the crazy? the promise of you know what. the promise of summer. so close I can almost taste it. sorry, pink wall. sorry but summer sort of trumps you. don't take it personally or anything. summer trumps everything.

the magic pool scene

that magic pool scene. you know, the palm springs one I was telling you about.

magic because it was hot enough to swim. because everything was pretty. sunshine yellow shower heads, stacks of bright white cotton towels, palmiest palm trees, turquoise waters. magic because I wore my mom bathing suit anyway. in that sea of thin rich white cool, I wore my mom bathing suit and if you have ever been in that situation (you know the one I'm talking about) then you know that this is no small victory.

magic because there was night swimming. because when my friend nataly floated on her back and looked up at the stars she said she would never forget it. and she was right. we will never forget that night.

the best camera

over at shutter sisters today with a few words about the language of cameras. hop on over, if you like.

lucky number thirteen

a few things you will find on the pages of UPPERCASE issue number thirteen: cloudy days, paper fortune tellers, bingo card collections, deflated balloons messages, water color polka dots, water color stripes, vintage sue's dress collections, umbrellas, superstitions. and so on and so forth. plus a few words about the perfect vintage dress (aka this month's covet column, written and photographed by yours truly).

normally, the covet column is a more solitary labor of love but this go round called for a slightly broader view. I put the call out and some sweet friends of mine answered. many, many thanks to jenny and alix for allowing me to share their terrific thoughts and ideas on the perfect vintage dress, to jen for allowing me to share the sweetest little thrift store wedding dress story I ever did hear and to vanessa (of wanderlust trailer fame) and erin (of double decker lodekka fame) for letting me pull dress after dress (after dress) and point my trusty little SX-70 all over the place. you are all fine, fine girls after my own vintage-loving heart.

and now I must know. your idea of the perfect vintage dress? what does that look like? and have you found it? spill it, ladies.

(for those that are interested: the top instant image was shot with lovely impossible project PX 70 color shade film)

boulevards and avenues

(hello from sandy boulevard)

(hello from SE 37th avenue)

so I keep my sx-70 loaded and ready because you never know. you never know when you're going to stumble onto something. there you are, just driving along, thinking about getting on to the next thing, the next whatever and you see it (that magic thing, whatever it is) and you must stop. you must always stop. because inevitably, you will forget. or the light will change or a big ugly car will pull up and park right in front of it or they'll tear the flags down or paint over all those candy-colored little bricks. of course there's the iphone, there's a hundred other cameras and really, they're all lovely but there's just something about the sx-70, something about what it does with color and light. there are just times when no other camera will do. 

(taken with the impossible project's amazing new PX 70 color shade cool film, my favorite film yet)

list forty-one: things

things recently realized (in no particular order):

1. found shapes inspire me.

2. walking to school with the kids each morning is a magic way to start the day.

3. sunshine-filled forecasts almost make me feel panicky.

4. spaghetti, ramen noodle soup. I cannot eat another bowl of spaghetti or ramen noodle soup.

5. but cooking with ezra is really really fun.

6. potential train trips fill me with hope.

7. the sound of adam yauch's voice makes me cry.

8. lilacs. when in doubt, lilacs.

things that are free

free this past weekend: comic books,  admission to the portland art museum

always free: long walks downtown, frozen yogurt samples, super moon viewings


full time freelance works means a good amount of personal freedom. it also means potentially long (and sometimes horrific) stretches between paychecks. we are right smack dab in the middle of one of those long, horrific stretches.


I'll tell you, the word free is a beautiful, beautiful word.

saturday night

saturday night= hoodies and sweaters over pajamas, the pull of the super moon. we are a people who love super sized things.  the shuffling down to the street corner, the looking, the waiting, the cursing of clouds. the super moon finally rising, bathing us in super moonlight.

the shuffling back to the house, the arguing over which movie to watch, to microwave popcorn or not to microwave popcorn, the crowding that happens on the big green couch, the tangle of blankets and legs, lights off, all lights off, the glow and flicker of the television screen, the glow of the super moon outside.

these are the kinds of things I want to remember.

for the record

I am most alive when I am not paying attention to the internets.

when I refuse to let internet trends, movements or unspoken rules affect what I share, how I share, when I share. I've never really been one for labels and I bristle at the thought of branding. no judgment, it's just not for me. I want to write what I want to write and share original work. I want to share photographs that excite me. I want it to come from an intrinsically authentic place and the only way I've found to do this is to ignore the ongoing noise of the internet and share freely, openly. with nary a thought to convention. I'm not always successful. but I try.

I want to say more about this (and I will) but the weekend is calling. the wide open weekend and something called a super moon.

there

scenes from that magic little palm springs trip I took, that magic magic 48 hours. not yet pictured here: the magic photobooth scene, the magic pool scene, the magic bicycle scene and the magic downtown palm springs scene. because every scene seems magic when you are on vacation and sunshine covers everything like a giant happy yellow blanket.

once again-- thank you, radical ace hotel people (and all you other wonderful people, you know who you are) for making this happen. I am forever grateful.

for a day, maybe two

there are some photographs I'd like to climb inside and on this grey rainy monday morning, this is one of them.

(taken with the holga and 120 kodak portra 400 speed film, something like three years ago in south texas)

because when people dance

"through time, through the ages, what endures is mostly art. art seems to be everything humankind leaves to its heirs. whether through buildings or books or paintings. or music or movement. or dance. in that sense, I think of a dance performance the most current, the most up-to-date history lesson as it is in a constant relationship with its most recent past and can only happen in the present. dance also somehow doesn't acknowledge borders in the same way as many other art forms. even when certain styles try to limit themselves or work within a frame, the movement of life, its choreography and its needs for flux take over very quickly, allowing certain styles to mingle with others. everything engages with everything naturally. and dance settles only in the space it really belongs to-- that of the ever-changing present.

I believe that dance may be one of the most honest forms of expression for us to cherish. because when people dance, whether in a ballet performance, a hip hop battle, an underground contemporary show or just in a discotheque cutting loose, there are seldom any lies deployed, any masks worn. people reflect each other constantly but when they dance, perhaps what they reflect most is that moment of honesty. by moving like other people, by moving with other people and by watching them move, we can best feel their emotion, think their thoughts and connect to their energy. it is perhaps then that we can get to know and understand them clearly.

I like to think of a dance performance as a celebration of co-existence, a way to give and make space in time for each other. we tend to forget this but the underlying beauty in a performance is that it is primarily the convergence of a mass of people seated one next to the other, all sharing the same moment. there is nothing private about it. a performance is an extremely social experience. all of us assembled for this ritual which is our bond with the performance, our bond with the same present.

and so, in 2012, I wish everyone lots of dance. not to forget all their problems of 2011 but on the contrary-- to tackle them creatively, to dance around them, to find a way to engage with each other and the world. to engage with life as a part of its never-ending choreography. dance to find honesty. and to transmit, to reflect and to celebrate it."

--sidi larbi cherkaoui


(happy international dance day, friends)

(testing testing)

hey, how about a few test shots with the new PX680 color shade cool film? which I took a few weekends ago when that guy I like (yep, the one I'm married to) and I headed downtown for a night at the crystal hotel. that was a good weekend, people. I need a little time machine. is what I need. so I can revisit past adventures and getaways. please, someone invent that. 

(some necessary information, should you feel you need it: above images taken with the polaroid SX-70 and impossible project PX680 beta/test color shade cool film, no ND filter, exposure dial turned all the way dark, temperature in the 60s)

found

so in the process of all the sorting and cleaning and organizing, things have been found. gems have been unearthed. for example, this spectacular john denver 45, which was snatched up at a church basement sale a few years ago. people, I'm not a big john denver fan but daaaaaang. with a sleeve like that, it doesn't really matter.

who knew a record sleeve could bring so much happy? I mean, really. happiness for days.

1983 (and so on and so forth)

not sure what my eighties self would have thought of friday night's all school eighties dance. I mean, I think she probably would have been fascinated. plus maybe a little mortified but mostly fascinated. I can distinctly remember my preteen self wondering, what are future people even going to think of the eighties? we have no style, no real definitive style. we are nothing like the fifties, the sixties, the seventies. what defines us? I just couldn't see it. because I was living it, I guess. I turned ten in 1980, twenty in 1990, so there you go. I am the eighties.

so, friday night I slapped on my (ahem, original) go-go's pins, yanked my hair into a stupid side ponytail (which I never ever ever would have worn back in the day, by the way) and declared my sloppy self properly attired. oh but to see my daughter wearing the clothes I wore a hundred years ago, the colors, the tights, the mess of pins. to see her at the dance standing next to the boy she likes, to see the sweet, awkward way that all played out. the whole scene made me ache. filled me with the sort of longing that can only be described as ridiculous. and so of course I hid behind my camera the whole night, tried to figure out how I really felt about the whole thing. mostly, I felt old. I tried to pretend I didn't but I felt old.

and I wondered what these dances will look like in twenty or thirty years. what will define the style of the millennials? the 2010s? what pieces of clothing will ava save? what will she share with her own children? what will make her laugh? cringe? and will it make her feel as old as I did friday night? probably.

anyway.

I am still wallowing in nostalgia here which means I will be spinning eighties records all week long and maybe watching john hughes films on repeat. it also means I will be treating my eighties self to a little neon because you know, after friday night, she really sort of deserves it.