spark

the awe of atheism

When people get going about how atheism is so cold and heartless, without beauty or mystery or wonder, I always wonder how they can know me (I'm all about beauty and mystery and wonder!) and think this is true. I find far more joy in learning WHY the world works the way it does than explaining it away with "God made it that way." And the absence of belief in heaven has actually made my life richer and more meaningful.

 

Photo source: help me track the original down so I can give the photographer credit! Photoshopped quote and earth by Reddit user JesusClausIsReal. Quote from speech delivered to Harvard Humanist Society, April 2010, by Adam Savage - full text here.

noticing: a winter walk

Thinking about the magic circle and the safety circle, I realized that over the course of this winter, I've been emerging from hibernation and getting ready to leave my comfort zone and find some new magic.  While reflecting on this, I realized that it had been a long time since I took a photo walk around my neighborhood. These walks can be as short as just to my backyard or as long as many blocks away from home. On a sunny afternoon, I fitted my 100mm macro to my camera, popped in a fresh battery, and set out. My goal: to notice something new. It could be small or big. It could be something that has just appeared or something that has always been here. 

My first discovery was that my one lonely hellebore isblooming. I adore this plant - the rose-and-cream sepals, the fibonaccian whorl of the tubular petals, the fuzzy anthers. I took a moment to gather all of the wayward garden gnomes into one spot where they could wait for spring planting. I breathed in the hybrid tea aroma of the blossoming mahonias and admired the bees on them, wondering if there would have been more bees in less climate-changey times. My four-year-old joined me and we took to the alleyway, finding seedpods and fertile mosses. I noticed cracks on the faces of cupids on a neighbor's planter. I made mental note of milkweed that needs to be removed from our fig tree and admired its curling dried vines.

None of this was earth-shaking, but it was refreshing. Sunlight, cool air (but not too cool - this is, after all, Virginia, and our winters are mild), nature, companionship, and the comfort of dials and the shutter. 

Perhaps what I noticed most of all was a sense of peace and wholeness. It's good to come out of hibernation.

grace in small things: joy

Six things that are bringing me joy in small ways and in big ways
on this beautiful Monday morning:

 

cozy, stripey socks

 

a cart piled full of fresh fruits and veggies

 

a new book group and new acquaintances (literary and human)

 

winter blooms and morning light

 

having squeezed every last drop of goodness out of a holiday

 

 

and most importantly, the joy of new life, the strength of a woman,
and the beauty of them both

love your tree / different is normal / fuck it!

During the last couple of years I've done a lot of thinking (or more than usual - it's not like I just started) about women's bodies, body image, health, and societal norms. This has led to some interesting conversations and revelations in both online and offline life with friends, Twitter acquaintances, local artists, and others. There are some incredible things happening in Richmond right now that I'm looking forward to sharing in the future. 

Right now, I'm working on Susan Singer's body image survey. She's looking for more women to participate, so go! 

In the past few days, these videos have caught my attention. Great messages! 

"Do you think that this tree isn't pretty because it doesn't look like that tree?"

This video from Planned Parenthood is aimed at teens, but I think many adults need to hear that "different is normal," too. I wish more teenagers had access to the kind of education that PP can provide. Less abstinence-only sex ed, more copies of Taking Charge of Your Fertility. 

In case you weren't already aware, Planned Parenthood is under attack by many of our elected officials. If you're one of the people who thinks PP is some kind of immoral abortion factory that must be shut down, please educate yourself regarding what important services they actually provide. If you already know about and value PP, go here to offer your assistance in the effort to make sure reproductive health services remain available to those who need them. 

On a lighter note, I've also had this one stuck in my head on auto-repeat.

Love the inclusion of stray hairs and stubble in the close-up shots. Here I thought I was the only one who looks worse shaven than not, thanks to sensitive skin. I've been crushng on Amanda Palmer lately, she who proclaims, "I don't believe in the beauty standard." 

I think this post marks the first time I've used profanity in a title. Yay, milestone moments. It's a tip o' the hat not only to Amanda Fucking Palmer, but also to the irresponsible media outlets who misreported the findings of a University of Arizona study showing that cussing helps to ease pain, but at a social cost. Multiple media sources who picked up the story reported that cussing women suffer socially more than men do. Hold on just a cotton pickin' minute, y'all. The study ONLY looked at women, so neither the researchers nor you can say anything about the effects on women vs. men. Not that it would surprise me at all that women would be more penalized for their language than men are. But until we see a study that clearly supports that claim, I'll thank the media not to create the very misogynist environment that they are supposedly reporting. 

sunday brunch

A collection of interesting, fun, and/or thought-provoking things I encountered this week.

First, a shameless plug: I'm one month into a new 365 project.  What I learned from my last one was that I needed a more spontaneous, lighthearted assignment this year.  So I give you Play by Play, a 365 project inspired by my love of silly toy photography.  It kicked off with a week of Swiper the fox in the Dominican Republic (I love Swiper and he's easy to tuck into a camera bag while traveling), and I've stuck with my canine friend ever since.  That's him in the photo at the top of this post, having a sail on a rainy day.

Which reminds me of a John Stuart Mill quote shared by Terry Border today: "That so few now dare to be eccentric marks the chief danger of our time."  So when I'm baffling neighbors by lying in the street taking pictures of toys floating in puddles in origami boats, I'm doing a public service.  

Public-service-wise, if you feel like being slightly less eccentric but still spreading some love, check out Kind Over Matter's printable free compliments and free positive thoughts sheets.  Fun! Maybe leave one on the community board in your coffeehouse or school?

Via Kind Over Matter's Friday Lovelies, I found this wonderful "warning" about self-portraiture.  It reminded me of my friend Heather, who is doing a self-portrait 365 project this year.  Also on the 365 front, there's a new Facebook group for 365 artists.  

I was reminded of Kind over Matter by her appearance on RecycleArt.  I wouldn't necessarily define all of the projects there as "recycled" - for example, using new pencils as sculptural materials - and some of it isn't exactly art - like these compost bins - but there's something for everybody.  I was called to check out the Simple Science demonstrations from Linda Dong.  Knowledge can (and should?) be elegant!

Just like I do every January in Virginia, I'm wishing the weather would commit to either icy/snowy or sunny/springy.  We go from scraping windshields to prepping the garden in the same day.  I've recently spent two afternoons cleaning up our flower beds and veggie garden, organizing the garage, refilling bird feeders, pruning shrubs, and generally getting into a springtime mood.  I'm ordering new Mud Gloves and a sieve for our compost.  I'm also telling myself NO MORE STICKS OR APPLE STICKERS in the bin.  We're lazy composters and never turn the darn thing, and those plus corncobs and unbroken eggshells make it to the bottom relatively intact.  Everything else has turned into beautiful moist humus, which I'm using to mulch the garden.  I'll eventually turn it under.  The warm weather has me thinking about seeds and pea fences and getting rid of some of the shrubs in the yard so that I can plant a dogwood and have a nice bench or two for reading on lovely spring afternoons.  

On colder afternoons, when I'm not taking pictures of ice, I'm enjoying a little Lenka, whose tunes I discovered thanks to Jason and Wendy Ward of Ward Photography.  

Photography leads me to remember to share that HandsOn Greater Richmond has a call out for photographers to document their community efforts.  I've signed on to volunteer and plan to choose one or two events a month.  

Photo lovers and science geeks and fans everywhere of beauty might enjoy this six-month-long exposure made by pinhole photographer Justin Quinnell.  

And finally, a beautiful thing you can create - Silk, a nifty interactive piece of fun that I learned about via my lovely friend Lynz, who always links to great stuff.  

Finally, while my back yard is lovely and ice is pretty, I've been wishing to be back on Sanibel Island lately.  I've had at least five or six recent dreams about shell collecting! Where do you want to be right now?

wordless wednesday: a winter walk

 

gone but not forgotten

I knew this would happen; I build up a head of steam about something big, have too many things to say about it in too little time, stop to think a while, and while thinking, life takes over.  And so here I am, washing a skull in my sink, and not writing about Esfuerzo.  

I promise I'll get back to Esfuerzo soonish.  But right now, I'm knee-deep in learning whitetail deer anatomy, examining dentition, finally understanding nasal conchae.  This skull came from Larus Park, where a friend and I found it hanging on a tree.  

A find like this is too much for me to pass up.  It must be examined, shared.  But as with everything else, it has to pass my ethics review. While I typically adhere to the "take only pictures, leave only footprints" axiom, the fact is that some elements of nature do end up being removed for educational purposes by rangers, geologists, biologists, and the like.  When should something be left behind, and when is it ok to remove it?  In this case, the skull was not in a National or State Park, it is not an essential part of the ecology, and it is not rare/endangered.  My intents were educational, for both personal and school use (I have already discussed it with both the school director and the art teacher).  I decided that the benefits outweighed the costs, and I headed back to pick it up. 

Our initial assumption was that the skull, which is missing the mandible, belonged to a deer.  Examination and comparison to images of other whitetail deer skulls confirmed this.  

A taxidermy review suggested that a peroxide soak would be best for cleaning/bleaching the bones.  This removed loose debris and also made me feel like the bones were less likely to harbor contagion, although honestly, this skull is old enough that it probably hosts nothing more than the average rock or stick would.  Dan pointed out the issue of prion disease, but without actually consuming venison, I'm not convinced there's much risk.   I'm maintaining handwashing protocols, though.  

The peroxide didn't do much to improve the appearance of the bones.  The teeth were especially bad. I set to work with dish soap, Barkeeper's Friend (oxalic acid), a toothbrush, a safety pin, and a sewing needle.  The teeth look better, if still somewhat less than gorgeous, and I have a newfound appreciation for the work of dental hygienists.  I'm also reminded that I need to schedule cleanings for my family.

I also have a new appreciation of nasal anatomy.  This is a view from the anterior aspect of the nose, looking up through the nasal cavity.  The skull is lit from beneath/within by a desk lamp.  At midline is the septum.  The turbinates curling on either side are the conchae.  I've never been able to picture this when looking at sagittal sections of human conchae.  

The skull has also already afforded another unexpected treat: this little hitchhiker:

He was pretty cold and slow when I discovered him yesterday, and died overnight.  I've tentatively identified him as a juniper stinkbug, Banasa euchlora.  It's worth noting that the tree in the first picture of this post is a Virginia cedar, Juniperus virginiana. 

You can also get another glimpse of the stinkbug here, at my new 365 project.  

take a picture of me // me toma una foto

Remember that type of travel/outreach photo that makes me uncomfortable, the kind with the close crop of a dark-skinned child with big, liquid eyes, and an artfully blurred background?  

Well:

It turns out that it's very difficult not to take that kind of picture.  During our first day in Esfuerzo, kids all over the community, especially those of elementary school age, were incredibly excited to see us, talk to us, tell us about themselves, as us about ourselves.  Our group, which has had a relationship with the residents here since 2005, held a meeting and party that evening to share their observations, invite community members to discuss their concerns/hopes/plans, and express our gratitude for their hospitality. During the party, many children noticed my camera and asked me to take their picture.  

I was of two minds about these requests.  As somebody who clearly enjoys photography and who spends most of her time with the same three subjects in the same settings, I'm excited to meet new people eager to be photographed. The problem for me was that I didn't really know anything about my subjects. Considering my belief that photos do not tell stories by themselves and that context (including the experiences of the viewer and the information shared by the photographer) is key, I felt awkward about taking these photos. Then again, it felt impolite to turn down these requests.  

My decision: taking the pictures, when invited, is a socially appropriate act and can contribute positively to the overall relationship between the photographer and the photographed person and/or their communities. However, the act of taking the pictures felt a little bit like signing a contract in which I was agreeing to learn about the people I am photographing, either by direct inquiry or by being observant of what was happening around me. 

The process of getting to know people has been both surprisingly simple and overwhelmingly difficult.  Simple because many people are eager to talk to me about who they are.  Difficult because there are so many people, very little time, and my Spanish is weak. 

It's also difficult when a picture is made during a brief, chance meeting.  This man noticed my camera and asked me to take his picture.  I was traveling around Paraíso Seis (one of the four neighborhoods in Paraíso) with a team inviting residents to the clinic and the man was on his way in the opposite direction.  Aside from his request and my agreement, we did not exchange any other interaction.  I don't know who he is and possibly never will.  

In considering the why/when of taking a photo and the use of the resulting image, I'm realizing that I will probably never fully come to a conclusion about some points (such as the issue of model releases).  Nevertheless, the experiences of this week are clarifying a number of things for me and helping to shape my overall approach to travel/street/humanitarian photography. Some thoughts thus far:

• I will take a picture of a person who requests it, or of a subject they suggest, when it feels socially and ethically appropriate to me.
• I will take photos that document the work of a group in ways that help to illustrate the group's work, and in a manner sensitive to all of the people in the image.
• I will capture other images that call to me only when they do not detract from the overall purpose for my being at a location/event. 
• I will never sell a photo of a person who has not signed a model release.
• I will not profit from images that depict humanitarian work or the locations in which that work is being carried out.
• I will make efforts to provide copies of photos, especially portraits, to people depicted in them.
• When sharing pictures, I will provide as much context as I am able, in the form of personal storytelling, blog entries, captions, and links to other information.
• In order to preserve this contextual piece of photo sharing, I will retain all rights to my photos on sharing sites such as flickr, so that they are not used by other groups/sites in ways that might omit the information I provide and/or disrespect the members of the community pictured.
• I will grant rights of use to members of the team involved (in this case, SOMOS) for illustrative purposes when recounting their own experiences.
• I will grant republishing rights to others if and only if they they are planning to use these images in a manner consistent with the principles listed here.
• I will continue to provide limited reproduction rights to images nonspecific to the SOMOS effort or other humanitarian efforts but captured during those efforts (example). 

It's a lot to think about, and I know it's something that I'll continue to mull over as long as I'm taking pictures.  For some situations I may find satisfactory long-term positions.  For others, I may constantly be revisiting them.  

Flickr set of all photos from this trip processed to date is here.  I'm adding information about each photo as time allows.  If you would like to copy and share one or more, please contact me.

I'll leave you with this strange coincidence to chew on:  I previously linked to an article about National Geographic photographer Steve McCurry's follow-up on finding "the Afghan girl" whose image was used on an NG cover in 1985.  It's an iconic image.  If you don't believe me, check this out:

That is a painting that I noticed on the wall of La Cafetera, a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop down the street from my hotel here in Santo Domingo.  It is, as you have probably noticed, based on McCurry's famous portrait of Sharbat Gula. McCurry's original image did not include shifting desert sands and Dali-inspired Greek temple ruins, nor was Gula's scarf originally held up by Raphaelesque cherubs. Considering that she felt angered by McCurry's intrusion the first time he photographed her, I wonder what she would think about this reinvented portrait or about its place on the wall of an eatery almost 8,000 miles from her home?  

wordless (winter) wednesday

she loved winter, snow, & ice

Griff's second grade class has been creating sculptures representing the sounds of various seasons.  Most recently, they assembled "sounds of snow at night," a cloud of tulle and crinkly plastic on a wire frame, stitched together and dripping with snow.  The snow itself is composed of bits of glass, metal, beads, wire, bottles, keys, buckles, and so much more.  The sculpture sparkles and jingles. It invites inspection.  You might find a tiny wind chime, or a Sam Adams bottlecap, or dainty strings of crystals, or spirals of plastic-coated wire, or feathered things, or jingle bells.  

I was volunteering in the school's art studio on the day when the snow cloud group put the finishing touches on their creation.  As typically happens in the studio, I was impressed by how they seemed to know just what they wanted, and just how to use these pieces.  A hot glue gun rested nearby and they applied it expertly.  One of the preschoolers was fascinated with their work, and after examining the cloud and listening to its sounds, he set about creating his own elements and suspending them from the cloud's frame.  The second graders accepted his collaboration with neither territoriality nor condescension. Meanwhile, Reese, who had come to sit with me while eating his snack, drank in the whole scene.  The next day, a friend told me that he had sat and stared for a long time at the finished cloud, first from beneath where it had been hung in the great hall, and then from the stairs above.  I am similarly fascinated and have visited the school twice to photograph the sculpture.  It's a fun challenge to figure out how best to capture it, what happens from every angle, what things I discover about it while leaning down from above or laying on the floor beneath it, or standing on a chair a few feet away. 

Our enthusiasm for the glittering ice-and-snow-ness of this structure inspired me to find some wintery beads and crystals and to dig through our toolboxes and junk drawers and button jars.  In the course of an afternoon, I created a garland to hang above our fireplace, and Griff assembled two icicles.  Like the snow cloud, they jingle and sparkle.  They are silvery and crystalline with hints of white, blue, and green.  They include not only beads and buttons, but pendants from my childhood, discarded pop tops, screws, old earrings, keys to forgotten items, springs, and whatever else I could find.  With candles below them, they sparkle and remind me of winter, of memory, of inspiration.