I’m in the process of deciding on titles and presentation for some of the new work for my upcoming show with Debra Eck at the Octagon Gallery. I made this grid of 6 of the new pieces to help me visualize how to lay them out in a small grouping. The final pieces will be matted and framed, so this is just for planning purposes. Recent events have inspired me to name the bottom left image in honor of my older sister, Eve. I’m still very much in the midst of deciding on all the rest, but the very nature of her name suggests a theme that I’m delighted with.
When Nadja got sick in the Summer of 2010, the Vet helped me keep her alive and, for the most part, pain free with fluid injections that I administered daily for a little over a year. I was so grateful to have that extra time with her and it helped me to prepare somewhat for what was to come.
On July 25, 2011 (one year ago today) Nadja left this world and went on to new adventures. I was struck with a sadness that I’ve never known. It took months for the pain in my heart to ease. My eyes still well up sometimes when I think of her. It’s a very sweet sadness, though. I’ve found that it’s a great joy to hold her in my heart and keep my memories of the 16 years she spent with me close. I enjoy her visits occasionally in my dreams and the little things that bring her to mind. Nadja is gone, but she will never disappear.
“Grief makes one hour ten.” William Shakespeare
“The problem with loving is that pets don’t last long enough
and people last too long.” Anonymous
A friend of mine posted this quote on her facebook page at a moment when I needed it most. It’s perfect even on a regular day, however, so I decided to share. The photo I chose to go along is from my trip to Old San Juan, a place I’d visit again in a heart beat. Every Sunday in Old San Juan (weather permitting) you can see dozens and dozens of chiringas (kites) flying in the open area in front of El Morro.
“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken. ”
– Anais Nin
I had a wonderful time back home in Omaha for a long weekend that started on Thursday. It was magical for a number of reasons – not including the usual. Sometimes the unexpected is the biggest gift of all. A highlight was the occasion of my Great Aunt Ann’s 90th birthday which was marked by a fabulous party and fireworks show at Ponca Hills Farm. I captured this Instagram shot shortly before the great Netflix, Pinterest, Instagram crash of 2012.
“When you’re traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.” – William Least Heat Moon
It rained all morning the day I took the 2 1/2 hour train ride from Lancaster to London. It was a high-speed train, and it swayed from side to side as the scenery whizzed by in both sides of my peripheral vision. Reading seemed impossible. In fact, avoiding motion sickness seemed impossible. So I occupied myself snapping shots out the window. Most of my results came out as blurry as expected, but I was quite pleased with some of the shots. The way the water played on the window, and the blurry, vibrant whisps of countryside and rail stations captured by chance, seem to pay proper tribute to my anticipation of adventures to come.
