Invisible

Today no matter what I did or who I encountered I felt totally invisible. The kids wanted their daddy (who was sick and not up for the challenge), the dog wanted her daddy--even choosing to leave the couch where she'd been laying keeping me warm to jump up on his lap. I cooked, I cleaned, I cleaned up after cooking but nobody noticed. The phone didn't ring all day long. (Although it rarely does on Sundays anyway. ) The kids were around playing and asking for cups of milk or juice/water or cheese squares or whatever but they didn't seem to notice much about me either.

I ventured off to the store to get a quality humidifier ($129 later) and navigated my way though the isles of Bed Bath and Beyond silently. The cashier didn't greet me or say anything until she asked me to sign the slip. I made eye contact with her but she couldn't even seem to muster up a greeting or a goodbye.

The fancy market next store looked intriguing so I stuffed the huge humidifier into the silver car and went in for a look. I was hoping to find a treat for my husband as a belated Valentine's Day gift (as I was sick with the flu all this week and missed the holiday completely). As I stood in line at the bakery case a woman with a lot more makeup, perfume and style walked right in front of me and asked for a carrot cake.

The humidifier and I arrived at home to find my youngest son still asleep in his crib and my four year old and his father fast asleep in the bedroom. It was silent, still, lonely.

The dog greeted me though---just like she always does--tail wagging a mile a minute. That always makes me happy.

Checked the laptop, no emails, no comments to my photo project. Humm...

So, I grabbed my tripod and decided the let the soft falling snow keep me company as I took some portraits for my photo journal/self portrait project. I just wanted to see some images of myself to see why I seemed to invisible today. Click the link to my project and my picture from today. Do you see me today?

"Stealing" a moment in time

As a person who takes photos (I am certainly not comfortable calling myself a "photographer" at this stage of the game--someday perhaps)...do you ever feel like you are stealing something? Do you ever feel like "taking" a shot is much like it sounds?



During the few short days I've been doing this project I have felt that way many times. I love the line from one of the photos in Kate Crafton's 365 project where she says "suffer for my art" as she is spinning from her desk chair snapping a photo while hoping not to get sick. I feel like this project is consuming my thoughts and maybe-just maybe some of my family is suffering for it. While I am supposed to be doing other things I am thinking about what a good photo of the day would be. Often times I am so distracted that the kids are watching way too much tv or playing by themselves more that I'd like them to be. So, in essence, they are suffering for my art. And by not being 'in the moment", I am suffering for my art too, right?



But on the other hand...I feel like its a great use of my time in that I am bookmarking a place in our lives. Like I am documenting history; the way we felt today, what we ate, the kids' new haircuts or whatever. How can that be a waste of time right? I get a lot of enjoyment from looking at old photos from regular days like today. I looking at how much the kids have changed, whether or not I have on my extra 10 pounds, what the spring felt like (when it's winter as I look at the photo). Photography, as with writing, allows me to do what I love: to taste life again. It's kinda like keeping a piece of your history with you, accessible via the click of the mouse to the folder where it is catalogued and (hopefully) forever preserved.



Sometimes-like the other day when I brought my backup camera with me on a lunch date with the boys, I feel the thief in me come out. The boys are trying to eat their pesto cavitapppi with chicken and enjoy their cups of sods (a rare treat) and don't want the camera around. They are not shy about letting me know that the presence of the camera is bothering them. The people in the booths right in front of and behind us don't want to see a middle aged women with a camera AND two kids out to lunch on a busy week day either. I hide the camera and try to snap a quick photo (steal) to capture the 'history' of the afternoon. The flash is too bright and gives me away-so I get the dirty stare from the table of highschoolers at 2 o'clock. A few minutes after my first snapshot the gal in the booth directly in front peeks over to see if I am talking to myself or if there is someone there in the booth. She sees my son laying down in the bench covering his head and asking me to stop taking pictures. "Oh-I didn't see him down there and I thought you were taking a picture of the plate of food." She sighs as if comforted that I had something other that the plate of food to photograph. In fact, I was taking a snapshot of the noodles and pretending I was focusing on my son. Am I a pathetic or what? I wanted to capture a pic of our yummy food so that I can remember it as our 'special date' place as Aaron (my almost-four-year-old call is). I wanted to remember that I ordered two plates of food-one large one for Aaron and I and one small one for Casey and that in no time both plates were gone with little help from me. I wanted to steal that moment to keep in my forever pile.

I guess in the end, I don't feel so much like a 'thief" as I do a historian capturing a simple day in our lives to remember how sweet it was.

What are your thoughts?

Hiding behind the camera

Taking pictues of yourself for a photo journal is not as easy as it sounds. Looking at images of yourself can be downright painful. Even deeper than surface self image issues lingers the simple question: "who am I?" "Who is this staring at me from this photograph?" I struggle with that one the most.

Honestly, I think I used to have a good idea who "I" am while I worked (before having my two sons). And mostly that identity was tied to my occupation. That occupation had a meaning attached. Now being a 'stay-at-home-mom' seems to have much less meaning attached. Don't get me wrong, it has a great meaning to me. And it is the toughest "job"/occupation I have ever had. With the longest hours and the least amount of pay. But to others it seems to have a rather vague meaning when asked: "what do you do?", to which you answer: "I stay home with my kids." The blank stare and the lack of what to say usually follow from the person asking the question. Then Iusually get the obligatory "oh, that's nice".

What I should say when asked that question is: "I write history". I am molding and shaping the lives of two human beings: exposing them to a well-rounded approach to life. I document their lives via photographs, scrapbooks, dvd's of videos and pictures put to music. The memories get written into baby books, cards and letters and some stick so vividly in my mind that I know I will never forget them. I change so much more than dirty diapers. I change moods, perspectives, diets, creativity, interests, beliefs etc. I live, through today, to sculpt their tomorrow. I write history.

But this still leaves me stuck on the question: "who am I". Most days I don't recognize myself in photos. I take the portraits and rush to the computer to look at them secretly hoping that the image will suprise me and be the "me" I used to be; slim, well-groomed, less wrinkled. What I see usually puzzles me. Who is that? (I think to myself). My clothes are stained, my teeth too yellow from drinking pots of coffee to stay awake over the years. My belly hangs over my pants in standard muffin top position (can I blame that on my most recent c-section even though it was 20 months ago?) When I try to wear make up or jewelery I feel like I am trying too hard or that I look inauthentic for the day's daily chores. My hands are so dry that the corners of my fingers crack (I probably wash my hands 30 times per day after various cleaning chores and diaper changes). Yada yada yada. (I know, I am belly aching. Ahem, focus focus.)

So, for my photo journal project, I choose photos of myself that hide the extra pounds. I try and hide the wrinkles and sun damage. I try to limit exposure of the "cool" new red shirt from Wal-Mart that has a stain directly on my left nipple. (It's the shirt I haven't even paid for yet that always gets stained. ) I try to slap on some makeup and lip gloss in attempt to look like the other mommies I see wearing well-applied amke up, Uggs and North Face jackets or cool fur lined vests with their hair newly colored and styled like they just left the salon at 9 am. I try to mask my $15 Fantastic Sams cut with some Aveda products to try and make it look more professional. Blah Blah Blah.

And I do most of these things to hide my insecurities. Some of them are like thick lava that has hardened to the rock of my self-image.

I choose photos for the project that seem to dig deep enough to remind me that I was once confident (somewhat) and that I was once not so itchy in my own skin.

What I hope to do during this project is to learn to let the person inside out rather than trying to make her into something she was 20 years ago. I need to learn to be comfortable in my own skin. To learn to relax and be free. To unleash the creative, passionate free spirit I once was. I be comfortable with the added years, pounds and wrinkles by focusing on the inside and not the outside.

I want to get to know me again. I want to learn photography, I want to connect with others and not feel so isolated, insecure and lonely.

Wish me luck, love and self-acceptance (and a free makeover).
MB