Make No Small Plans

My posts are few and far between. I’m working simultaneously on 2 projects, but I don’t post my process. I have sort of a “fight club” rule when it comes to my personal work. I don’t talk about them until they are completed. Therefore,  I don’t post my progress. Since I am working on 2 at the same time, and they are in completely different locations, and completely unrelated, other things fall by the wayside. It’s unfortunate because I have posted many blogs in my head, always with the intention of making them live.

This has been a very challenging year for me in terms of loss. Ironically, both my projects, incorporate this very topic. No matter how prepared you think you might be, no matter if you know it’s coming, when it actually happens, there is no preparing you for the permanence that comes with the realization that something very precious, is gone from the material world. It’s inconceivable, and very difficult to accept.

I lost one of my dearest and closet friends, tragically, and abruptly. The gravity of this loss was not just for myself, but for the world, for the creative spirit that ran through this incredible individual who died with his music still in him.  It was not his time. It was not time for either of them.  We are at the mercy of something greater than ourselves and it’s important to acknowledge that if only to develop humility, and gratitude for everything that we experience at any waking moment. I think that I find photography forever magical because it is an expression of your thoughts. I took these photographs the morning after I learned of my friends death. This fresh dirt was the first thing I happened upon, and it was so fitting to see the contrast between the rich dark earth, seemingly representing the vast nothingness–the abyss of the unknown journey, juxtaposed with the uprising of new life; fresh, green, and vibrant. What seems to be death, is nurturing new life. To me, the scattered and faded pink rodenderon petals represents the transition of life next to the unfolding ferns, and the blanket of cool dark soil.

With the first snow, fall has come to an end. A fresh and sturdy pumpkin which I carved on my back porch in what seemed to be just days ago, seems to have rotted over night. Upon closer examination, it’s macabre spooky face was now covered in black mold and held such beauty as it crept into the crevices of my jack o’ lantern. I sadly chucked it over the fence, climing a few rungs to look down upon him buried in the autumn leaves. Sad, deteriorating, and transitioning into something microscopic. Leaving this world, into another-donating nutrients back to the earth from which it came.

Make no small plans. Live Large.





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