Miss Olivia.

Olivia.
Doesn't that name make your head turn? It's not common these days. But its uniqueness already eludes to the personality of its beholder. Take a look:

There on the living room floor sat this little person, bewitched by every toy and smiling her best toothless grin. She even makes drool look cute! If Olivia could talk at this stage of life I would imagine she would be asking a lot of questions: " Whats this?, Whats that? Why are you so tall? What color is the letter 'M'? Why are you pointing that thing in my face? Can you hand me that toy?". She has the most inquisitive eyes, and I just could not get enough of that smile. She wanted to be a part of every conversation, making sure we knew she was just as much a part of this world as we were. And Miss Olivia is not easily swayed, she always found a way to make herself known, always in the cutest way possible. Camera or not, you can't take you're eyes off this little one.

Kids make you think. 7 month olds definitely put it all in perspective. You have to be 10 steps ahead of their next nap time. Everything is edible and tears are still apart of the daily routine; crocodile or not. I would imagine, that each day could be likened to a chess game. The outside world is who you're playing against. And you are fighting to protect that one little chess piece. You have to beat out the pawns (small edible objects), the electrical plugs ( rooks), furry animals (knights), and the ever present dirty diaper ( the king). But mothers are resilient, they will fight tooth and nail to keep safe what is most precious to them. Don't challenge a mother, they always win.

There is a magic to motherhood.
There is a sense of natural born wisdom and intellect that arises when a child comes into their lives. I have seen, watched, and learned from it; an untouchable love for love that comes from somewhere within. A love that makes everything in the world sound ridiculous and absolutely perfect all at once. I could have snapped the shutter a million times that day of Miss Olivia, and not one photograph would have suggested something other than that this little girl is SO loved. That is a love the world will stand still for, limitless boundaries are made in the name of love. That alone makes every day ( stinky diaper filled or not) worth all the little laughs and smiles she can give...

Big thanks and love to Jenny for letting me photograph the happiest baby I have ever met.

Click.

My first camera was invisible. The best kind you can get. Every shot was perfect, framed exactly the way I envisioned. It could switch from black and white to color with the blink of an eye with killer auto focus. I had rolls and rolls of invisible film etched into my brain. An entire collection of photographs displayed solely for my 7 year old mind to behold. I was the Susan Sontag of Wakefield, RI; don't try to persuade me otherwise.

It is not uncommon in my family for everyone to have some sort of camera. There was a slight baby boom around 1994 which made for an incessant amount of photographs from my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins...etc. Quite a bossy group if you ask me ( this said in the most endearing way). Each family member wanted the kids situated a differently. Smiling. Not Smiling. Waving. Holding a teddy bear. "Picture in a frame!" - arms above the head. They all simply wanted to portray the children in the most photogenic way. We are not frugal when it comes to photographs.

Personally, I wanted NO part of this paparazzi style of photographing. I prefer a more stealth-like approach. Hence my imaginary, invisible camera. The magic of having such a camera is I could roam about the house, the yard, the neighborhood and take pictures of whatever I pleased without feeling intrusive to my subjects... Click. Click. Click.

Fast forward seven years. I am 14 and just purchased my first camera. A Pentax for $150, manual focus, with about 15 rolls of film. I am ecstatic and breeze through 5 rolls in a 48 hour period. My high school darkroom was a guaranteed place to find me throughout the day, winding and developing film; hands smelling of photo chemicals. I cannot pinpoint where this love of photography came from, but my earliest childhood memories are of sifting through boxes upon boxes of old family photographs.

Since I stayed away from all the family posing pictures, I have learned to be subtle. Discreet. Which comes in handy when you're trying to blend in and catch those candid moments of real life. But I have always been awestruck at photo shoots that require poses. I drool over Annie Leibovitz's Vanity Fair shoots, to be biased I don't think you can get much better than that. The ability to have the idea in your head, explain it, have people understand it, and then photograph the vision...incredible. I was told by a perfect stranger while in New Orleans that if I was going to do any kind of photography involving people, I should learn to capture emotion." Tell the them to think about the happiest moment of their life, the sexiest moment of their life, any moment to drum up what you are trying to capture". It was a start and some of the best advice I received from a ruggedly handsome 30-something. He finished his drink, took his girlfriend's hand and walked out, sigh...


The point I am trying to make?
Well, there are several. In order to better myself as a photographer I have to listen. You cannot just use your eyes. Whether the photograph was taken by me or some very famous world renowned photographer, the use of all the senses is necessary. You have to appreciate the work of others. For as long as I live I will never be Annie Leibovitz or Tomme Hilton. Therefore there is no point in me trying to replicate their style, to BE them. If you haven't noticed, the world is not flat and there are over 6billion of us trying to find our way. There is no room for repetition. Everything that I have learned from photographers has to be used to perfect my own style.

All those years of looking through photographs as a child taught me to take too many pictures, make funny faces at the camera, make PRINTS, not just online albums, accidentally blind people with your flash, strike a pose, dress up in the most ridiculous outfits and go out in them. Those photographs are the proof of the roots; proof of where I come from. And each click of the shutter is another moment, another picture to capture emotion and be thankful I was there to witness it, invisible or not. Click.

Garden Peace.

Wakefield, RI

I do not by any means have a green thumb, lets just preface that before going further. I admire those who have the ability (and the patience) to make things grow; whether its in a garden or keeping the plant on the kitchen table alive. I will say my one orchid is alive and well, Thank you very much. My Grandmother had several gardens in her back yard, they were magical. Every year I would wait for the flock to creep across the rocks and the foxgloves to spring up and the roses to bloom. I learned the names, but never the task of making flowers grow, hence the tinge of envy towards those who can.

I distinctly remember the smell of potting soil as a child. It meant that there was work to do in the gardens. My grandmother's hands were caked thick with dirt; as she would cup my cheeks, I could smell the rustic, musty-ness of the earth. The sides of her house were painted yellow with Forsythia, the beginning of the Pied-Pipers trail to the her enchanted backyard. It is not surprising that anyone who has that same power I am instantaneously drawn to. I recognized the peace that flowers brought my grandmother, and in the years since her passing have come across only a few who appreciate and love what it means to know the delicateness of growth.

I spent the good part of this morning talking with a friend about flowers and gardens. She has that wonderful gift of creating and arranging and making things grow. I have found it fascinating that the love and care that she has taken with flowers has filtered through the rest of her life ( Ohhh the patience one must have with an 8 month old. Saint-like). She gives wonderful advice, and people would be wise to take it. So, while talking to her I sat in a jungle of peonies, violas, English ivy, and dahlias. They span the width of the house and up it. It is the most peaceful place I know of in the state of Rhode Island. My parents have worked feverently to grow and create what it is today. Naturally, I only found it fitting while on the phone with my green thumbed, flower-loving friend, to sit amongst them, as if we sat with friends.

So, what is is about flowers and gardens that I feel so connected to? I definitely feel no pull or desire to plant anything, I have this problem of forgetting to either (a) plant the flowers at all and (b) becoming extremely frustrated with the speed at which it takes flowers to grow. I am a picker, arranger and appreciator of the flowers. However I feel a deep kinship with those who do have an understanding of time and patience.

Back to my phone conversation...
I listened to the timber of my friends voice as she spoke, reminiscent of my grandmothers ( with the addition of a southern accent), there is not a quiver about it that would suggest uncertainty. She has an old soul, a wisdom about her that gives her patience to do what she loves...and she loves a lot of things. But my personal favorite is to see what she creates with color. Flowers. It was the first thing I knew about her that was not surface knowledge. It peaked my interest, simply because it is something I cannot do and wish I had the gift for. I understood that this was her outlet, much like photography is mine. I have seen her mind at work, the wheels turning to design a masterpiece. Is there not a collective sigh, when someone sees flowers? They represent peace. Whether is peace of mind or world peace they have come to signify innumerable things. So, prior to the conversation with my friend, I would have never pondered the reasoning behind my true love of gardens. They draw in the best of me, the best of the people around me simply because they are tools of love. Peace.

And wouldn't you know, my friends name is Heather. A flower. One of the most abundant because of its large number of seeds that spread themselves all over the hillsides. With roots a strong as oak trees and a scent as definable as honeysuckle. Coincidence she carries the ability to love, advise, and spread her gift?

Spread Seads.
Spread Love.
Spread Heather.

Laura and Matthew. {5.13.2010}

Without further delay, Laura and Matthew...

Charleston, SC

On the occasion you meet a couple who exude a kind of love that is uncharacteristically beautiful and tender our first impulse, in today's world, is to

question it. Its quite the defense mechanism.


However,

Matthew and Laura have the exact kind of inexplicable love that we would otherwise question. Fairytale-like. It was nice to bear witness to such a wedding where not a moment went under appreciated or not given the attention it deserved. In front of their family and friends ( I am happy to say I can include myself in the friend category), they were married at Magnolia Plantation. They could not have picked a better day to have a wedding. I so enjoyed watching every piece of the puzzle fit together and become what was such a beautiful and heartfelt day for the both of them. They could be the couple straight out of next weeks wedding magazine. On a personal side, Laura's dress was her mother's and her grandmother's! Sigh, people only dream of being able to do that. I wish them countless years of happiness. Big love to both of you!!

The other fabulous piece of this wedding comes from my side of the lens. I had the privilege of shooting along side Tomme Hilton ( www.tommehiltongallery.com) . If anyone knows photography, weddings in particular, she reigns as one of them most passionate and creative photographers I have ever seen.

How did this meeting come about you say? Well, to sum it up, I have the most wonderful and thoughtful friends. One should never underestimate the fearlessness and power of the internet when in the hands of the right people. They contacted her and a few emails and a couple margaritas later, we have arrived at this wedding together.

There was no mistaking, I was shaking in my boots when the day came to shoot with her. There are never the right words to articulate exactly I want to say to someone I put in such high regard. "Thank you" doesn't seem to cut it when shes not only helping me learn, but bringing her camera and skills as well. So, upon our meeting, I felt as transparent as ever. I am positive she could read every single thought running through my mind. I had to tell myself to take slow deep breaths and absorb as much as I could. The wonderful thing about Tomme, is that she is herself at every moment. Perfected by time and gifted at birth. This, essentially, made me feel far more at ease. I am a tumbleweed of things to be honest; and that has made for a myriad of photographs from the both of us. And it was FUN!


The road to this wedding was uncharted territory. There was so much that lead up to it. Things I could not have set in motion on my own. And it just so happened I stepped into the same world that Tomme, Matthew and Laura lived in for that night. I had never even grasped the idea that we would all be in the same place, see the same things and come away with a different idea, thought, life goal, life plan than the other.


BIG thank you and lots of love to Stephanie, Francine, Kat, Rachael, and Tomme. Could not have done this without you.

Blocked.

I have had a mild case of writers block for the last 2 weeks. It was terrible actually. I had chopped ideas and bits of thoughts swirling around in my head. Missing puzzle pieces. I couldn't seem to get anything to fit together and come up with something remotely interesting, witty, or longer than a paragraph. So, I re-analyzed the situation; trying to seek out the source of the "block" rather than the solution to fixing it.






I ditched writing and photographing anything for nearly 4 days. I felt naked without the camera riding shotgun and even more vulnerable without something to write with. I was forced to look through my eyes without the viewfinder and up from the pages upon pages of journal entries I bury myself in. I had no intentions of finding anything interesting or therapeutic from this bit of psychological warfare. The first 24 hours were much more difficult than I expected. And there was no reason I couldn't just give in and go about my life as it was before this "block" occured. No one was keeping me from doing anything except myself. And yet I felt this strange pull towards the idea of having to ackowledge the world for what it is not as it looks. I spend hours framing the world. And that alone brings me more happiness than anything I can think of. Yet from this little experiment I have found that by keeping myself behind the camera I dilute and blur the "realness" of my own world. Such as the people in it. Rare and authentic people. I started to look at them solely through a lens rather than with my eyes. It is one thing to understand the beauty of person through a picture and yet entirely another to know them, to SEE them for who they are because they makeup and create a large part of the world YOU live in. I somehow bypassed the common frailties between myself and the rest of the world. The photography didn't cause this, writing didn't cause this, it was my pure and honest mistake of trying to squeeze every little detail in to my life, my frame, and it is nearly impossible to do everything I want at once. This was proof of that.

So, what did I do with this hiatus of camera and pen?

I went to the beach, to dinner, slept in, read a book, read 3 books, watched the News ( I never watch the News), drank coffee with friends, went on a date... the exact same life I live in with a camera and a journal,but, the challenge was to see if I could live in my world undefined. Stripped.

And while 4 days may seem like a cake walk to live without two things that are material. YOU try picking something that you love to do and quit it cold turkey. I originally found it hard to adjust my mindset. Everything still looked the same, and the world still went on spinning. But it required my attention. My participation. And in 4days I found myself far more appreciative of friendships, relationships, inanimate objects, food, tears, and the overal vibrations of the life I live. I was happy to pick up the camera again, happy to have pen in my back pocket.

Too often I have found myself disconnected to the balance of life and work. My mother has a quote in our living room that says (quite profoundly) "Never get too busy making a living that you forget to make a life". Its been there for years; semi-unnoticed by me, I understood the truth of the words. It wasn't until I kept asking myself "How is it already May?" or " When did THAT happen?!". It is far too easy to get lost amidst work schedules and checking my account balance. Just trying to stay afloat is draining enough and I realized the speed of the life was one I had to catch up with rather than it slowing down for me. Insert deep and meaningful quote and good friends to bring you back to the fun side of reality...

So I'm back. Camera in hand, and extra twist of creativity. It was comforting to know that being away from what I considered comfortable, didn't derail the love I have for photography and desire to capture the truth and what is real in my world. Sometimes its just good to step outside the box.

House of Bryan.

The idea of photographing children fascinates me. Forget trying to sit them down and make them pose and smile. That little quivering lip always shows up. Someone always wants a lollipop, the ultimate bargaining chip, the peace offering for ONE smile, one glance into my lens. Thankfully, as quickly as those crocodile tears appear the other end of the spectrum shows up. A child's laughter can melt even Jack Frost's frozen heart.


Greyson and Asher Bryan are the kids that make me envious of families. They carry the wonderful little boy traits of mischief and innocence. A contradiction it would seem, but I am always proven wrong. One moment they could be attempting to wander off or eat whatever is within an arms reach, and the next they are clutching the shirt collars and their mothers necklace for fear of losing her. Tissue please.






Innocence and mischief at work.

For the better part of the shoot I watched, followed and prompted only to get their attention towards the lens for nearly two hours. They are inquisitive little boys, Asher looks as if he might know all the secrets to the universe, but his little grin indicates he is not going to tell you a thing. Greyson was the great explorer of Battery Park. And as much as he loved my camera, he would be come just as shy. Which made for the perfect shots of sly rascality.

As for the Family shots, they are always entertaining. The parents spend most of the time trying to engage their children and make them smile. Put them in front of the camera and the multi-tasking ability kicks into high gear. But Jason and Heather pulled it off spectacularly, thus creating the portraits of the House of Bryan. Quite the a photogenic family I'd have to say. I knew there would not be a dull moment in this shoot. There never really is with children. It reopened the love I have for photographing little people. They rarely make the same face twice, you have to catch them in the moment. And quite honestly, I would do well to learn from them and their philosophies on life. Smell the flowers, laugh at everything, smile more, fall down, get up, eat something funny looking. 25 years of walking the earth does not make me an expert, especially on little things. Detailed things. That is what children have taught me. Slow down. Pay attention to the details. And maybe not to eat so much sand next time...


Big thanks to Jason, Heather, Greyson and Asher Bryan!

The Road Traveled.

My ideal travel guide would tell me that whatever road I take is the right one, no matter the direction. If I feel like going West, so be it! West is an excellent direction. Means of transportation are fairly insignificant if you're only using them as the tool to get from one place to the next. I have driven, biked, hitchhiked, and vespa'd, various parts of the world. All with the

goal that the journey is to be just as fun, if not more adventurous than my destination. So far I've had great success.

The best part about this blog is that I don't have to compare it to someone elses. There could be hundreds of blogs out there that chronicle someone's world travels and life achievements that dwarf mine; my minuscule scooterings over the swtichbacks of the Amalfi Coast could seem like a cake walk to climbing Kilaminjaro. However, I was reassured the other morning that this was my blog.
My life.
My road to travel. I should not make light of the opportunity nor my own chronicles of life.


My direction can change with the wind or like the tidelines of the ocean. And the footnotes of my travel guide say, in bold font, "do not wonder 'what if?'"! A life can be made up of "what ifs" and missed opportunities. Its troublesome to look back on at times. I find myself glimpsing into the rearview mirror of my past and shaking my head thinking, I should have done that, or what IF I had done this?

New goal: eliminate a few of the what if's in my life by participating in my life. No one can predict the future, nor can they foresee the outcome of the choices made. That is the beauty of the Road Traveled. You picked it. Congratulations! You have no idea where it leads or when it curves, dead ends or forks. But you know from previous experiences that roads are never straight and narrow, so you're semi-prepared with brakes.

There is an upside to the "what ifs" of life. I noticed quite a difference in mood when a positive outcome results from a "what if" moment. I asked myself a few:

What if I:
never moved to Charleston, SC
never picked up a camera
hated traveling
preferred coffee over tea
loved mountains more than the ocean.
never wrote in a journal.

Those six "what ifs" are just a few that would have changed the course of my life, not only geographically, but mentally and emotionally. I shudder to think if I some how chose a desk job over a photography job or chamomile over cappuccino . When I think about the what ifs that have become such staples in my lifestyle and have brought me to a place that I am content with, I am grateful to have something to show for the outcomes. It makes me smile. The intriguing part is a lot of them were choices. I chose to move to Charleston, to live by the beach, to write, to drink coffee. They were never forced, and each one just as unpredictable as the next. One choice spawns a new set of adventures, new people to meet, new roads to travel down. It is a semi-terrifying route, to watch it curve and bend from my vision. But equally as exhilarating.

Therefore, all in all, rather than focus and dwell on the road NOT traveled, I have displayed before me the road that I have, with no apologies or irrational fears about what the future will hold. It is there waiting.