39

Two years ago, I was surprised at my reaction to turning 38.  I found myself startled to be in my "late 30's," seemingly all of a sudden, and decided that it was time to turn my camera on myself a little bit.  What do I look like, really?  The photographer of the family is often absent from all the pictures, so I wasn't entirely sure.  I know how I see others when I am photographing them - I know that usually I am the one doing the reassuring - and I know how I think of myself.  However, I am well aware that the way we perceive ourselves can often be different from others' perceptions of us.  Having someone fall in love with me taught me that.

I will be leaving my 30's a week from today, so here I present to you a selection of self portrait work made over the past 12 months.  I can't say for certain what exactly the exercise of photographing myself taught me, mainly because I have spent very little time examining the results, but it is something I plan on continuing for one more year.

All photographs made with film, in various formats, including pinhole.

Along for the Ride

Last spring, when I realized the enormity of my upcoming birthday (a milestone of mythical proportions), I decided to start saving for a trip.  A Big Trip.  One that might even involve an airplane, and would definitely involve a lot of photography.  My original idea, once I ruled out a month in Italy (since that would require multiple years of saving) was to make a little tour of the UK to visit friends I haven’t seen in over a decade.  Further thought about this, however, made me realize that not only was such a tour beyond my financial means, it would also entail dragging my family along on journey through one of my past lives. That idea was shelved for the more appealing option of a road trip that would be fun for everyone.  

We divvied up the driving, but I spent well over half of my car time in the passenger seat.  This gave me time to think, and time to photograph out the window.  Once I remembered my Nikon F could go to 1/1000, I became more excited about the possibilities of what I might catch - and I sought everything, from scenery, to truck drivers, to road signs, and other passengers.

My daughter rode behind me, another passenger, in both the physical and metaphorical back seat of childhood.  She is a good traveling companion, even if it does take her 5 minutes to extract herself from her little nest at each stopping place.

Regardless of my driving time, making the decision to change my travel agenda, going from ME to WE, made me a passenger to begin with.  Passenger of my own plans.  Passenger of this summer, which belongs mostly to my daughter anyway.  Passenger of my own life.  It’s been years since I felt like I was in the driver’s seat; the last time was probably when I moved back to Texas from New York and bought a house, although that decision was not entirely one of my own making.  Many things drive me, but few of them are my recent dreams. . . . most of those got chucked out the window when I recognized that the things I want to achieve are mostly beyond my control anyway.  They are the litter on the side of the road of my life.  Maybe I’ll go back and pick them up one day, and maybe I won’t; things like that tend to biodegrade with time.  Besides, I am already in the process of making new ones.  And I have to admit, the view from the passenger seat is pretty dang great.  Being in control is highly overrated; sometimes it can be the best thing in the world to let someone else drive while you relax and enjoy the ride.

(We traveled from central Texas, through Tennessee, to North Carolina, and then back again via most of the southern states along I-20.  These photographs were all made from the passenger seat, mostly out the window, all with Nikon F and 50mm 1.4 lens, on either Kodak Tri-X or Ilford HP5.)

Saving Daylight

Last summer, I participated in a 100 days project that resulted in me making hundreds of color photographs, all of which I had developed and printed (as 3x5s) at a local lab.  My main motivation for this work came from my own emotions as a mother, since to me time will always pass too quickly. . . . . and here it is a year later (already!).  For the occasion of my daughter's 9th birthday, on the grand day of July 4th, I decided I would finally publish some of the writing I jotted down in my journal at the time, as well as a larger collection of the photographs than I have shared before.  

As with any project, Saving Daylight grew and changed organically.  I broke down the end result into three categories:  the personal photos, the straight street photos, and the summer photos.  Out of those, I put together an Official Collection, which was framed and exhibited, although for the most part I found that it was lost and mostly overlooked in the vast array of all the other 100 days projects.  That (huge) photo collage now hangs on the wall at my house. What I am sharing here is my favorites from among the personal photos; I apologize for the dust; there are only so many hours in the day and removing all the specks from the scanned prints just wasn't in the cards. . . . 

Saving daylight, chasing down the sun.  Preserving memories, like the sweet berries of summer, into photographs.  The camera is our jar for little points of light, amalgamated together with color couplers, chemical processes, temperature, and time.  We reach for the sky, pull it into the lens, and save it forever:  precious days, precious light, love and moments shared from different angles.  Joy enters a little black box, and emerges again brightly.  How we see, how we show it -- we lived it, and loved it, like this, and together.  

Things are changing.  I can feel it in small moments.  Little by little, day by day, she is letting go of my hand and walking away.  It is both wonderful and terrible to watch.  It is a small change, but a big change.  The physical learning to walk at age 1 was exciting, but this imperceptible, slow parting is a pain in my heart - a pain, of course, tinged with joy at her little declaration of independence.  Growing up is, after all, the whole point.  A brave, healthy, strong woman is my overall goal.  

In many ways we are alike, but in so many ways more we are different.  I am proud of her for these differences.  For forging ahead and being her own unique individual self, separate from me.  For not conforming or seeking overly to please me.  The world doesn't need a carbon copy of me; it needs a real version of her.

Where will she go?  Who will she be?  What will she do?  Anywhere, everywhere, herself, anything that makes her happy and brings her joy.  The rest is just details.  And my hand will always be waiting, at the ready, just in case.  

All photographs various color films, with Nikon FM2 and Nikonos cameras.

The Road

I am no vagabond.  I am very much rooted, I love my home, and all of the comfortable beautiful nest-like qualities it possesses.  After spending a decade making regular, life-altering moves (five in total), "carry me out in my casket" has become my motto when it comes to the house in which I now live.  

But. 

When I was 16 or so, I read On the Road.  Dharma Bums.  Travels with Charley.  In another life, I would have already been coast to coast at least five times by Greyhound. . . .and Amtrak. . . . and old clunky Volkswagen Bus.  It's hard for me to think about what Robert Frank and Steven Shore did without a pang of jealousy. 

But.  

What I get to do is even better, to me anyway.  I get to hit the road with my family!  The man who whose love and tolerance is a constant source of amazement to me helps with the driving.  The Most Important Thing I will Ever do rides in the back seat.  We all make memories, together.  We have our eyes and minds re-opened.  We jump on beds in motel rooms.  We live and breathe and grow, together.

Our last journey was an epic sweaty adventure across southwest Texas to Big Bend National Park.  Our next one begins the day after tomorrow, when we revisit a trip to North Carolina that I made with my love three yeas ago.  Back then, I wasn't ready to take the time to make film photographs en route.  The voyage needed to be about more than just photography.  The trip was about us, our relationship, the discoveries we made, and his family at the end of the road.  We had to hurry through cities, only taking brief glimpses, because my little girl had to be retrieved on a certain day.  Arkansas, Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana (best Cajun food ever and a memorable arcade bar that I long to revisit), and home to Texas in a whirlwind of eight or so days.  

This time, we make the journey together.  There will be longer stops.  The focus will be different.  Friends will be met.  And there will be film photography - lots and lots of film photography.  

What exactly will the road reveal to us?  How will what unfolds differ from our loosely made plans?  The future lays before us down a black shimmering line of asphalt.  Four new tires and a jeep full of love, and away we go!