Fine Art Photography

Pocket of Time

Those small windows of time that go unnoticed in the overall flurry of a day; the ones that seem to happen between that which I should do and that which I want to do, between that which is expected and that which is not. I find these pockets are where, if I am aware and present, the universe tends to me. It is where the lightness of life resides - where kindness appears like the sunburst that shines for just a moment through the smallest window of my room.

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Through the Night

There are very few people in the sanctuary at this early hour. We have been standing in the rain outside, you and I, wading through the garden puddles and relishing the profound quiet of the mission in the insulated atmosphere of this stormy day. I wonder about those that came before and lit these candles, or whether their prayers have been burning through the night.

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My grandmother, who I knew as Mimi, was a force. She had a strength of conviction that was uncompromising in its certainty, a purpose. At 98 she read the paper cover to cover each day and was on top of all news; particularly her local news. Golf was like a religion to her, and she watched matches on television reminiscing about all the great competitions and players. Each day followed a structure and routine and, until just before she died, she still made her grocery list, planned her meals, kept her home. Her independence was an inspiration, and I see the fire of it still burn in my mother and me. This photograph is one of my first 'best photos,' taken swiftly, and without overthinking, at the precise moment, at the ripe age of 97, she had the first taste of her first Cosmopolitan. In her last year, her 98th year, she reconnected me with my center when I had lost my way. It was a gift I didn’t expect and one I think of each year as I begin baking holiday cookies from her recipes. There are so many memories tied up in this one photograph for me and for the others who came to love her too.

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9:12 pm

On our way to the room from dinner, the luminous glow of blue radiated from behind the metal gate of irregular patterned circles and called to the photographer in me. Pushing the gate and stepping onto the pool deck I look around and see the chaise where I found you sitting in the late afternoon sun, your towel still laying where you casually tossed it. The warm light and hum of kindred spirits resonating from the bar just inside were inviting, but so was the comfort of our room and so, after the shutter closed I turned and headed down the path.


Time in the Wood

Maya Angelou called time the imponderably valuable gift. The amorphous nature of time, it's fluidity an abstraction that flows around and through us passing uncherished, unnoticed in the busy buzz of our daily lives until the days have shortened, there is less light, and the winter season of life is upon us. This night, far from the light pollution of which we are accustomed, the cluster of tall trees appear to pray to luminous Luna asking her to slow her travels across the darkened sky and extend the beauty of our time in the wood.

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