My aging hands surprise me
creased skin creased
knuckles and bones and veins
My aging hands surprise me
mythological creation story.
shape in a mirror.
resurrect a dispassionate scene.
long wish wait.
In the valley below
A distant ridge
casts a shadow.
Sometime soon, if we get to it, we will mow the meadow. That’s how a meadow stays a meadow in here. The black cap raspberry, tulip tree, and box elder would rather it otherwise. Instead, they meet the cutting blade, put down deeper roots, send up a new stem, and greet the spring. They greet the spring no matter what. Do they long for anything? Do they wish? Do they await the death of the cutting blade so they can arise?
Saturday. Went to see art with a friend. Talked art making and music making with that friend. We both have children and we covered that topic, too. But, we really talked about making work more than our children. At least it feels that way. Just talking a bit about making work feels big.Read More
A sketch. A beginning.
My head bounced against those low, pitched beams. My skirt became dusty. Dust shows on black. Very well. Plastic tubs, cardboard boxes none look pretty in a photograph. Climbing over items after setting the camera’s self-timer. Tidying the attic is necessary to move ahead.
I read meaning, distraction, attention. Every wrinkle, fold, bulge. Each have meaning. The length of stay in a drawer. How the sheets were drawn across the bed. The age of a hand.
I like the mistakes the best so far. Catching unplanned in between moments.
Last year was last year. In December’s cold days, I was preoccupied. There was little time or space to reflect as I like to do. February is here. Last year is done. This year is here. I have no resolutions.
I will make photographs and write. I will bring closer together my vocations - art and conservation.
I need some serious time to write. I need to shut myself into a room and write. Making photographs will have to do.
The Scavenger is a seeker, grabbing at time.
Self-portrait in the bathroom, December 30, 2018.
Spent the day with family. Two babies. Beren played with my cousins and then turned his attention to these little creatures, six and fourteen months. They were attentive to his leaping, running, and goofing. My six month old niece’s legs and arms went taut with excitement as she watched him. He encouraged my cousin’s fourteen month old, “Try to get me!” in a high pitched voice, coming closer as he gauged her ability to catch him.
In preparation, we read a book about babies. “I don’t play with babies,” he said. “Babies are weird.” “They certainly are different than big kids,” I said.
I was really warmed to see the way he interacted, finding ways to have fun with them and considering their abilities. I was reminded of a favorite book, Free to Learn by Peter Gray who discusses how mixed aged groups of children are so important and are often self-regulating. Beautiful and true.
Winter is the time to do it. Self-portraiture project begins today.
Rachel Mackow is a photographer and writer who resides on a ridge in the New Jersey Highlands with her husband and son.
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I'm a writer and photographer, observer and keeper of memories in this space, The Shagbark Speaks. In the other spaces of my life, which take most of my time, I am a wife, mother, native plant grower & natural lands restoration practitioner, and laundress.