30 March 2015

ten years ago today

ten years

ten years ago today, I started this blog.

1,185 posts later and here I am. and I didn't know what I was doing, didn't know how long this thing would last or where it would take me but I didn't care. I didn't know and I didn't care. I just needed a place, someplace, anyplace. ten years ago today, ava was four years-old, ezra was a baby. I was in the trenches of motherhood, that place where you weep with exhaustion one minute, are swallowed up with love the next. when you feel at once like you are both drowning and flying, when you are consumed with love, absolutely transformed by it but also on all fours beneath a dirty dining room table, scraping peas off the floor at three in the morning. you live for sleep, live for freedom. you want them to stay littles forever, can't imagine them any other way, are sick to your stomach at the very idea. but you dream of the day they will become completely self-sufficient beings so you can go on living your normal life, whatever that is. you don't even know what that is. if you are a creative, you struggle to find where your creative self begins and motherhood ends. or, where motherhood begins and your creative self ends. the truth is this: they do neither. instead, they co-exist in a way you previously thought impossible. they run from the same faucet. from slow trickle to gush, depending on the day, the hour, the minute.

and so I was in the trenches of motherhood when I found the blog world. there was no schedule, there were no rules. just show up and write, share work. so I did. and I fell in love. because it was there when I needed it, not one minute later, not a minute sooner, when maybe a minute was all I had. when I was nursing ezra with one arm and typing with the other, when all I could manage was a hunt and peck lowercase. and if no one cared, if no one read, that was okay. the having of the space was enough for me, it really was. 17,000 plus comments and ten years later, though and I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge what a profound effect the interaction has had on me. I'm humbled. that people read, take the time to comment. if that's you, thank you. thank you, thank you, thank you.

I wish I had the numbers, the statistics, I wish I'd done the work. number of words written, hours I've put in here. number of photographs shared, how far I've come. creative projects started, finished, not finished. number of lists posted, photobooth strips shared. times I've been right, times I've been wrong. number of maudlin posts, of ridiculous ones. number of times I've used all caps to yell at the internet, times I've been forced to both explain and defend my lowercase habit. number of pieces that mean something to me, number of posts I'm tempted to delete. number of jobs and experiences landed via this weird little place, number of people I would not know in real life were it not for this strange little place, people I absolutely cannot imagine my life without.

in the ten years I've been here, my children have (nearly) grown. a move took us all the way across the country to the great pacific northwest and then all the way back home to the south again. an old polaroid SX-70 cracked my work wide open. words and photographs of mine have been published in both books and magazines. teaching happened, workshops happened. children turned into teenagers, namely ava, though ezra is not far behind. ward turned forty, I turned forty. our marriage turned twenty years-old. and my mom died. my mom died.

still, we keep going. we all keep going, the landscape continues to change. and I am not unlike the tiny wooden house in the city, the one dwarfed by high-rise buildings and sky scrapers, the one sorely out of place. the stubborn one who refuses to give up her land no matter what the offer. I can remember thinking (somewhere around two years in), how long can this thing go on? I mean, really? how long can we keep this blogging thing going? five years? ten years? surely not. surely not, I thought. blogging in ten years? what will that even look like?

this is what it looks like. we're still here, folks. most of us, anyway. for better or for worse, here's to you, here's to me. and here's to the future, whatever it may look like.

19 March 2015



the internet never stops and sometimes I don't know what I'm doing here.

it's an ocean of voices and ideas and sometimes it feels like the most beautiful thing in the world. turn your back on it for a second, though, lose sight of things for even one second and it will yank you by your ankles and pull you under. before you even know what is happening. isn't this what it feels like? the internet? sometimes, maybe all of the time.

but whenever I go through the thing where I question why I'm still here, I come back to this: I like sharing the photographs and the stories. I really, really do. inevitably, the online landscape will change again and again but for me, it will always come down to this one very simple, basic idea.

I am not alone in this thinking. there are more of you out there, I know this. we are all still navigating the infinite, voices small but mostly steady, clear and true. the internet never stops but neither do we. and for this, I am thankful.

04 March 2015

b l u e

blue 08

blue 07

blue 06

blue 05

blue 04

blue 03

blue 02

blue 01

last week's blues: skylights (a la fellini's), forty-fives (for playing), benefits (of living in the south again), nola dreaming (always nola dreaming), polaroid blues (nothing like polaroid blues), glass half full (er, shutter half open), sky full of hope (so much hope), september throwback (when I stood with color//colour lover co-conspirator on blue cotton picnic blankets in a park in providence, RI).

and now, a letter.

dear colors,

congratulations. you (single-handedly) got me through another stretch of winter. I am, of course, forever grateful.

yours truly,


p.s. my friend xanthe is fairly grateful too. just look at what she made.

p.p.s. further proof of our gratitude here, should you need it.

25 February 2015

o r a n g e

orange 06

orange 03

orange 04

orange 05

orange 01

orange 02

last week's orange: new eyes over new landscapes (with thanks to mr. proust), emergency tulips, favorite diner, absolute favorite, essie in fear or desire (or a shade I like to call I'M TRYING FEBRUARY, I REALLY REALLY AM), fraction of a favorite mural and just off ponce, a sky half full of orange.

(now swimming in blue, last of the last of the color//colours)

(as always, more color//colour here and here)

19 February 2015

g r e e n

green 06

green 01

green 04

green 05

green 03

green 02

last week's green: new orleans throwback, green grass reading (the best kind of reading), a bridge I miss so much it hurts, succulents gone wild, the last of ezra's class valentines (no fancy red hearts, nary a one) and an unexpectedly perfect wall.

(currently knee deep in orange)

(as always, more color//colour here and here)

10 February 2015

p i n k

pink 01

pink 04

pink 02

pink 03

last week's pink: a dream-worthy front stoop, an old neighborhood favorite, an excuse to eat cupcakes, an argument for the unexpected, a door to walk through again and again and again.

as always, more color//colour here and here and I'll tell you, this place is my new happy place times one thousand.

05 February 2015

y e l l o w

yellow 07

yellow 02

yellow 04

yellow 05

yellow 01

last week's yellow: parking lot concrete, gallery salutations, lovely mission details, sunshine box collection, the most perfect yellow that ever did exist, saguaro dreaming, a road sign for everyone.

knee deep in pink at the moment-- more color//colour lovers with xanthe here, follow along/play along over on instagram if you like.

26 January 2015

r e d









last week's reds: christmas ukulele, rothko meets rauschenberg, scene from a moving train, bloodiest oranges, cutest couple, tunnock's on a tuesday, red bikes forever and a little georgia avenue red. 

(more color//colour lovers with xanthe here, follow along/play along over on instagram if you like)

(next up: yellow)