{Preview} Sam & Annie

I could not get enough of these children.  Sam soaked to the waist in water.  Darting like a wren, unaware of the cold, the wind his ignition.  Until he’d turn, realize I was taking his photo, and lunge his hands forward.  You.  STOP.   Something would grab his attention and off again into the white wind he scattered like leaves.  Annie, the opposite, was absorbed in my moving black circles.  She’d crawl until there were inches between us, and watch.  Drink in what I was doing.  Riveted, coy, utterly beautiful, corn silk locks grazing her enormous, blinking eyes.  Everything about her was motionless, gleaming, like a shiny drop of candy.   

I have known Liz and Andrew for a long time, and realize they are amazing parents, but after this day, there was nothing more obvious.  So lovely to watch Liz constantly bowing, whispering, swooping, tender.  Andrew deep in sand, exploring, carefully watching.  I said goodbye wanting to parent more like them.  Let my children get wet just because.  Run limitlessly.  Vow more to not forget the energy that makes them raw, beautiful, wild.

Made by hands

My favorite gifts over the past few years have sat under the tree in crumpled paper bags.  Adorned with glitter and smudged paint, they are bound with unfurling yarn, and thick, pepperminty white glue.  Preciousness related not to what's inside the bag, rather than the hands that carefully made it.

This is our holiday card from last year.  It's made by hand, layered with luxe, creamy stock, archival glue, the velvet ink of Little Rhody Press.  Slipped into a sexy little velum sleeve it's like wrapping a tiny piece of art to send to your loved ones thru the mail.  This time of year our mailboxes are overrun by the artwork of a few large companies that have a grip on the market.  Consider scouting out and supporting an artist you love this holiday season.  There are people right around every corner making beautiful things to share.

I will be sure to post the custom cards from this season, as well as the faces I get to capture.  I cannot express how very thankful I am to those of you who have booked, read, ordered, recommended, supported.  You have kept my hands busy and my heart full of gratitude.

Lowercase

I visited Jane's Kindergarten classroom for the first time this week.  She sat upright.  Lanky.  Restrained.  Trying, trying, and trying again.  Wanting.  Listening.  Looping lowercase.  Shadowing her teacher’s hand.  Tracing again and again.  The teacher would ask them to try something new and I could see her brain tinker with the idea of fear.  Fear of doing it wrong.  But her small-girl stamina quickly stamped it out; horse hooves flying.  Off she went.  That afternoon at home, dumped backpack, at it again.  Bent over the table, peeling through paper, like moths fluttering to the floor.  White.  Thin.  Veined with letters.  Uppercase.  Lower.  Mistakes.  Backwards J’s.  A never-ending stream of trying.

I’d written several posts this week, to no avail.  Taken hundreds of photos.  Shuffled around words, like peas on a plate.  My trail seemed lost.  I put my head on the keys, thrown most of it away, tried to let go.  But still arrived at fear.  Fear of failure, fear of making something I didn’t like.  Fear of posting the wrong thing.  Words giving the wrong impression.  Fear of making something others will find just plain ugly.  Fear eating fear.  Swallowing me up like a huge dragon.

I picture Jane.  Boots on.  Licking lips.  Bent over, pencil in hand.  I find my small-girl stamina.  And move on.