swimming

This afternoon, a friend and I committed to purchase an Epson Stylus Pro 3880 printer.  'Committed' meaning that Visa is in on the deal.  'Committed' meaning that we are serious about taking photographs.  Meaning also that we believe our photographs are worthy of display and, oh dear, that people will actually buy them!

Growing up in Montreal, I often heard the expression 'sink or swim'—in the context of to fail or to succeed.  I found an earlier and rather unsettling definition from The Free Dictionary by Farlex.     (7,709,897,572 visitors served)

sink or swim

This expression alludes to the former barbaric practice of throwing a suspected

witch into deep water, often weighted down.  In case of sinking, the victim died;

in case of swimming, the victim was considered in league with the devil and

therefore was executed.

But, that's not how I see it. The devil has nothing whatsoever to do with it! The water is exhilarating and I plan on swimming!

When Brian and I moved to Victoria twelve years ago, we built an art studio in a corner of our back yard.  At the time, we didn't debate whether or not we would sell enough artwork to cover the construction costs. We knew that we wanted a place to work and play and create art. Over these twelve years, the studio has been a place of great joy and discovery. A place of settling in and refuge. A place for heart-work.

So, I ask myself, why am I now concerned with the final outcome—with the marketing aspect of my photographs? Why think about 'sink or swim' in this context?

My art work has always expressed who I am, deep down into the core of my being.

I have travelled from early expressionist figurative work to bold paintings of flowers and to simple/complex collages.  I have created Talisman Blocks, multidimensional collages on small wooden cubes, standing alone, or stacked to interact with one another. And, most recently, my Memory Shrines, assemblages in small bamboo 'boxes', which delve into my soul-connection with the horrors of the Holocaust. And chairs, always returning to paint chairs!

                   (to view my earlier work, please go to my website:
                                   jackiesaundersritchie.com)

As I ordered the printer, I felt a sense of elation;  knowing that my life is good, and that my picture-taking is connecting me to everyday beauty.

As a repeat failure at seated meditation, my contemplative photography has allowed me to quiet my head and relax into my body.  There are no thoughts that I need to let go of.

There is only me and my camera.

hostas, continued

I haven't written a blog entry since April 8-  a full month ago.

My blog has been shifting; fewer words and more images.  Instead of considering this a negative, a less thoughtful use of the space, I have instead chosen to wander wherever my thoughts and camera take me, trusting that you will come along for the ride.

This morning I went on a photo excursion with my friend, Joanna.  I told her that I was thinking of posting a series of my hosta photographs. She thought that was a fine idea, and suggested that I post about a half-dozen.

SIX???

I had envisioned including at least 20, which was, I figured, a mere amuse-bouche.

I have had three of my hosta photographs professionally printed, and, by next week, they will be framed.  I'm testing the waters to see if I might have more printed and exhibit them somewhere or other for people to see. There is a sphere beyond Facebook and fromtheothersideofseventy!


                    the following 3 photographs are the ones that I printed

               

magic

Last evening I sat down at the computer to begin a new entry.  I wanted to start with a series of my recent photographs, surprising you with their ethereal beauty, and only then, letting you in on the secret of their creation.

Several quotations that I treasure seem integral to my story.

Pablo Casals wrote,  'I do not think a day passes in my life in which I fail to look with fresh amazement at the miracle of nature.  It is there on every side. It can be simply a shadow on a mountainside, or a spider's web gleaming with dew, or sunlight on the leaves of a tree...'

And Minor White invites us to 'go into the landscape... let your subject find you.'

And finally, a comment from my friend, Jan, who responded to photos on my blog of January 6 (the zen of creativity) writing that 'they take me somewhere I need to go more often.'

For me, finding magic in everyday moments and commonplace events has opened my eyes wide to possibility.  With my second set of eyes, the lens of my camera, I have been exploring the expected and lifting it into another dimension.

Gathering flowers from our garden, I am giving them a new context: sheathing them in multi-faceted ice, I have been taking hundreds of photographs, digitally recording the magic.

We usually don't look at anything at all.

-Chogyam Trungpa

posing

               
                 March 27: a foggy afternoon at Cattle Point, in Oak Bay

         

 click on any photograph to get full-sized images

com.mon.place

com•mon•place

  (ˈkɒm ənˌpleɪs) 
adj.
1. ordinary; undistinguished or uninteresting
2. dull or platitudinous
n.
3. well-known, customary, or obvious remark; a trite or uninteresting saying; platitude.
4. anything common, ordinary, or uninteresting
Random House Kernerman Webster's College Dictionary


If you've been following my blog, you will already know how passionate I am about my new camera. I have been challenging myself to go on a photo-shoot once or twice each day.  It might be the lane. Or Beach Drive. Or the trees along the chip trail at Henderson.
Or something altogether different.

 On a rainy day this week, I stayed inside, looking around our house for my subject.

A gentle light was filtering into our bathroom, showing off the loose, graceful folds  of the linen shower curtain. Voilà!  I took more than 30 photographs.

 I then took a dozen more of the cushions on our couch.

I mentioned my subject matter to a few friends and imagined that I saw a slight drawing together of eye brows, a slight wrinkling on their foreheads.  My friend, Joanna, a wonderful photographer, just nodded with understanding.

Without a conscious decision, I have been practicing contemplative photography these last months.  As my friend Heshi commented: "Your picture taking excursions have turned into your own personal version of a Buddhist walking meditation."

So, it seems only natural that my subject-matter has become less adorned. Simplified. Ordinary.  Common, in its meaning of 'not rare'.

And this is why I challenge what I consider the somewhat derogatory definition of commonplace, which attaches the adjectives dull, uninteresting and platitudinous.

For me, looking through my camera's lens, the commonplace appears
beautiful.  Without embellishment, without artifice, soulfulness is visible.

one day's photographs

this post was written on Monday March 16

Thank goodness for my camera. When I really want to just lie down and pull the covers up under my chin. When I can't concentrate on a book. When I am discouraged. Then I take my camera and my picture-taking hand-knit gloves and go out the back door to the lane.


My mantra is: trees reflections & shadows.

This morning at eight o'clock there were still puddles, teasing me with trees' delicate
reflections. Photographing in water patches is tricky; your own shadow needs to be out of the way, but, if you shift too much, the reflections are diminished. An added challenge is that you don't have much control over the background.

An arial view would be ideal - unfortunately, a step ladder is too awkward to carry!

Looking, shifting and then moving a bit more before holding the camera steady and pressing the shutter.  Spending 20 minutes in one tiny area. Moving to the side when a car wants to pass and answering questions from dog walkers.

'What are you doing? ' 'What are you looking at?'  One time I may ask why they have an animal attached to a piece of leather.  I assume they have their reasons, just as I do.

                           click on any photograph to get a larger image

This afternoon, avoiding the sunlit couch, I set out again. In the 5 hours since my morning foray, most of the puddles had disappeared. The few that remained were muddy. It was the time for  shadows.

The muted colours combined to make a beautiful abstraction.