Cocooned.
Transformation takes place within the darkness of the brittle shell.
Within the seemingly lifeless shape, monumental change occurs.
Shielded from the observer's eye, unassisted by the outside world, it alters itself.
Its former self will be but a shadow, a pale reflection of the wonder it will become.
From within my cocoon of the past little while I am taking inspiration from the caterpillar.
{tranformation}
On New Year's Days I continued as I began when we moved back to Perth:
(F11, 1/320, ISO 100)
It was a little bit on the grey side and very blustery and you should have seen the dark grey clouds blowing in behind us. But the clouds always eventually blow over and the sun shines again. A skyful of bright light is a given here.
(F8, 1/500, ISO 100)
I don't really do resolutions per se, but I do find the change of year an apt time to reflect and acknowledge what was and what is. In the words of Sophia, there were quite a few 'wipeouts' in 2011. I came so very close to staying submerged on so many occasions but somehow, some way I managed to resurface and make it to shore each time.
(F8, 1/1250, ISO 400)
Under these vast skies, suitably dramatic at times, I continue to piece together new ways of living and being. Reconnecting and redefining that which fulfills, enriches and just plain ol' feels good. Creating my life in vivid colour and boldness.
So why don't I like self help gurus? They tend to sell you a destination, and for me life is not a destination, it's the journey. I don't believe that if you change this habit or that belief you will then arrive at Happiness and Contentment Forever More. I am all for self-reflection, introspection, adjustments and positive change but life is also a journey with blind corners, bumps in the road and long dark nights in between the scenic views, smooth roads and technicolour sunrises; it can be unpredictable, unstable and sometimes completely out of your control no matter what you do. But that's part of the journey and not the destination. Hold tight, ride it out. There's better things coming. I know. I speak from experience.
I believe, and the past year has shown me that one of the greatest resources I have on my life's journey is resilience (stubbornness?); another is the desire, a deep innate urge to seek out the beauty, the whimsy and the magical from my every day life. I don't capture it on camera as often as I would like but I find it and see it.
And so to 2012... no resolutions per se but it is the year I switch my camera to manual mode and learn faster which settings work best, when. It is the year when I bring more creating and crafting into my life - sewing and knitting being at the top of the list. It is the year I intend to get onto my Masters program and complete my journey to becoming a psychologist.
It's also a continuation of loving and cherishing my wonderful joy of a little girl. She is everything.
Wishing for you every happiness, much laughter, resilience and joy in 2012.
In case you missed it, there was a full lunar eclipse last night and there won't be another one until 2014.
I've never taken night photos before and after a few false starts and some googling, I managed to (mostly) get the right settings:
I don't look skywards at night-time anywhere near often enough. There is an enormous velvety sky up there set with twinkling diamonds, and it is beautiful.
On the next clear night wherever you are, go outside and look up.
It's simply magnificent.
In catching up with some of my favourite blogs I came across this post from a friend who recently moved to Denmark with her husband and two young children. On 'These Sublime Days' she writes beautifully about the relocation challenges that have arisen for her and the children; her worry for her son missing his friends, how he will adjust to the changes, and her comments about the unrelenting transition period in which so much is unfamiliar - it all resonated with me, even though I don't have a foreign language to contend with!
We are still shedding our urban big city skins, adjusting to and finding the beauty in the open spaces and slower pace, stretching ourselves and scratching the surface of our new town.
We're finding comfort in the routine of the school run, and starting to feel as though we are making the transition from 'new kid and Mum' to being familliar faces in the carpark and playground, greeted with smiles and enthusiastic little people cuddles.
We're putting down our roots, and are beginning to reap the harvest as we finally start to feel more like we are home, and less like we are on holiday.
The other harvest that we are reaping provides a great deal of comedy value as well as sustenance. I don't think carrot growing is my forte!
This has been, and continues to be a period of transition and some days I still want to hide under a blanket. It's ok when I have those days, I know they will pass. It is getting easier, and while my pangs for London tend to pounce on me without warning and bowl me over, they happen less and less as the shifting sands beneath me settle and solidify. We're still in the process of change, and the process takes time.
Is it a rite of growing up to misplace the ability to be spontaneous, to seize the moment when it overcomes you and to live just as you feel, right there and then?
To forget how to attend to those feelings waiting to be expressed? For there to be no entertainment of or adherence to reasons 'why not'?
To climb on top of a letterbox and dance to music only heard by you because the sun is shining, because your body tells you to move, because you're happy, because that's what you want to do, right there and then?
To just dance. In your own space, in your own world, lost to the music of the soul. Present. Real. Beautiful.
She reminds me, this girl. She reminds me how to live the best life I can.
One of the Montessori ways seems to be to encourage children to recognise their own good work, to develop and internalize the ability to know when they've done something well and to not need to seek external validation for their efforts. It's helping them recognise when they've done a great job, the best one yet, as well as when it could be better. And they learn to be proud of what they do. We tend to shun hubris in the adult world seeing it as intrinsically linked to arrogance and ego, but taking pride in your work, being proud of your achievements is, for me, something worth learning.
Sophia was so proud of her work in her class's art exhibition this week. She knew she'd created something *good*. And boy was I proud of her and her big happy smile. My little girl. My little love. My little artist.
(book - antiquarian bookseller in London; picnic case - thrifted)
"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things"
(jug - thrifted; tin - Past Times)
After a 3 month separation I have felt a little bit like an anthropologist exploring the personal, cultural and social history of the person whose treasures and momentos I have been unpacking.
It seems that she likes old books, dark wood, roses and other floral patterns, has quite a collection of milk jugs in assorted sizes, shapes and colours and she likes prints of Notre Dame (does she have some connection to Paris??)...
as well as the luscious polaroid photography of Brooke Schmidt...
She also has quite the collection of china in assorted shades of blue, blue and blue (with a teensy bit of green)...
(assorted new and thrifted origins across several countries)
The unpacking is mostly done, but has reached an impasse. A small mountain in my bedroom remains. Clothes and trinkets, papers and possessions which sit in my hands time and again only to be returned to where I'd left them. For some reason they need to be where they are for now.
(Portobello Road markets, London, printers type setting letters from the early 1900's)
One day soon I will decide to sort and pack them away in a last spontaneous flourish.
Perth for me was always going to be the ugly step sister to London's Cinderella in so many ways. Or so I thought.
Provenance is a curious thing. It creates strong ties which bind and run so deep that you might not even be wholly aware of them, except as fleeting shadows across your mind, gone before you've had time to take them and turn them over and around, to try to understand them.
In those places where I began, my provenance, I am learning there is much to discover, about myself, then and now, and much to rediscover about the places around me.
(this bud is the provenance of the humble lemon, taken in my garden)
There is beauty in the place of my beginnings. There is a sustained stillness I have not known in the longest time. My restless soul is quieting, and I am curious at these new feelings.
(this bud is the provenance of the humble pea, taken early morning in my garden)
I have spent much of the past few months in a state of near-collapse, a mental, physical and emotional desert, not really able to think clearly or process the enormity of these past six months (10 years). They have changed me. I am not the person I was when I left.
(a baby pea pod, with the flower from which it grew still attached)
And that is as it should be: it is right that I have been altered by my life's experiences, that I have grown from my place of provenance.
(bottlebrush buds, my garden)
But the places that I thought I'd left behind have drawn me back. It's more than simply returning to what I know. I knew London. London was my home and here, I have felt like a stranger in my own town, in this strange familiar city.
(marigold bud and flower, my garden)
This place, my provenance, is imprinted on my soul. I bloomed out there in the world. My petals unfurled and I basked in the sunshine, weathered the heavy storms, sustained a little damage, but still managed to grow into something resembling beauty and strength.
And underneath me, the whole time without realising it, were my roots, my provenance. From these I became who I am, and I'm looking forward to continuing to grow under these vast sun-filled skies and gentle breezes.
My hands are around quite a few of these cups at the moment:
Probably more than I should be consuming. But it's propping me up. Especially when it's sprinkled with chocolate. Mmmmmm, chocolate.
And a dash of bright sunshine.
Ah spring.
