Photographing the stained glass windows at Trinity Church in Copley Square, Boston is a treat. The rich colors of the glass. How the sunlight shining through at different hours can produce a different effect in the same window. Even in those windows that are clear. But I often tell people when entering the building, don’t just look up. Look at the wood. Check out the door knobs with their intricate details, and be sure to look down. You never know what lays at your feet … or under them.
p.s. Self-guided and guided tours are available of this beautiful building. Learn more about tours here.
Today I made my annual donation to one of the nonprofits I support, WalkBoston. As a card carrying pedestrian (and dreamer), believe me, I need help crossing the road. I made the donation in memory of my Aunt Thelma who used to describe her walks to me. Following is a blog post I wrote about her two years ago, about how she influenced who I am today, including how I can choose to give myself to others. This bright, beautiful day is her birthday so it seems like a good time to give back, and give thanks for her having been in the world. At the end of the post is a youtube video of Dives and Lazarus by composer Ralph Vaughn Williams. It was music Steve had shared with me, and music I remember replaying until I could collect the words to write about a lovely woman who in her own unique way helped me learn to walk in this world. Please enjoy the words and the music, and have a good day.
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Memories
My mother taught me to cook, to plant flowers, and to tell stories. From her I learned to love books and to love writing. She passed away before I ever wrote and had published my first story. During her life, I never traveled abroad. She never knew me with a camera in my hand. She never met Steve or any other fellow in my life. But her sister, my Aunt Thelma did.
In Aunt Thelma’s bedroom dresser are the postcards I sent to her from my travels all over the world. On her bookshelves are the magazines and other clippings of my work. And, last year, after I returned from my travels with Steve in Japan, she made me create a photo book for her. “I need tangibles I can hold in my hand,” she said when I pointed out the pictures were viewable online. “And include a picture of that fellow you’re seeing. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him any other way.” They never did meet, but she read about him, and they spoke on the phone once. I sat next to her on her couch as she laughed with him on my cell phone. I remember him asking her what he should call her. She laughed and said, “Well, why you don’t call me what everyone calls me. Aunt Thelma.” After she hung up, she asked me if he was a good man. I said yes. And then we went on to talk about my brothers and their families.
Growing up in Virginia, my mother made it clear early in my life if I was ever in trouble I could call my Aunt Thelma who was living in New York. When my mother died, Aunt Thelma traveled to Virginia and was there with me and my brothers, along with the rest of the family. When my father died unexpectedly a year and half later, she couldn’t make it, but I will always remember standing in a hospital waiting room on the phone with her crying and her saying over and over, “You go ahead and cry. It’s alright to cry.”
In bad times but mostly good, I called her, especially after I got a cell phone. I could call her randomly as I returned home from work. She’d laugh at my stories and in the end, wind up telling me to be careful as I crossed the street. She always ended her calls with, “I love you, Cynthia.”
My Aunt Thelma passed away this weekend. I will miss her. I am thankful that she was in my life. I learned a lot. In NY this weekend, as the family gathered, I held one of my young cousins in my arms. She was crying. “I’m sorry,” she said as she tried to wipe her face. I said, “Why are you apologizing? For crying? Don’t ever apologize for crying. It’s alright to cry. Do you know who taught me that?” When she shook her head, I said, “Aunt Thelma.”
Based on very nice feedback about the tree and leaf images from my recent travels, and a special request, I have begun transforming some of the images into archival quality prints. Unframed prints of this “one tree” from Dublin are now available here.
Olives scooped out of a jar. Oregano leaves pulled from little stems. Everything tossed haphazardly onto salad greens. A drizzle of olive oil. Black pepper and salt. A hunk of bread on the side. An abstract, if tasty, lunch for sure.
Two oversized folders purchased in a fine stationery store in Oxford. For what purpose? I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. I do know I couldn’t walk away without them.
They mostly sit on my desk but sometimes I carry them with me and my laptop. I stare at them as they catch the light and imagine filling their innards with fine linen sheets and matching envelopes and writing to clients, family and friends with my fountain pen and colored inks. It could happen …
I imagine using them as vessels, luxurious and unique, to house custom, archive quality prints of my photography and presenting them to clients with a flourish. I can see that happening too. Sort of. Except I don’t do flourish very well.
When I recently did the math of exchange rates, bank fees and all that, I realized what an investment I’d made in these lovely items. But I think they are well worth it as unexpected sources of inspiration and creativity. One day, I am sure, it will become clear what I am to “do” with them but until that moment I will simply enjoy them as they are … empty.
p.s. The store is Scriptum Oxford on Turl Street. Learn more here.
There is poetry among these branches of the oak tree, with their few remaining leaves that are quite red in the full light of noon but in the wee hours of morn they are dark shadows fluttering like the wings of moths or butterflies, and then there’s that backdrop of a sky transforming from rosy dawn to bluest day. Poetry, indeed. I’m just not sure where the words are hiding. In some nook or cranny perhaps just waiting to unfurl …
I was quite focused this morning. Honest. I had my task list all prepared. Then the sun came out from behind her clouds, shining seductively warm light all around. What a problem to have on a Monday morning. And my response?
Well, but of course, I tossed aside pen and paper. I grabbed my camera and raced around the house to every window following that darn light until I settled upon the top most floor where from the ceiling hangs a butterfly mobile. A rainbow of winged creatures just waiting for the wind.
No windows were open (it was raining earlier), but perhaps from the wind I generated moving about so fast, the butterflies had begun to spin just a bit. And so I sat on the floor and photographed them in their habitat.
Not too long of a photoshoot. Just long enough to make one smile. Like I said … what a wonderful problem to have on a Monday morning.
… but i am happy to be home. Plus we returned just in time to attend a book festival in Boston. No books were bought but I did have the pleasure of meeting some of the people behind 21st Editions, The Art of the Book. As a press that uniquely marries fine art photography with poetry, it is my dream publisher. They produce works primarily acquired by libraries and museums. As I told one of the staff, the newsletter they send out to subscribers is quite inspiring. I’ve been especially fascinated by the short videos produced to highlight upcoming titles. When asked what I liked about them, I shared that it was the audio element added to the mix of words and images. Below is one of my favorites — images of 21st Editions books with a poem read by poet John Wood. Enjoy.
Words + Images 