the Scent of Water

'yet at the very scent of water, it will flourish, grow shoots, and burst into bloom like a new plant.'

job, the Bible

For everything there is a time. It' s the same with books.

In search of comfort after David died, I came across this title:

The Scent of Water - grace for every kind of broken by Naomi Zacharias.

I never read the book.

I plan too one day, when I can concentrate long enough to complete a page,

without my mind floating off like a kite with a broken string. 

Broken. 

Every kind of broken.

The words knew me. They saw me. 

El Roi, the God who sees me. 

 I see words that live through the lens of my camera.

 They're telling my story. The painful and beautiful truth of my grief observed. 

This one, the Scent of Water.

From Job, a book in the Bible. Its speaks of  being dry, desolate, parched, over exposed.

But at the very scent of water.

life. must.

Not a taste of water. Not the experience of water.

At the very scent of it. 

So powerful is the beautiful life. 

So full of promise and hope.

inspite of, and despite of. 

Grace for every kind of broken.

lessons from an oyster

I'm a feeling person.

A deeply feeling person.

I don't see beauty, I feel beauty. I don't hear music, I feel music.

I think I'm lucky that way. Sometimes. 

Sometimes though, I feel too much.

But understanding how light works,

and losing myself in the wonder of it all is my therapy,

my happy place.

I'm speaking of photography of course.

The word photography comes from the Greek word, phos meaning light and graphos meaning writing ...

so loosely translates to 'writing with light',

although most photographers prefer the term 'painting with light'.

I prefer, 'writing with light' because it more adequately describes the crafting of a narrative portrait.

How beautiful, writing with light. 

Portraits that tell a story.

'Lightfall' (thank you Robin Wade for the title), is one image in a series of images I'm working on to visually document my journey through grief. 

Lost for words to adequately describe the depth and breadth of this abyss, my camera has become, 

more than ever before, my means of expression. 

When an oyster is wounded or to protect itself from the pain or discomfort of an imbedded foreign particle,

it lays down layer upon layer of nacre, or mother of pearl.

A simple biological process that gifts us with precious pearls.

Grief is painful. Beyond words. It wounds deeply and profoundly. 

Perhaps though,

if I were to lay down layer upon layer of Love and Light,

I too can produce pearls.

From a wounded heart.

Perhaps.

The dancer on Pointe Ballet shoes.

The breathe taking beauty of the dance is a gift of the dancers' often painful discipline.

Life.

Perhaps.

My head is full of stories, and when I can, I intend to write them out with light.

Everyone has a story. I'm telling mine.

fearless

The Rampant Lion of Judah ... emblem of strength, courage and bravery

Weep not: behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah ... Revelations, the Bible

I believe in symbols, and what they represent in our lives.

I've always worn significant jewelry.

Not jewelry for jewelery's sake, but jewelry that is sacred and significant to me. To the wearer.

That speaks about what they believe or aspire too.

That's why I created the "Raw" range of jewelry ... jewelry to be worn consciously and with purpose.

and Raw ... not just because I've allowed the silver in it's unrefined way to tell the story and bear the marks of the process, but because the raw emotions and feelings expressed are authentic.

I wear this one every day. Have been for the past 5 months. 

The pendant depicts the Lion of Judah and reads, 'sans peur' ... fearless.

And one doesn't learn to be fearless, unless one grapples with fear.

I don't know anyone who doesn't, on some level, have fear. 

Just imagine if fear in our lives didn't exist.  Imagine what we could accomplish if we were fearless.

I'm learning to be fearless, as I face a future of unknowns without my partner. 

I'm learning to be brave with the help of the Lion of Judah.

He's my crutch, (and my sword)  Whats yours?

Of course you have one.

The ring.

My husbands.

Although painful beyond words, I'm determined to honor his part of my story with beauty and grace.

I owe him this much. 

And for this I need to be brave and courageous.

Fearless.

laugh with me, cry with me

I don't do makeup.

So you will appreciate the trepidation I felt, when my daughter who is studying makeup, asked me to be her model with 'mature' skin. Don't you hate that word. Mature. 

As in ... wine, cheese?  Both these things are only, in my opinion, better with age.

But skin. Come on.

So, graciously, and because I'm a good mom, I was the model with 'mature' skin.

And for a couple of hours I stepped out of my au natural world with my palette of stone, black and every shade of white, into a world of color, brushes, mirrors and hot lights. Her world. She let me in.

We're polar opposites, but she gets me. 

Subtly, she transformed me and skillfully hid the past months of sadness that I wear

everyday without noticing. Until now.

It's hard not too notice when confronting myself in the mirror with hot lights framing my grief.

Grief isn't just felt. It's worn.

Somewhere in the process I've detached.

I know this, observing myself as I ever so slowly, allow the reality

of life without my partner come a little closer every day.

Make me beautiful again. And she did.  Hide the pain. And she did. 

Vainly, (and bravely - I dont do photographs) I took photo's of myself. Of us.
I wanted her to see how happy I can be.

 Because she's happy.

David would have loved to see us together.  Like this.

Mother and daughter. Fixing each other. 

It had everything and nothing to do with makeup. Who knew. 

thank you Carly

love, mom

if not, why not?

I ventured into town today. the pretty city. I love her. 

I pushed the 3rd floor button and waited till I couldn't anymore and pushed the alarm. I'm from the deep South. We don't do small spaces. A lot of mechanical sounds later and the door opened to a beautiful friendly face, who did his best to reassure me that if I pushed the button again, it would indeed transport me to where I wanted to go. Sadly I thought: you have no idea where I really want to go, but decided not to share it with him in case I ruined his day. 

Anyway, walking back to my car, I came across this little beauty. It's my shade of pink, has wabi sabi white shutters, just look at the name, and it's facing my North Star.

Who say's I can't? 

(I'm counting on my closest, to bring me back to reality)

sea glass

I love sea glass, little gifts from the sea.

Time travellers tumbled in the ebb and flow of the rough surf has softened the edges and the colors. 

All misty hued like the ocean they came from. 

My photographs have found a new life bonding with the glass. 

I'm thinking of wrapping them in fine sterling silver wire to wear as pendants for a new jewelry range I'm working on, and yet to name.

Davids shoes

the saying goes something like this:

don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes.

For the past 3 months, I've slipped my skin and walked in 'Davids shoes'. For the first time, I felt a little, just a little of what it was like to be David. He resolutely faced each day of crushing responsibilities, that often included bearing the responsibilities of others. Without complaining. He was a worker. And generous. With a servant heart. Who never judged. Who loved unconditionally and always forgave. Always.

Selfishly, I want him back. I miss him. But he deserves Heaven.

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while DARING GREATLY so that his place shall never be with those timid souls who know neither victory or defeat." ~ Theodore Roosevelt

out of focus

a picture speaks a thousand words.
in my case, only three.
out.of.focus.
returning home after the memorial, tears blurred this image.
we had to detour as there was an accident on the mountain.
another one.
where just a week before, my husband, on his motorbike, collided.
with an unlicensed car.
with an unlicensed driver.
who having run out of fuel, made a U-turn.
on a mountain bend.
without lights.

but the sacred stars,
in a dark petrol blue sky,
and the wind,
and wild fynbos,
were there
where I was not.
to witness his spirit
leave a life interrupted.

and
out.of.focus.