True confessions. I had a happy week photographing and writing about beach stones and sea glass. This blog series grew out of a spiraling process of beach gathering and gleaning over several months, realizing that at some point I'd passed the point of idly taking home pebbles. I had a true collection. Then there was play, poking at those objects and trying to figure out why I liked them, what I could do with them. While talking on the phone or waiting for the pasta water to boil, I kept rearranging bits of tumbled quartz and agate. Next, I took some photographs. Then I stared at the photographs long enough to realize what I really needed to do, retaking the whole batch. The ideas are still clicking along.
I loved that Eli was right there with me, collecting and playing by my side. "Eli, can I take a picture of the beach stones in your hands?" "YES!" I got a kick out of seeing which objects he chose and how he played with them.
And I loved that in between coaxing my child into washing his hands with soap, trying to figure out what to cook for supper, and driving to the store for more milk, I daydreamed about colors and textures. I puzzled out why I love pebbles, thinking of my geologist father now gone two decades but also mulling over my strong reactions to the nature art of Andy Goldsworthy. I thought about the fact that beach combing can be a meditative act. I am now poring over everything from mail order catalogs to art blogs to figure out ways to use my camera as a tool to reveal what I see in a humble, lumpy pebble.
Not very practical you say?
I'll admit that at present all my efforts have only added up to some pebbles arranged by color, a double handful of photographs, and a scant week's worth of blog entries. But such endeavors have a juicy, colorful mystery to them. Goofy or no, I was inspired. What a wondrous gift that is.
"A Habit of Seeing" from The Gentle Art of Domesticity by Jane Brocket (NY: STC Craft/Abrams, 2007):
"I used to assume inspiration was the province of artists and poets, architects and designers, scientists and inventors. Inspiration could surely visit only those with a higher purpose in life, with a greater sensitivity than the rest of us, with a more refined awareness than the average mortal.
"I was wrong. Inspiration is inspiration, whether the end result is a painted masterpiece, a soul-searching sonnet, a richly colored homemade quilt or a batch of freshly baked scones. We shouldn't diminish our creativity by despising the results of our inspiration, but instead celebrate and exploit the wonderful feeling of elevated energy and enthusiasm we experience when we feel inspired."
(Click HERE to see the first blog entry about beach combing.)
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