the little spy

The other day I spotted a funny little black cat creeping around my backyard and I decided to take some pictures of it. His parents must have taught him not to talk to strangers because after a few seconds he slowly crept away, stopping every so often to stare me down with his mysterious gaze. Obviously my parents never taught me not to photograph strangers, and good thing they didn't!

I really felt like we made a connection, this cat and I. We were friends for those few moments, I'm sure of it. The funny thing is that I saw him the next day at the same spot but that time I decided to leave him alone. Because that's what friends do -- they leave you alone when you want some privacy. Right?

Lesson of the day: Befriend your backyard stray cats!

Another film roll wasted (but not really) + a play

Last week I dropped off a roll of film that had been in my camera since the summer. I picked up the film yesterday and it was a nice surprise to finally see the photos I had almost forgotten I had taken.

a reflection

thank you, sunny 16

from a hike I took with my family -- a city we used to live in

mom, sister, dad

a little picnic with friends

I am still trying to figure out what this is. For now I will pretend it's a picture I took while in outer space.

 

I love these two -- they bring a nice feeling

I took digital versions of these but they don't even come close to looking as wonderful as their film counterparts. 

morning sunlight, I guess

These give off a bit of a Virgin Suicides vibe -- I'm a messy person

peach cores, vintage gum wrapper, beads, thumbtacks, and other trinkets

a rainy day-- nostalgia

Everytime I put in a new roll of film in my camera I promise to take only the best photos and everytime I end up with a bunch of mediocre photos of mundane things. That's what I love the most about film photography: It's always a nice surprise to see your memories take a new form. The subjects never look exactly as I saw them with my own eyes, but the grain and quality of the film makes up for the feeling that is lost once the moment is gone and time goes by. If that makes sense.

On another note, I went to watch a play version of A Little Princess at my local arts center and theater. I went with my little sister and two cousins and then met up with two friends there. The play was directed by a local teacher and the cast was completely local. The young actresses were all adorable and it was overall a nice experience!

Our tickets and receipt + a leaf I found in the wash this morning.

Rest Assured

An 8tracks mix full of my current feel-good songs that are not too poppy.

I will be sending the mix on a CD along with some cover art to a lovely friend soon. I hope she likes it. 

xxx

Sometimes happy, sometimes sad

A few weeks ago, I was assigned in my art class to write a page about a "significant event" in my life that I would later incorporate into an art piece. I couldn't think of an actual event and decided to search through my blog for any writing that I could copy and paste into a word document and call an abstract representation of my "significant event". Easy enough. Since I was left with the option of doing this assignment digitally, I left it to the very last day to actually work on it. I chose a piece of writing that I had written a few days before and layered the text with two old pictures of mine. I did all that nice editing stuff, blah blah. I turned in my piece for critique and received mostly positive feedback from my classmates (except the kid who said that something about my piece "irked" him.....uhh, what?). I was given a moment to say something about my piece and since some people had said that they wondered what my significant event was, I explained that it was a representation of my "coming into terms with the way that I am and the fact that I'm better off alone a lot of the time".  On the way home, I started thinking about the million betters ways I could have said that. 

It is something that happens to me a lot. I figure out the deeper message of my photographs in hindsight 90% of the time. I'm not that great at coming up with concepts and sticking with them. I don't know if that makes a bad artist, a fake, or something like that, but I'm not too worried about figuring that out just now. With all that said, here is the final piece that I turned in:

The premise of my writing consists of the realization that I'm painfully introverted and that I am alone most of the time. The conclusion: It's okay. My significant event ended up being more of a significant concept. It is something that has been a part of me for a very long time and will continue to be a part of me for all of my life, probably. I am not made for massive amounts of socialization. Being alone is something that I enjoy and that fact is nothing to be ashamed about. Not having tons of friends does not determine my ability to build good relationships with people. I am normal and I am able to be happy, even when I'm all by myself. That's that.

Finally, I was able to put the pieces together of what this piece means to me and here it is: 

The self-portrait and the hand symbolize my aloneness. Me. The writing explains everything I already stated above. The more visible writing that overlaps my hand says "Sometimes happy, sometimes sad" and it simply represents the inevitable fact that sometimes I will be happy and sometimes I will be sad. That's the balance of life. Right when I thought of this, I realized that the self-portrait encased in the white circle vaguely resembled  a yin-yang. Perfect. Happiness and Sadness naturally coexist in the world and they naturally coexist inside of me, too. That's it. Oh, the composition has no symbolic meaning whatsoever. The blues tones were purely accidental and though I suppose that they add a gloomy feeling to the piece, only I would know that the story, indeed, has a happy ending! 

(Even though it isn't an actual ending. You could even say it's a beginning...)

To top it all off: I'm happy! 

a calm sunday morning and a giant wordspit

I love taking pictures but I haven't done it enough in the last few months and I have an idea of why this is so, but I'm not too convinced about it. This sunday morning was calm and the light coming in from the blinds decided to surprise me once again by manifesting itself in a beautiful new way: juxtaposed with my Beatles' wall piece. I threw on my new thrifted skirt that my mom washed for me and I had left to dry, hung up, during the night. I also put on a sweater that I bought along with the skirt.

Self-portraiture has been my photographic...um, style (?) ever since I began photography in 2008. I used to photograph my cousin Emily a lot but I don't see her often enough now. I also photograph my little sister at times when I'm in the mood and when she allows me to dress her up and make her suffer through posing for long periods of time until I get just the right shot. (Poor girl!) But most of the time I only have myself and my camera (and recently a tripod that I "borrowed" from my uncle, too). I could complain about my lack of models but I am actually completely comfortable with taking pictures of myself all of the time. I would like to have bigger photographic projects with models and cool locations, but I am satisfied with what I can work with.

Self-portraiture has become a form of therapy for me. I am comfortable in front of my own camera. I am myself, even when I end up making awkward poses (like the ones displayed above), not knowing what to do last minute. If I were to show the world all of the self-portraits I have, it would be pretty embarrassing and not because of the amount of them (though there are a lot -- so many that I've never dared to count or estimate), but because of the honesty of them. I am me, in my most human form: in all of my physical and emotional flaws. I take pictures of myself when I am sad and crying, happy and smiling. I take pictures when I'm mad and pictures when I feel even the slightest bit beautiful. A have pictures worth over 3 whole years of my life. I could dig out any picture file from my computer or cd's and find a significant piece of my life within. I have pictures of my old house, my old haircuts, the times when I used to wear eyeliner, the time when I lived with my cousin, the time I lived in apartments, when I moved to my current house, the times when I would take pictures of my clock while waiting for my boyfriend to visit, the times when I would dress up, when I used to wear colorful tights and skirts only, the times when I would rearrange my room, the healing process of the burn I got on my stomach, the times when I would cry about my boyfriend leaving to a different state, the times when I cried about our break-up, the times when I started eating healthier, the times when I went thrift shopping, when I was happy about having a better relationship with my family, when I first got my glasses, when I was grateful just to live, on and on and on and on. I have it all. Sometimes I look through my files and discover forgotten memories and I'm able to revive them just through looking at them in the form of millions of colored dots on a computer screen. Sometimes I feel like I'm cheating myself of life because of my constant reliving and remembering the past. At times I want to give it up, delete all the pictures, all evidence that I ever was. But most of the time I'm grateful that I picked up on this wonderful (and surely sometimes terrible) hobby. It has helped me become comfortable with who I am and who I've been. I regret nothing.

Life moves on and the pictures will pile up. 

Holiday Greetings, 1994!

Over the summer I discovered the bookstore within my local library that sells books for 25 and 50 cents, for paperbacks and hardcovers respectively. I had actually always seen this bookstore but always ignored it thinking that it sold new books. One day I decided to go in and I can't remember what books I bought but in one of them (I think it was an introduction to photography book) I found this letter from "The Nelsons" inside:

(front cover)

(click to view larger -- more legible)

It was a surprise to find it there and I almost felt like an intruder of these peoples' lives, reading about their travels, but I am now inspired to go to the library and leave happy notes for people to find. Who knows, maybe someone will blog about it someday.

White Room

Actual blogging has proved to be unattractive to me and that is why I have abandoned this place once again even after I said I wouldn't. I simply do not have anything exciting to post. That's not to say that my life is boring-- because it hasn't been all summer--but there are just some things I can't blog about.

I have been obsessed with minimalism lately and I've already taken a few steps into ridding my room of the unnecessary. I never knew I had so many things! The process is ongoing and considerably painful but it is worth the mental, and even spiritual, comfort that it brings. 

Even my pictures have taken on a minimalist appearance! I am glad that I never insisted on painting my room a dreadful color because its whiteness is beautiful, especially on those bright mornings when sunlight shines through the window blinds causing patterns on the walls and floor. 

I took the first picture yesterday after having braided my mom's hair (she asks me to do so a lot lately) and then attempting to braid my own. The result was messy but I thought it looked awfully pretty. Unfortunately the braid fell apart after a few hours. 

The third picture is of my wall with a lonesome Beatles' photograph mounted on it. The second picture, I believe I don't need to describe, but I will admit that I spend more time playing with and photographing my food than I spend actually eating it. It's a silly but joyful habit of mine. 

welcome! (and shopping)

I made this blog two years ago and only made one post. Today, I've decided to start using it more often since I'm becoming more and more obsessed with keeping record of my daily life. Fortunately, my day was interesting and I actually have something to blabber on about.

Lately my mom has been very understanding with me and my teenage female ~needs~ and has taken me to a few thrift shops in the towns surrounding my own. A few weekends ago they were all closed and we decided to give it another try this weekend. We visited a few thrift shops and a (quite expensive) boutique. I looked for pretty skirts and dresses but my much-too-small body and much-too-picky taste prevented me from finding anything. I spotted a few vinyl records, but alas, I own no turntable. After my unsuccessful search for clothes, I resorted to looking through books, CDs, and home decor but I didn't find much there either. At some point, I spotted these plain brown loafers that were only $3 and I immediately adored them. They're so cute :3

My little sister kept calling them "old-lady shoes" while laughing and my father and mother asked with troubled looks on their faces: "Are you sure you want those?" I suppose they still haven't realized that I'm not much of a typical teenager, but whatever.

These two pictures don't capture the true color of the shoes at all (they are actually the color of the first picture) but they're for a closer look.

Finally after shopping we stopped by a grocery store and bought some fruit. After that, we stopped by Barnes and Noble where my parents bought The Secret  by Rhonda Byrne as a gift for someone. I looked around for No Direction Home, the Bob Dylan documentary by Martin Scorsese, but instead found this book that was on sale for $6.98

I might scan some pictures and upload them at some point if I don't forget or become too lazy. But here's a sneak peek:

and that's my day in a nutshell! I had such a good time with my family and I'm grateful for the things that I bought. 

P.S. I promise to improve my writing skills for future posts. :)

(psst- click on any image to view it larger)