Galleries

Galleries

Painting the way

Even though I enjoy exploring the woods beyond the beaten, dog shit-lined path, I like trail markers.

Maybe it’s simply the sight of a colorful splotch of paint on rough tree bark.

Maybe it’s the secret code aspect of trail sign, bits of twigs arranged in symbols and arrows, miniature rock cairns reassuring you that “this is the way.”

Maybe it’s because I’ve been a hiker my whole life.  I can remember all the way back to when I was three years old, running through the woods, ahead of the rest of my family, following the bright paints.  Because the trail markers showed me where to go, I could run from the hot sun to the relief of tree-shade and be safe, cool, and alone for a moment, until my family showed up.

Trail markers went with shade, rocks to climb on, and a canteen full of sun-warmed water.

0326151205a

It’s weird, but I have a mild fear of becoming lost. Weird, because I’m good with directions, and have only been truly lost a couple times in my life.  If I’m driving somewhere and want to try a different route, I can usually wing it and end up in the right place.  Winging it does not include GPS, which is no fun.  It’s hand-holding, and on the inside, I’m still the kid who ran ahead of her parents.  Trail markers, maps, and compasses reassure me, but I can get by without them unless I’m in a totally new place.

I’ve been writing a children’s chapter book with the working title “Pumpkin Goblins.” The main character is a kid who’s having the worst Halloween ever, and I gave her my fear of getting lost. Only for her, it’s not a mild fear that crops up now and then.  It’s a big enough deal that she wears a compass around her neck at all times.  My own fear may be minor, but it made me curious.  I didn’t know why being lost scared me until I wrote most of “Pumpkin Goblins.”

Becoming lost is a loss of control.  And if you keep a tight enough hold on your map and compass, if you keep your trail markers in sight, maybe you never have to experience it.

0326151209a
Lichen, not a trail marker at all. You’ve been had.

That’s a false hope.

 

gallery Adventures | Full Posts

The camera ate my color

Perception and memory interest me.

I took the first photo at the community garden where my partner has a plot, and it looks much duller than I remembered. This became even more obvious when I sliced off the top to use for my website’s header.

Part of the blame for that falls to my digital camera, which does poorly with low light and action, and is also skittish around children and wolves.

Part of it has to do with my own perception. How can a flat picture on a screen compare to standing on a hill at the onset of a cool spring night, the air rich with plant smells? I’m sure the sum total of impressions from my other senses influenced my memory.

I punched up the color in this picture three times. While the first picture is the one I took, and the third one matches my memory, the second one might be closer to reality. The fourth one isn’t quite hyperreal, but it looks more like an idealized, imagined sunset.

Even though number two is probably most accurate, three is more truthful in a way. It still can’t capture the energy of being alive with cold wind in your face, but the extra vibrancy conveys a bit more of the energy I remember.

They say that cameras don’t lie. But that depends.  Do you count a lie of omission as a lie?

gallery Art & Design | Full Posts

Flower inspiration message

"Optimism is an opiate harvested from cheery delusions" flower picture.

Today I had a wonderful morning, and went into the afternoon with high hopes.  And what do high hopes lead to?  Disappointment.

I was going to post this as a facebook status, but the stark naked words looked kind of dramatic.  Hence, I have turned my grumpy sentiment of the day into a flower inspiration message.  I don’t know what kind of plant that is, even though the photo is one out of a gazillion photos I took at the botanical garden just last month.  The flowers look like upside down trumpets, which makes it inspirational.

gallery Full Posts | Uncategorized

Why summer is almost worth it

I have survived the dangers of Labor Day*, and summer is unofficially over. Today, as planned, I will write about the aspects of summer that make the heat a little bit less like a demonic torment upon your very soul almost worth it. If you recall, I originally had the idea for this single post back in early July, but instead wrote a weekly series about how awful summer is.

Fresh produce

While I have a couple of dedicated vegetable haters in my life, basically everyone else loves fresh produce. There’s practically no similarity at all between off-season, pale pink, water-fruit grocery store tomatoes, and the tangy, earthy ones that come from the garden (or farmer’s market) in August. Wild black raspberries are a constant in Southern New England, bushing out and claiming wide areas in their thorny dominion. Stomping down the thorny, outer parts of raspberry patches to get at the inner berries has been part of every summer, for as long as I can remember. And the scratches are always worth it.

I also love the smell of cut grass. It has a similiar earthy quality to that fresh tomato smell I love so much, and since I’ve had grass tea, I guess I can count it as produce. Even though I generally don’t.

The ice cream truck

It’s been years since I’ve bought anything from the ice cream truck, but just hearing it drive by, knowing I could head it off at the right side street and buy a Ninja Turtle Pop (They had better still make those. Was that a threat?), always makes me feel better about having my sweaty legs chafing on the upholstery.

The 4th of July

I’m not especially patriotic, but in my family, Independence Day is a ten hour extravaganza of grilling, homemade ice cream, and fireworks from all sides of the lake. People parade their motor boats around the lake where my family gathers, and throw water balloons at the onlookers. Water balloons that a deft kayaking can usually find floating on the water later, and throw at unsuspecting siblings.

Thunderstorms

Pre-thunderstorm air, with gray storm clouds and wind whipping in my face, is the one variety of summer weather that makes me feel alive the way I do on a windy, cold day. And rain itself is something I love. I’ve spent many summer days eagerly awaiting rain like the coming of Christmas.

Here ends Humidfest 2014.

 

*At least, I assume this is the case.  I’m writing this post on Labor Day Eve and scheduling it for Wednesday.

gallery Full Posts | Uncategorized