Her, with the camera

~ vintage photo, early version of stereo camera designed to take stereoscopic images ~

Do you remember your first?

I do.  It was a box Brownie, bright pink plastic and I thought it was the cat's meow.

That probably was the start of everything.

Later, during college years, I collected a hoard of old relics, stacked them

on a bookcase in my tiny studio and if they were lucky

I even dusted now and then ... similar to this collection below

although not near as tidy.

~ photo collection courtesy of Flickr ~

I've simplified since then and only "collect" online images of these antiquities

 - far less space involved & no cleaning required -
and the subject matter is mostly women  using  cameras.
Don't ask why that started cuz I just don't know.

But here's some favorites ... all females, using the *tool* of the day.

Where am I going with this?  I hope it will become clear in the end.
I'm thinking these pictures may be good food for thought because

these glimpses back in time could spark a few potent thoughts about  now.

In no particular order than just because I like them ...

~ Kodak girl, 1909 ~

~ Photojournalist, Margaret Bourke-White with her camera during WWII assignment,

Time Magazine. Favorite quote: "Work is something you can count on, a trusted,

lifelong friend who never deserts you." ~

~ Myrtle Lind, posed with Graflex camera, 1919, Library of Congress ~

~ American, Berenice Abbot, portrait behind a view-camera, early  1900s.

Specialized in architecture & urban street photography ~

~ Georgia O'Keefe with her new Leica, New Mexico, by Todd Webb ~

~ Jessie Tarbox Beals, pioneer photographer working Worlds Fair, 1904.

"Her trademarks were her self-described 'ability to hustle' and her tenacity in

overcoming gender barriers in her profession." First female night photographer. ~

~ Patti Smith, with one of her Land Poloroids, circa 1960s ~

~ Maiko girls (Apprentice Geisha) with camera, Japan, postcard mid 1920s ~

~ Documentary photographer, Dorothea Lange, working on 'Dust Bowl' series, circa 1936.

Favorite quote: "The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera." 

I've had a framed postcard of this image in my room for over 30 years - such spirit ~

~ Women holding Kodak cameras, Ideal Home Exhibition, 1971, Eastman Kodak 

eyeeee, the hot pants! ~~

~ Elizabeth Taylor with a Rolleiflex, photographer unknown ~

~ vintage photograph, little girl with her camera, circa 1910, from Flickr ~

~ Mary Ellen Mark, self portrait with Marlon Brando, 1979 (set of 'Apocalypse Now').

Known for in-depth documentary projects and portraiture - Time Magazine called her

a "humanist" photographer.  My teacher for one life-altering workshop, 1985. ~

~ Woman holding early Kodak camera, 1895. The camera was sold with

the film already loaded.  The entire camera was returned to the  factory

for film processing. Hulton Archive, Getty Images. ~

~ Diane Arbus, Central Park, 1969.  Noted for photographs of marginalized people.

Photo, Gary Winogrand ~

~ Climbing pioneer, environmentalist, and feminist, Miriam O'Brien Underhill,

Chamonix Aiguilles, France, 1929. To scale this center ridge she held her camera between

 her teeth.  She was the first woman to conquer the Matterhorn, along with other 

challenging peaks. On these treks she climbed only with other women - famously known

as "manless Alpine climbing." ~

~ Queen Elizabeth II and her Leica M3, circa 1958 ~

~ Imogen Cunningham, circa 1970s. Prolific American photographer known for

her botanical photography, nudes, and industrial landscapes.

Proponent of "sharp-focus rendition of simple subjects." ~

~ College girl recording her experiences in yearbook photos, date unknown ~

~ Margaret Bourke-White, top of the Chrysler Building, New York, NY 1935 ~

~ Edwardian woman, c. 1900. Possibly the world's oldest documented "selfie"

taken with a Kodak Brownie box camera ~

Which brings me back to the beginning of this story 

and that pink plastic Brownie camera ....

This morning I read a blog post by one of my favorite  male  photographers,

David du Chemin, called  'The Place of Craft.'  He always seems to arrive at the heart of

the matter, no matter what subject he chooses to speak about.  Now, although his post is

aimed at photographers - the craft of photography - one could replace that word with ANY

other artistic discipline and his thought provoking words could still be applied.

Here's why [aside from the fact that many of them produced incredible work]

I've put up a truckload of images of women using the cameras of their day,

and why the *tool* is not the point at all.

Not yesterday ... and not today.

Excerpt from du Chemin's post:

Make your art with the tool you have. Use a Polaroid or a RED camera. Use film or digital. Use Leica lenses or Lensbabies. Create abstracts and impressionistic studies of shape and colour, or stunning landscapes that are tack-sharp @ 400%, but don't kid yourself - it's not sharpness that makes it great. It never has been. Humanity doesn't need more sharpness. That is not one of the things for which we hunger. We hunger for beauty, and meaning, for stories, and for love - among other things, things that are communicated visually through light and composition - through our use of balance and tension and movement and scale and colour and a hundred other things that you can't buy in the B&H catalog, and won't be found in the manual of your new camera, no matter how much money you spend, no matter how much better your camera is than mine. We get it. Hell, every one of us has right now, at least one camera that's better than what every photographer who created a truly iconic image before the year 2000 ever had. You can make sharper, larger, cleaner images than any of them, together, ever made. And you know who cares?

: : :

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Studying the ways of water ...

A few experiments from my last diving session with paper

[ see previous post ]

These entailed using several varieties of watercolor & printmaker's paper;

frozen and fresh gleanings from the garden & hedgerow;

a steam bath, an onion bath, a mixed willow bath

and another that bordered on sage green;

alum pre-mordanting;

iron dipping & not iron dipping,

wrapping around pipes & layering between tiles.

The language of plants on cloth is certainly related to paper.  But not distantly,

like a 3rd cousin of your brother-in-law ... much closer, like siblings

who just don't live in the same state.

Water seems to me to be their shared vehicle

and I find it utterly fascinating how the exact same leaves can print

one way on cloth and another way altogether on paper.

: : :

"You don't have to be fully formed to get started on your work.  If that were true no one would ever start anything. But we live in a society were everyone wants to be a superstar and often find it difficult to be a beginner.  Think of all the great people and of their amazing journeys to reach the tops of their profession.  They were beginners who took action."

An inspiring quote by Terry Jarrard-Dimond

from her blog post,  Act On Your Ideas

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Tweaking ones perception

The possibilities are endless.

Whenever I begin the editing process, I just fly ...

rarely do I venture through with a preconceived notion of how an image should look

but rather

an aim towards a feeling or some sort of emotional response to the moments

of being there.

This quote by Ansel Adams remains one of my favorites:

You don't make a photograph just with a camera.

You bring to the act of photography

all the pictures you have seen,

the books you have read,

the music you have heard,

the people you have loved.

Here's another fine one, from the great street photographer, Elliott Erwitt:

To me, photography is an art of observation.

It's about finding something interesting in an ordinary place ...

I've found it has little to do with the things you see

and everything to do with the way you see them.

When I stood next to this wall in my friend's garden, I literally had a gut reaction

to the armature of this vine.  I'd only ever seen it during the leafy months

when it's so covered with greenery the exquisite structure is hidden.

I immediately loved how it showed its age, how carefully tended & tied to the wall it was,

how gnarled, twisted, interwoven and even fragile it looked [ but wasn't ] ...

and later, working through the edit, I realized my response was also sparked by

a longing for other gardens I've known, or tended, elsewhere in the world

that I probably won't ever see again.

The bottom photo was the first edit & was yesterday's post on Instagram.  I thought

I was done.  But for some unknown reason I just kept playing ...

With the addition of a 4th app, my perception jumped into another realm entirely

and suddenly two symmetrical versions have added to the story

in quite unexpected ways.  Which, as it turns out, is

precisely in tune and apropos to my feelings about

that vine

on that wall

in that moment.

Memories can be fierce

even if they're buried and one hasn't thought of them in a long time.

: : :

I wasn't going to write a new post until I finalized a fresh blog layout.

HA!  so much for that idea.

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Thievery ... a reflection

Don't worry.  This post is not about what you might think.

But it is about theft.  Of a kind.

It all started when I headed out to the driveway for some pothole repairs.  Minutes before,

while finishing a strong cup of sweet milky tea, I'd been re-reading some inspirational quotes. 

Collected over the years I revisit them periodically - a kind of mental balm.

As I shoveled gravel, loaded buckets into the cart, hauled them down the drive,

one quote in particular

kept going round & round in my head.

Manual labor does this to me.  Always has.  And I suppose if I really examine the subject

I'd have to say that one of the aspects of hard physical work I enjoy the most

is that there's precious little room for mental distraction - it taxes my body 

while something akin to stream-of-consciousness thinking always sets in.

Perhaps it's to do with endorphins, I don't know. 

My 10" X 10" cast iron tamper weighs about 16 pounds and aside from a shovel

- and my own muscle power, such as it is -

it's the only tool necessary for the tedious job of compacting as much gravel as possible

into every size imaginable sodden pothole.

Old-timers would advise me to do this patch job in the dry season

but I've found that after baling a bit of the standing water, those mushy spots are perfect for

accepting a new [repaired] stoney base.

And when they do dry, they're tough as cement.

So I'm out there, working away .... tamping, tamping, tamping,

emptying one gravel bucket, two gravel buckets, leveling, tamping, tamping, tamping,

and my mind wanders off with the quote

and it wanders over to recent thoughts I've had in relation to artist friends who

somehow feel like their creative work isn't good enough; then over to my pal, a fellow dog owner,

whose goal to compete in Agility is being stymied by not feeling good enough; then

to a very sweet gal I know who wouldn't come join in on volunteer wreath-making this season

because she was certain she couldn't make them as pretty as the rest.

Even though she was sorely desirous of camaraderie, she wouldn't come.

My neighbor is embarrassed about her beat up car.

One of my dear ones is so sure she won't measure up she's decided she won't even risk

applying for the job she so desperately wants - no words of encouragement can budge her.

One friend is so jealous of another she's stopped speaking to her altogether,

such is her perception of the other's success & good fortune in life. 

The list went on

and eventually the wondering came around to myself

so I asked self a few tough questions about how I hold my own self back.

Why  DO   so many of us rob ourselves of joy?

Because that's what we're doing when we constantly compare ourselves to others.

I lock my doors when I'm away from home for any amount of time.  I lock my car when I'm

in town and take precautions with online banking.

My doggy is secured in a safe enclosure where harm can't come to her and I

watch my back when I'm in a strange place, walking.

All these are safeguards against theft of one kind or another.

But what of the intangibles ... 

is joy of any less value?

The lowly pothole can be a splendid mirror.

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Passage of time ::: India Flint on Lopez Island : part two

[ click HERE to read part one ]

Breakfast bundles the second morning ... looking as tasty as blueberry, cinnamon,
and maple-covered scones, no?  Worth getting up for
and better than Christmas
in my books.

Purple carrots made for a colorful line.  So much diversity from one humble vegetable.
These heirlooms were a group growing effort by the Lopez gals so the harvest was plentiful ...
the color diversity from the dye baths, out of this world.

They look innocent enough.  Ha.

Brazen floozies.

As we settled into stitching our squares together, I began to experiment

with different types of thread; length of stitch, 2-ply vs. 4-ply, silk

compared to cotton, 1-ply silk like gossamer, oh my ...

When we hung our nine-patches in the loafing shed

- the sheltered overhang area next to the barn -

it was like standing inside a stained glass cathedral.

This may sound a bit dramatic but with the backlighting

the effect was quite close to ethereal.

Our cloths moved with the breeze ~

seams, stitch marks, overlaps,

everything revealed.

Still, we were nowhere near close to done.

India had one more surprise up her sleeve [in her pockets?] ...

Behind us on a table lay this pieced beauty - an example of things to come.

Look closely.

Think scissors.

Think chop, chop, chop.

[enter expletives]

Brave souls,

we marched.

Back in the workroom with tasks at hand, all did not go as planned ...

we sewed upside down, dropped our favorite needles, jostled over the ironing board,

blew the circuit breaker, spilled our coffee, got tipsy on chocolate

and in the end

the whole room seemed to come down with   one giant case of the sillies.

And then,

she

hobbled

in

and we dissolved into uproarious laughter. 

When ones only mode of transportation is a pair of crutches,
improvise  and carry your cloth on your head ...
that's using the ole noodle, S!

My own cloth began to come together & I grew fonder of my mark [there
on the purple silk].  They were laborious to stitch, one mark needed for each
of the nine squares.  I am NOT a fast stitcher, but in the end
I was grateful to have them ["That one's mine!"  "No, it's mine!" etc.].
The thread I used took the dye beautifully
and has a lovely sheen.

Poppy, this picture is for you ~
here's to "rustic running stitches."

Home now.

As I continue with stitching, I remember more teachings & inspiration;
the different ways water quality can effect color -
well water compared to rainwater,  vs. treated from the tap;
how post-mordanting with common scrap metals
like an iron or copper bath [try old pennies]
can enhance marks and deepen - or "sadden" - color;
how poetry, music, long walks in quiet,
and the ability to just go on no matter the odds,
these all bring meaning to art ... to life ... to the cloth.

"We don't stop playing because we grow old;
we grow old because we stop playing."

~ George Bernard Shaw ~

When someone offers a very special gift,
one that might unleash hours of wild abandon,
one that might propel you through abundant fields never before crossed,
or lead to the most exhilarating of discoveries,
right there, on your own patch of earth ...
there's really only one thing to do.

Thank you, India, for sharing your life's work with us.

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