photo: Walking down the middle of the street. Because I can. Yay!
History teaches us [repeatedly] that if you don’t like what you see, it’s up to you to change it. Yes, you. Little ole you sitting on the couch, wistfully remembering living in NYC and how pedestrian-friendly and vibrant it is [when you’re not dodging weaving cars]. This wistful longing for what once was — or for what’s never existed — has long served as the impetus for literature, films, art movements, bloody and peaceful revolutions, cuisines, fashion.
Some people are compelled to go out and create the very things they want to see in the world.
A far greater number aren’t.
We didn’t have to go out and invent jumpskiprunplayhulahoop in the middle of the street. The adventurous and ambitious folks of Atlanta Streets Alive! already arranged for that.
All we have to do is show up.
I yearn to see more and more people every time I attend Atlanta Streets Alive!, until it becomes an irrepressible, undeniable, beautiful reality for our citizens.
You want to live in a city with green spaces, clean air, and where people, you know, do stuff? Partake of the green spaces, clean air [by riding public transit, biking, walking, or pogo-sticking], and, you know, do stuff.
With our continued interest and support, this unparalleled level of awesomery could eventually become a weekly occurrence.
So, let’s do it.
Can’t wait to see your shining, paradigm-shifting faces at the next one.
That’s the whole philosophy behind this tumblr, my photography, my pancakes, my sock choices, my waking and dreaming life. I don’t really need reminders of this simple truthy nugget, but life sees fit to deliver them, anyway.
I don’t resist or shun these cosmic memos — whatever their form — since floating in the waves is significantly easier than trashing against the current.
I am not up for delving into the details of A Summer Gone Awry, explaining away my absence from this site, my career, and really, my life, except to say:
Celebrating everyday is what carried us through our dark, frightening, cheek to cheek dance with mortality.
New traditions were born out of it. Saturday morning cartoons have more prominence than their magnificent run during the summer of 1987. Soft sheets and exactly perfect pillows are more valuable than jewels strewn on the ocean floor. Hand holding emerges a far more intimate practice than 63% of the Kama Sutra.
The moment we were granted a reprieve from constant worry and sad panda faces, you better believe we took to literal and figurative high five-ing, hollering, and jumping.
Even if it’s all snatched away from us again tomorrow:
Gone for the summer. Gone photographing. Gone baby delivering.
I’m working from an itsy bitsy netbook, that while mindblowingly adorable, requires squinting* as a requisite to view the screen. I might as well be updating from my phone. You know, if it had that kind of capability.
My typos reach egregious levels every 8 words.
Not only will I be without my longstanding, longloved laptop, but I’ll be embarking on a four to six week whirlwind multi-city tour of Too Busy To Blog, But I Love You®.
I’ll be gone the rest of the summer.
I hope to pop in a couple of times while I’m away to reassure you that rumors of my running away with the Czechoslovakian Knife Throwing Circus are wildly overstated [but I will definitely scratch and claw my way to the Internet to announce the dates and locations for The More, The Merrier.]
I have some shoots lined up I’m really excited about and look forward to meeting new people, happy clients, and smiling faces. I am still accepting a limited number of bookings in the New England area for the month of August. Squeeze yourself into my calendar!
What I’m most thrilled about is attending and documenting the birth of my niece. I am entirely obsessed with meeting her and getting her foot’s autograph. The latest ultrasound indicates she has a mohawk mirroring mine. Gaaaaaaah.
Filled with equal amounts of unbridled joy and acute anxiety, I attempt to alleviate my fears about delivery and labor through video watching [bad move], book reading [I’m going to forget it all] and reminding myself of the billions of women who’ve come before us and not exploded.
I really can’t wait and am up for for whatever is flung my way. Hopefully it’s not the actual baby or placenta.
I am bursting with delirious, joyous anticipation.
A very happy, memorable, and celebration-studded summer to you all.
This past Saturday we took part in the a citywide arts project organized by the wonderful folks at WonderRoot. We were tasked with making piñatas for a guerilla art installation throughout the city of Atlanta. Instead of candy, the piñatas will unleash art surprises.
The homemade piñatas go up at secret locations this week, along with a bat to bash them open.
We were all too satisfied with our mint chocolate chip cone piñata. I’m seriously in love with it. I’ll be driving around Atlanta later this week in the hopes of seeing it brightening a street corner before its artful guts litter the ground.
Those in my day to day life are well aware of the awesome change I recently underwent. I didn’t think to reference any of it here because it’s sort of personal in nature as well as completely unrelated to my photography.
But then I found a loophole in my logic:
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a. It’s relevant to everyday celebrations, the philosophy.
b. It’s relevant to potential clients being confused about who the heck just showed up at their door.
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It’s summer and it’s hot. Not only is it summer and hot, but I tired of my long locks some time ago. All that hair was usually tied in a messy bun, hidden under a hat, or the source of frustration in my Get Ready and Go Out the Door in 5 Minutes methodology.
Last week, I finally got around to addressing the heat-producing, frustration-brewing mane with a scissor-wielding accomplice and got myself a little trim.
I donated 17” of hair to Locks of Love, a wonderful nonprofit organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children suffering from any diagnosis that results in permanent hair loss.
The organization strives to bring a little bit of normalcy into the lives of kids who get teased and embarrassed by their loss of hair.
I’m pretty thrilled with the resulting cut and the instant air conditioning. I enjoy not considering my hair for longer than a minute a day, so I can dedicate my attention and time to things that matter, like perfecting my bubble solution, and, of course, taking your picture.
The Lemonade & Lollipops baby shower that’s occupied every inch of my craft table and recent life was a smashing success.
Despite tent calamities, the terrifying doppler radar, the Case of the Missing Cupcakes, and greeting guests barefoot because there’s absolutely no time to put on shoes, we created sunshine, a storm of blessings, and female camaraderie under a bright canopy.
Oh, and as far as undertaking simultaneous event planning, decorating, supervising, hosting, and photographing? I don’t recommend it.
I only very recently found out about the Atlanta Streets Alive event happening this upcoming Sunday, May 23rd. However, as soon as I did find out, I made it a point to figure out how I could participate and support this vibrant endeavor other than just riding my bicycle and blowing bubbles (endlessly worthwhile pursuits, of course).
I will be doing those things all while officially documenting the entire experience for all of human posterity and whatnot.
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Inspired by the Ciclovía tradition in Colombia, a group of awesome grassroots people have gathered to make our fair city’s public spaces accessible to all by foot, bike, roller skates, segway, and pogo stick.
This is a valiant effort in the battle to make Atlanta a more pedestrian-friendly, vibrant city. There will be a bike route — blocked off from traffic — for all to gather and play, bike, people watch, and participate in the free group activities like hula hooping, yoga, and tango, among others.
Join your community in getting fit and active while encouraging healthy, car-free living.
I hadn’t visited in a couple of years, but I had a place in mind for our shoot. As we approached the fields, the rows of ranunculous appeared a little drab and lackluster. I grew concerned we’d only encounter a carpet of muddy petals and half-clinging blooms.
Fortunately, closer inspection revealed that despite the late season, the majority of flowers persisted. There were some destroyed, trampled pockets due to rogue children, but the security guard who caught us crossing the yellow Do Not Cross / Flower Murder Scene tape seemed eager to accommodate our sneaky, big-bellied photo ambitions.
Three cheers for the Federation of Awesome Photo Conspirators!
Sometimes the photographer jumps in on the action, too. Belly rubbing optional, at no additional cost.
I like to make use of small windows — small windows over the kitchen sink, small windows of time. The former provides a resplendent display case for garden tomatoes and rings that grow slippery with soapy water.
The latter feels like a stolen [and therefore, more delicious] moment.
Natalie and I stole and freely borrowed those precious moments, before the sun rises too high and burns too brightly, for an impromptu maternity shoot.
Our window? 25 minutes. We made use of a simple porch, the rich tones of a wooden shed, and the wonderful roundness of her belly.
I took a little less than a bazillion pictures.
I may be just slightly biased because she’s my sister, but Natalie makes watermelon-smuggling and baby-carrying look luminous and gorgeous.
I can’t wait to meet my niece. Our entire family is pregnant with anticipation. Almost as pregnant as Natalie.
* Part 1 of a 2 Part series. The 2nd part would be the planned, less stolen moment shoot.
I’ve been working on all sorts of mundane and magical things. This level of busy-ness is energizing rather than enervating.
Here’s a first look of today’s maternity shoot with Natalie. I see some really big living room prints in her future.
I’m working on processing the photos in the next couple of days and will have them up real soon. My empty suitcases and image files are vying for my attention with equal vigor and intensity — but we know who always wins out.
In a mere 48 hours, Nikki will be married to her long time beau. She’s a whirlwind of creative, crafty energy — suspiciously supplied by some orange organic drink she swears by.
Her handmade, personal approach to her nuptials will undoubtedly create a heartfelt event for all to remember, but it’s also created finger blisters, endless errand-running, and very little time for sun-kissed laziness.
We took a time out on an blindingly sunny afternoon, fixing to get grass stains on our clothes, testing our monkey bar prowess, and talking of things that don’t require RSVPs and down payments.
Many bright, happy, rain-free and love-filled wishes for Nikki and Ryan this weekend. Oh, and for all the other days, too.
When I decided to make the switch from photojournalism to baby photography two years ago, Sophia was among my first subjects. She was an absolute blast to shoot, with her vast range of expression and delightfully pillowy limbs.
I have gotten remarkably better about my urge to bite fat baby legs.
Sophia and I will be reuniting for a toddler shoot this summer. I’m looking forward to seeing her again in all her Terrible Two glory and providing her parents with timeless bragging rights.
An ominous rainstorm rumbled above our first shoot, so we cancelled it. A week of clear skies and sunshine followed, yet Sunday arrived once more in its dramatic, wet sock glory: a high chance of sogginess, fogged lenses, and frizzy hair.
We decided to go with it.
Except for the occasional bloated rain drop splattering against my camera, we weren’t aware of the dark clouds, the increasingly rapid rain drops, and the inquisitive looks from joggers.
You’re at your best when you don’t have use for an umbrella.