I am using my blog to engage in a practice of writing that’s not in a vacuum. Even if it goes unread or disliked it I’ve obliged myself to write. It’s easy for me to post a fresh picture, but difficult to put a series of pictures together and write about them or my process. It’s yet another embarrassing thing to work on. I realize that avoiding structure enables me to avoid to feeling uncomfortable in the short-term, but then I’m not as consciously and actively involved in my process of growth. My commitment to writing is increasing. Revisiting projects, subjects, spaces, people etc. is something like a practice and eventually becomes a happy obligation. Recently, I have photographed this corner in my living room until I’ve grown sick of it. Nayland says to keep photographing it. A new space is made when you’ve grown weary of your subject. The corner of my living room has slowly revealed itself the more I photograph it. I rarely spend time actually nestled in that crease of our apartment and today I was thinking about what’s significant about it. My boyfriend’s amp lives there, along with a crappy lamp donning an oblique shade, some cat toys, an old candle. Not traditionally romantic, but none-the-less lovely…. the light coming through the window is lovely day or night and it’s where André always practices his guitar and bass or sometimes just sits and stares out the window. It is more his corner, and the cats maybe too. I have developed a more recondite relationship with the contemplative corner. It’s pleasant to experience a more subtle discourse with a space and I wonder what I later might discover about myself.
When I am über enthusiastic about something I have taken pictures of I go back to it compulsively, never tiring of the enchantment that a space holds for me. There’s a train yard in Southeast San Diego I would visit repeatedly, several years ago. In that train yard there was this old caboose that I first discovered sitting near the opening of the yard. When I went back to find it a week later, it was gone, but only about a half a mile down the track. It sat alone at the end of the train yard and I fell in love with it with it in a way, if one can really fall in love with an old object. I’m not quite sure what that means, but at any rate, later I realized that I completely identified with it. It was like I self-portrait in some ways. I am a little younger than the caboose, but still carry the weariness in my heart that the caboose seemed to embody. There was a desk inside of a corner of the caboose that in its photographic form seemed to symbolize the darkness of past experience and murky, sad thoughts. Of course I enjoy looking at my life in this poetic way. I photographed the train yard often and think of it often…I wonder if it’s still there. I’m going back to San Diego to visit my family and some friends later this month. André’s coming with me and hopefully I can take him to meet the caboose.