Finding my way back
Ach, been horrible about blogging this week. Trying to pack too much in, and it's mostly work-related. My brain is telling me, quite rationally, that I need to incorporate more balance into my life. All work and no play makes Amy cranky, eventually. But right now, my job is making my heart sing. I have so much to do, and I love every. single. bit. I write all day, every day. I consult on how to position issues to both external and internal audiences. I work with a variety of great people in a variety of roles. And I laugh. A lot.
While I'm having so much fun at work, though, the other parts of "me" are laying low. The photographer. The blogger. And perhaps most unfortunately, the person who cleans my house. Okay, so maybe I don't care so much about that last one. The people who live with me do, though.
The only creative shooting I've done in a couple months was the morning I had in Bordeaux. And my heart wasn't even really all that into it. Maybe it was being in a foreign city by myself and feeling intimidated. Maybe it was the pressure of having only two hours so you better make it count. Maybe it was feeling like, as a photographer, it was expected that I would return home with a camera chock-full of phenomenal images since I was lucky enough to go to someplace as cool as Bordeaux, France.
I go through this regularly. I wax and wane. I shoot like mad and then I don't shoot at all. And during the times I don't shoot at all, I worry about getting it back. That it that makes me want to shoot, have to shoot. I mean, I've been a photographer for years. What happens if, suddenly, I'm not anymore? What happens if I'm just a writer?
I realize that this is pretty stupid. Going through a damn existential crisis every time my photography goes fallow. What I'm realizing, though, is that I can't force it to come back. It'll return when it's damn good and ready.
I started to feel the itch this morning. The itch to shoot. Something. Anything. Just hold the camera and feel the weight of it, and the lens, and the ridges of the focus ring. To look through the viewfinder and have my world reduced to a 3:2 aspect ratio where I get to decide exactly what's included and what's not.
It might be another week or so before I pick up the camera again. Or hell, even dump the images from Bordeaux into the Mac and work on them (yes, guilty as charged...they are hanging out, latent, on the card, still in the camera, still in the camera bag, slung onto the floor of the darkroom upon my return). I just need to take a deep breath and be still, knowing that I will return to it some day, and it will be everything I'm missing and more, and that the break, the ability to use a different part of my mind, will indeed have been worth it as I will be able to view the world with fresh eyes, once again.
While I'm having so much fun at work, though, the other parts of "me" are laying low. The photographer. The blogger. And perhaps most unfortunately, the person who cleans my house. Okay, so maybe I don't care so much about that last one. The people who live with me do, though.
The only creative shooting I've done in a couple months was the morning I had in Bordeaux. And my heart wasn't even really all that into it. Maybe it was being in a foreign city by myself and feeling intimidated. Maybe it was the pressure of having only two hours so you better make it count. Maybe it was feeling like, as a photographer, it was expected that I would return home with a camera chock-full of phenomenal images since I was lucky enough to go to someplace as cool as Bordeaux, France.
I go through this regularly. I wax and wane. I shoot like mad and then I don't shoot at all. And during the times I don't shoot at all, I worry about getting it back. That it that makes me want to shoot, have to shoot. I mean, I've been a photographer for years. What happens if, suddenly, I'm not anymore? What happens if I'm just a writer?
I realize that this is pretty stupid. Going through a damn existential crisis every time my photography goes fallow. What I'm realizing, though, is that I can't force it to come back. It'll return when it's damn good and ready.
I started to feel the itch this morning. The itch to shoot. Something. Anything. Just hold the camera and feel the weight of it, and the lens, and the ridges of the focus ring. To look through the viewfinder and have my world reduced to a 3:2 aspect ratio where I get to decide exactly what's included and what's not.
It might be another week or so before I pick up the camera again. Or hell, even dump the images from Bordeaux into the Mac and work on them (yes, guilty as charged...they are hanging out, latent, on the card, still in the camera, still in the camera bag, slung onto the floor of the darkroom upon my return). I just need to take a deep breath and be still, knowing that I will return to it some day, and it will be everything I'm missing and more, and that the break, the ability to use a different part of my mind, will indeed have been worth it as I will be able to view the world with fresh eyes, once again.
Labels: musings, photography
posted by Amy at 8:56 AM
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