Sunday, October 27, 2013

It's there somewhere. Your selfhood. Somewhere down deep in the belly or tucked behind a lung, bouncing around between your ribs. It's like, I mean, to use a Harry Potter reference here, it's like a golden snitch: your fingers slip around it and the wings stop fluttering, and from then on it remembers your touch. 

The hard part is catching it. Sometimes it seems that it disappears for hours, or days, or even weeks. Just ceases to exist. 

There was a time when I felt my selfhood was a hard fact I carried around in my pocket. I felt it with such certainty. But somewhere it seems to have deserted me. There are small moments when I feel it: when I'm walking down the street in the fall air, or when I'm reading in bed at night, or the moment I lift my heavy 35mm Pentax to my eye. These are just wisps. But more often than not, I'm just here waiting patiently for it to return. 

Taking this photograph helped, a little. It's not a full on portrait like I talked about last time. But it's more than a shadow or a reflection. There's a real person in there, a real self. I just have to find her. 


  1. I think this is one of the many perils of being an artist. As an artist we are constantly critiqued, studied and questioned which forces us to know ourselves in an almost frantic matter. But then the dreaded reality of adulthood steps in (especially after leaving the community of an art college) and we slowly lose pieces of ourselves. I find it's a balancing act to remember ourselves and we must purposely look for those crisp fall days to keep ourselves intact. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel the struggle too, and you are not alone.

    1. Well sometimes that's the best thing.


Hello! I love & appreciate getting comments. I often reply directly, so click the "notify me" box or check back if you want to.