remembering simple things

entwined chocolate

Numbers and spreadsheets and contracts and lists, oh my! My husband's part-time freelance photography work (for which I handle the business side of things) is currently on the upswing - and while it is mostly fun and exciting, it can also be quite time-consuming and a bit tedious.

So tonight, since I can't seem to pull myself away from the computer long enough to actually go and do something relaxing, I 'virtually' refreshed myself by thinking about those lovely days we spent up north last year. The endless cups of chamomile tea by the lazy fire, those melt-in-your-mouth pirouline wafers, that colorful tangle of embroidery thread...

Take time to document -- in words or pictures or both -- the small, simple things of your life. You will return to them, eagerly, again and again.

(Photos by me, taken October 2008)


lost in space
"You Who Are Getting Obliterated In The Dancing Swarm Of Fireflies" by Yayoi Kusama

My best birthday present this year was from my husband, who gave me a membership to our local art museum. A couple weeks ago, we finally found some time to go and explore their new modern art wing (really wonderful + super sleek if you haven't been) with our cameras in hand.

The museum is lucky to have a permanent installation by Yayoi Kusama entitled "You Who Are Getting Obliterated In The Dancing Swarm of Fireflies" (seen above, photo taken by my husband). It's basically a small, dark room with thousands of tiny, hanging LED lights reflecting off of every surface. The lights, which are controlled by a computer, shift color slowly and in different patterns.

Hand-in-hand, we stepped into the room a little unsure of ourselves. The effect was dizzying, exactly what I would imagine stepping into a black hole in outer space would be like. I dramatically whispered into his ear that I couldn't feel the floor beneath my feet and I would probably puke. ("You won't" he said in that voice that I've heard a million times, the voice that feigns sternness in an attempt to disguise amusement. I love that voice.)

It took a few minutes for our pupils to adjust.

Soon after, I felt like I'd passed into another world.

Loose. Sinking. Peaceful. Swirling.
Excited. Drifting. Uncontrolled.
Endless. Floating.

I have been thinking about those feelings ever since the museum, because they are how I feel most days. Going from the workforce to full-time motherhood is a similarly disorienting transportation. There is so much I want to do, but instead I find myself standing still.

I am searching for a structure. A way to make order as the new lights of my life beckon with unfamiliar beauty.