this stalk is sowing its wild oats. it is not a randy young man spreading his seed as far and wide as possible. it is not a heedless late teenager making a series of bad decisions. it is, in fact, a wild oat plant. and it is sowing. not unlike the young boy who sits on an ant nest and has living ants in his literal pants. or the lumberjack with a dull blade, who has, quite unmetaphorically, an axe to grind. i could go on.
my husband didn’t like this composition. he said it lacked intention. i said i intended it to look like the debris left behind after high tide. in other words, i intended it to look unintentional. he looked again, and gave the same verdict. i think he was intentionally misunderstanding. in the morning, when he asks if i might make him a cup of tea, i intend to go a little deaf.
mediterranean beach collections
it’s going to take some experimenting to figure out how best to photograph dark subjects on a black background. these first attempts feel a little clumsy to me, like finding my way through a dark house in the middle of the night. i know how to do this. i know where everything is. but i still take tentative steps, and reach out gropingly, in hopes of touching something familiar.
dried eucalyptus twig
my sister-in-law is an occasional floral designer for weddings. she house-sat for us while we were in france, and i found these remnants of someone’s fall wedding on my deck when we got home. i’m guessing it was designed as a centerpiece full of a lot more color than it has now. i rearranged it a bit, and now i think it looks like something a pagan goddess would wear. who knows? maybe the bride was a pagan goddess herself. or maybe she was not an actual goddess but fierce and loyal and independent and strong. i wonder if the groom knew how lucky he was. i’m going to believe that he did. and that they danced a little wildly at the reception. and afterwards.
this egg collection no longer exists. i had collected these eggs over the past five years of doing STILL. i had the eggs displayed in acrylic boxes on the sideboard of my living/dining room. when i returned from france, the boxes had been set in the garage, and contained only remnants and crumbs of broken eggs. i suspect one or both of the two cats that belonged to our house sitters got into them. i am sad the eggs are gone. they are not easily replaceable. but i am not mad. because the same thing happened to us in france. we took in a lost village cat for a week. the owner had placed a notice on the window of the village greengrocer, and when we texted her, she said that yes, indeed, we had found her lost cat but that she was in england for the holidays, and could we hold onto “kisses” until she got back. kisses, it turns out, had been on the streets for three weeks. so she took two days to eat and sleep on a blanket on the couch. by the third day, she had fully recovered and proceeded, methodically and thoroughly, to wreak holy havoc on our home. including eating the entire collection of found languedoc eggs i had placed on top of my dresser. all the world over, cats will be cats. and eggs are not meant to last.
egg collection: goose, duck, pheasant, chicken, quail, robin
st. paul, minnesota