Definition

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notion

Syllabification: no·tion
Pronunciation: /ˈnōSHən /
NOUN
1A conception of or belief about something:

SYNONYMS
2An impulse or desire, especially one of a whimsical kind:

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I tend to hold tight to certain beliefs, but take care not to adopt too many.
I do this because I enjoy staying open to the possibility that perhaps there is something, somewhere that I have overlooked. Some fact that I have yet to learn that will change the course of my actions in future scenarios.

It’s not that I like being wrong of course, that would be absurd.

But, … there is comfort for me in that blindside;

a chance for brighter sparks.

Usually, I like to start the blog by sharing something positive with you.
I’ll say, “I love horse feathers.” (The expression, not the band) or ” I love the old churches that spot the territory of Mexico.” And then a reason follows…
“The colors of my heart, or that expression always makes me laugh.”  And it is my purest hope that at least one of my readers will feel the same way, or will have a loved one that also loves horse feathers, and some kind of warmth is spread over these imaginary lines.
(And I swear that where ever I am, at that moment, I can feel it too.)

That is one of my favorite beliefs…
That sharing parts of yourself openly will help others feel brave enough to open up too. Because connection is paramount. And then comes love.

And you know that I believe in love.

The less poetic reality of this bottom line however, is that everything changes.
And whether the particular instance that you now find yourself is negative or positive is really inconsequential…
with a little time, whatever the landscape in front of you looks like, that weather will change, and how you look at it matters too.

But, what happens when you feel overwhelmed suddenly by all that responsibility? After months, or years of feeling a kind of delightful certainty in what remains un-certain, what if the space of unknowingness feels entirely… uncomfortable?

Well, it means that your blog can not begin with something so trite as horse feathers,
and that life simply would not be balanced without light’s opposite.

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tenebrosity
Line breaks: tene|bros¦ity
Pronunciation: /tɛnəˈbrɒsɪti /
NOUN

[MASS NOUN]
• literary
The quality of being dark or shadowy.
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In late November I mentioned to two of my closest friends, (also writers) that I was suffering from what I called “a loss of my creative ambition.”
To those of you that do not work in the arts, I realize that this sounds like a made up thing.
Like cooties, or Dragon Pox.

I’ve experienced this type of turmoil before, so without any real solutions in mind the conversations usually trailed off like the sound of a motorist dissolving down the highway, leaving my own squat to remain low beside the road; (much like my spirit)
a tired thumb out to the side of me.

But this time it felt like something worse, something that I couldn’t exactly understand myself, and so I gave it time.
(After all, that’s what they always tell you to do with a problem that you don’t know how to solve, let alone identify.)

But still, I kept trying… letting the work speak for me in languages that I could not seem to decipher. And despite the strange and desperate hunger that I felt, a need to explain with words that I could not find, my only contentment existed through the lens, and in the positive responses from clients and colleagues.

So naturally, when weeks later Drew turned to me and said,…

“Give it time…it will pass when you feel really inspired.”
My expression spoke louder than I could. It screamed.
His eyes stayed locked on me, so it was impossible to hide the look on my face, something deeper than worry.

Something with a heartbeat, and feet that left boot prints.

“What if it doesn’t?”
And because I am sometimes a little dramatic, all he did was smile this warm, fantastic smile, and kiss me softly on the temple. And usually, that would have done it.
Restored my faith in the system, the universe,
whatever well you drop your coin into.

But it didn’t.

And I didn’t have the strength to tell him that frankly, Inspiration was hardly the problem.

And this is the time that I would tell most of you not to worry. To keep your faith, and that some magical thing will happen to you to restore whatever it is, whatever is missing. To stay positive, and take walks, and write love letters, and to kiss your children.

And I do believe that. ..

But in this case, none of that worked.
Denver Art museum, night photography, Darkness, Colorado, Regan L Rouse

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when, in preparation for our big move, we took everything off of the walls. And the words & the feelings, (vague & in no way categorical) started to link together, and It didn’t feel temporary.

No more borrowed feelings. … …

The stark white of the wall that Drew had just painted covered the mint green that peeked out from underneath the yellow before it that in some way captured within its molecular makeup the misconceptions and expectations of my future, stuck in limbo between the new and the aged choices that I would make.
I thought out loud as Drew let the paintbrush dip for the last time into the bucket.
“…There it is…” my words captured inside the breath that I had just taken.

And luckily, because I married my best friend, he didn’t even have to ask.
Instead he wrapped his arms around me, and there I would remain.

I like to think that the emptiness of those walls suddenly felt promising. I like to think of my Aunt Rachella saying years ago that our eyes need a place to rest in a room, and to leave open spaces while considering the decor of a particular place.
“It lets the viewer appreciate each piece without becoming overwhelmed.”

Whatever it was, very suddenly, that ‘space’ opened up for me. And for the first time in months the rush of emotions was,… gentler.
It was the following week that we moved. And whether anything had really changed, or not, everything simply looked different to me.

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accessible

Syllabification: ac·ces·si·ble
Pronunciation: /akˈsesəbəl /
ADJECTIVE

1(Of a place) able to be reached or entered:
SYNONYMS
1.2 Easily understood:
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Regardless of how many times I have learned this lesson, I never have allowed its truth to comfort me. Not like I do now.

I believe that change allows us to access new parts of ourselves, or at least shows us that option. For so many of us, change is the uncertainty; something outside of ourselves, something dark and shadowy with no identifying features.

But with time & perspective, even that is likely to change.

Just like ourselves…
Ever growing.

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As always, thank you for visiting Seraphim Fire Photography.
Please visit our website for more information on booking and/or visiting our studio.

http://www.seraphimfire.com

Love,

Have you ever woken up from a long night of sleep and really taken notice of your waking style?

For me, waking up is, some days, an act of feverish irreverence. I feel like my four year old self, frustrated with the weight of my arms and legs. (I remember my father’s response to this plight; “Get up and shake it off. You will feel right as rain once you move around a little.” He was right, and every time I wake up feeling this way, I hear his words again, bouncing around the walls of my memory.) There are also those mornings when I breath in deeply right as the light starts to creep into my room, and the morning shows promise by doing nothing but letting that light land against me.

Two and a half years ago I walked into a design class at 7:30AM on one of the former of mentioned mornings. It was my first class of my second degree, the first in three years of living in New York, and now I was back in Colorado; somewhat of a stranger to my old hometown.
In the front row sat a lovely looking woman with a pair of bright blazing blue eyes, and the same look on her face that I exhibited. It was a look of excitement and skepticism; the exceptionally large cup of coffee next to her told me that we would be kindred. Michelle Knudsen, a young and athletic dancer and photographer, would grace nearly every day of the following 730 days. Our schedules mirrored one another, and most of our colleagues came to know us more as sisters. Flash forward to early March, when Michelle casually asks me, in the most charming way, to write something special for her wedding next month. This was not the only request, but she also expressed a desire that I present these musings during the ceremony.
(In that moment I am not sure that she realized how my pride had swelled.)

Now it is no secret to those of you that know me, that I am a romantic. I am silly with the stuff in fact, and cannot seem to pry myself away from the sweetest of ideals. So this task seemed perfectly appropriate, and although I knew it would be a challenge, I accepted immediately. I did however show pause over my ability to read it aloud on the big day. As social as I am, I have a death defying fear of public speaking. This fear claims 75% of the population, but add my emotional nature and tendency to cry at weddings, and well… I had to take time to consider what I would be delivering up there. The weeks that followed have been a personal journey into not only capturing the love of two dear friends, but also an attempt in defining love entirely. Or perhaps, more simply, what I love so much about it.

I began by thinking of what made Michelle and Rob so unique, and in my eyes, so true. I thought back to that first day; the privilege of gaining this new friend. It was a few months before I met Rob, and I remember thinking that Michelle radiated a particular light. ( One that most photographers go in search of their whole lives.) When I finally laid eyes on her other half, and then their wonderful ‘dance’, it was like adding water. He seemed to pull the light out of her, and improve its shine. It was a remarkable thing to see. In fact, it was something I will never forget. (As a child I would have described it like a kaleidoscope. One side shows you the blurry but slow falling of colored beads and the creation of constant new design. If you flip it over and look through the other side it is a whole new experience, but with the same use of color and form. The same kind of beauty, but independent of its second side.

Not unaware, simply unencumbered.)

After these revelations, I got stuck. Each time I would sit down to write about my love of love, I would short circuit. For centuries writers have tried to successfully take an emotion and explain it with words. Painters have tried to capture it with color, and musicians have exhausted their efforts in connecting notes that reflect the simple expression of feeling. I would become overwhelmed with my task and walk away from my computer, sometimes cursing heatedly under my breath. Not at myself, but at all those artists, for setting such a reckless example…. (Heh heh eh)
I finally realized that I would have to take all of that anxiety and turn it into something manageable. I began to picture it like a kitchen sink piled with dishes. I could take each dish one at a time, and rinse away the mess. And with that thought, I started clean. What I uncovered was all the obvious things that we already know, but enjoy revealing.

That each of us is a truly unique being; in the eyes of the ones that love us best. That we get to create our relationships right out of our wildest dreams. That the ‘rules of the game’ have never been defined because, well, they are different for every team.

I began looking back on my photography and even there I saw the evidence of my always evolving theories. An on going series called ‘What love must be like’ popped up in my archives each month, and I felt again like a child, seeing myself grow.

I realized that it isn’t a ‘definition’, as in the boundary of a meaning, but the shaping and directing of a substance. Even one that is theoretical. That light hitting the water.

In 19 days I will hop a plane to the Riviera Maya, and surrounded by rich yellows and seductive reds, I will delight in the sharing of these revalations, and regale in the coming together of two amazing elements.

Congratulation Michelle and Robert Dillon…. I am in awe of your light.

“The tide is pulled and kept constant by the gravitational pull of the moon. These two things rely on one another to continue on, unabashed. You are what pushes and pulls me against all the otherworldly concepts. When you are there to ground me, my world can keep on spinning. “

Seraphim Fire photography

DOCUMENT LIFE|LOVE|GROWTH

It’s got to have he(art).

The light hitting the water….