Lil Self Portraits

























I have to remind myself to get a good photo in every now and then. I use to model for photographers around town and have a sweet portfolio of tiny test shots and contact sheets, some negatives... I never really got a copy of a really good portrait out of the whole experience. At the time, it wasn't very important. I saw "me" hanging at salons, spas and exhibits, thought nothing of it, just work. I still don't know what to think of it all, even now, looking back. I am just thankful I have some small record of this time in my life because photography was so expensive before digital cameras and phone cameras. A "selfie" required a self-timer, a mirror, so you'd have an idea of what you were doing, film and a friend with darkroom or money to develop.

What I did enjoy, and the reason I spent almost ten years involved in art modeling, was meeting people and learning from them. I didn't know how to shoot a decent photograph, until I started working around photographers. I learned a lot about myself, how I came across, how I carried myself and what I was communicating. In those photographs I can also see what other people brought out in me. Through photographs, you can learn much about yourself, if you choose too, and you are not afraid of the camera or photographer.

For all the criticisms that the "selfie" has received, I think it is an exquisite tool and it's accessibility is a portal to all sorts of discovery. If you approach it all mindfully. We can't all be Cindy Shermans but we can see all those thoughts and ideas of self manifest and play with identity, study ourselves, experiment, perform, capture, document. Learn. That being said, empty self portraits are churned out every second. It's opportunity lost. Anything can be edifying, an experience, growth.

When I took the photo of myself, pictured here, I bravely sat at a sunny window.  Once I took a few I realized I wasn't wearing any make-up except for a pale lip gloss. I was not feeling my most confident today or my best, needing four hours more of sleep. I saw where my idea of self did not match the image. I saw signs of aging that sobered me up to the fact that it is indeed happening. The result was one I was not happy with but a few hours later, I realized it was me. In a few years I want to look back and see who I was. I won't look like this. Who am I here? A woman who was inspired by an old silk flower to stop running errands for twenty minutes, let some light in, put her hair up, sit down and stare into the camera in the room. The uneasiness in my eyes, because this was not a day for photos but I wanted to see why. If you delete one after another, you're doing it wrong.











Soap

We went to the store because I needed soap. It now had a different name so I expected a different store altogether. I walked in and it was exactly as I had left it. August took to the produce section almost skipping and almost shouting,"It's nice, it's nice!" I turned and spotted the manager.
"Hi', I said, "Nothing has really changed, inside."

I needed soap. She wanted figs. We grabbed a basket and I promised myself, just a few things. Only what I need. Dandelion greens, strawberries, dates, figs, ten huge limes for $1. The soap.

Home again, home again and we had figs. The day went on, dandelion greens at dinner. It's now tomorrow and in my room are five dolls on the floor, all faces I  have known my whole life. My dolls.
August is in her dreamland picking at the day. I picked the rose scented Bee & Flower. I use to buy bars by the dozen. By the double dozen. Rose because it remind's me of my Abuelita. I unwrapped it slowly. Smelled it. I licked it, my dolls made me do it. I placed it in the tub.

I couldn't part with the wrapping. It needs to linger. The gold foil stamp, the paper.

...first created in Shanghai in the 1920's. Immediately that phase of mine with Nin and Duras and Dinesen. Then Simone de Beauvoir. I was nineteen. I looked in the mirror and my hair looked so black. I was about to brush my teeth but found that I was still hungry. There are dates in the kitchen. 

I left my rose scented bathroom. Not really, I left Abuelita's rose scented bathroom with the window that was always open so that while you showered you heard loud street sounds and people talking next door in the dark. The bathroom was the loneliest place. Tall, concrete walls, a high ceiling, to much room. The sound of water hitting tile was heavy. Abuelita was not there. 

The dates in the kitchen? No. Instead, I closed down the house. I noticed that she put the petrified wood exactly where I had it. What a charmer. I sniffed the soap paper as I brushed my teeth. 

August Minutiae





































With every new location August and I re-establish ourselves. Her room gets taken down and is re-assembled, our schedules are re-invented and we add new rituals to our lives.  I am not ashamed to admit that my child occupies all of my heart, most of my brain, my creativity, is my inspiration and tiny companion.  I don't fight this,  I go with it. This is what I waited so long to do. I have always wanted to be a stay at home Mom. I did everything else I ever wanted to do during that wait.





































A few weeks ago I took August to see Peter and the Wolf performed by the ACMC Woodwind Quintet. Once the music began to play, I became emotional. I have always been moved to tears watching any performance. Watching matachina dancers at a parade resulted in a slightly embarrassing moment for me once. I suddenly became overwhelmed and chocked on tears. I would love for August to see matachina dancers. While at Peter and the Wolf, I remained in an emotional through the entire performance because it was shared with August and her Auntie who is also her very own magical Fairy Godmother and mine as well. August instantly recognized the music, got off my lap and wanted to dance. She then hummed along happily with the music, saying, "It's Peter and the Wolf!"


































I have played La Boheme for August since she was a baby because it's my favorite opera and I have listened to it regularly since high school. I didn't expect her to like it or enjoy opera, I was only trying to introduce something new to her that day. When she heard opera on the radio while we were driving around, she exclaimed, quite joyfully, that it was beautiful music. Upon hearing this my heart could not stop dancing. The operas I could share with her just swirled about in my head, La Traviata, Carmen, Tosca,  Pagliacci...We'll see what she likes. Mexican folksongs and The Monkees send her to her room to grab her instruments so that that we can play along. 

































A new ritual for us is to have classical music playing anytime we eat. It's something I enjoyed when we dined at Casa de Luz, a restaurant and health community center in town. There is much I enjoy there and want to bring home. Now that we have a home of our own and the traveling has stopped, for now, we can concentrate on building. I have no plans exactly, I only know that there are things I want for us. There has been no other time in my life when I have wanted to share so much. August's growing awareness has me giddy. I have an endless list of interests and passions that continue to expand and grow because there is this person who is still quite brand new in the world and she wants to know things, I want to know things.

   


































The last time we were living in a city, I was pregnant with August. I took note of all the events, places and resources for children in Baltimore and hoped that when she was ready we'd find ourselves in a city again. I would love my chickens back along with a small flock of goats but for now this is where we ought to be because here we are.

I

I have been reunited with many things I had stored away for three years. As I unpacked I was getting to know the person who packed these things only three years ago. That person is no longer me. Things I thought for sure I had, I never found.  They were left behind, lost, because, at the time, they already were not who I was becoming. I came across some relics carefully wrapped and stored only to unwrap and toss into a box to give away or into the trash. What remains in my new home is all I really need, more than enough of my past. I have three boxes to drop off at a thrift store, I sold books, left quite a bit of  jewelry at a consignment store and still feel the urge to purge. I want to make room for all the new.