Shutter Sisters

a metaphor for self

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I have a special affection for film. I love the loading of film into a camera. The careful process of threading 35mm film onto the spokes, the advancing of the pick-up reel. I love when I put a pack of film in my Polaroid camera and close the film door, that it immediately comes to life, clicking and whirring and shooting out the dark slide. Film feels so timeless, so classic to me. There’s simply a magical quality about shooting with film. Because you have a limited number of frames when using film, each click of the shutter is special. And that makes you slow down. Film helps you be thoughtful and selective in what, when, and how you shoot. There is a deliberate-ness that comes with shooting film. For me, I feel a wholly different experience when I am shooting with film compared to when I shoot digitally. When I’m out with my Polaroid cameras or my Canon AE-1, I find the time to be contemplative. Meditative

Along with that meditative process, shooting with film feels like allowing for the imperfect. It’s like saying “yes” to the flaws, to the not-so-spot on composition, to the under- or over-exposure. When I’m shooting with film, I’m not shooting 20 photographs of the same vintage car to get the shot “just so.” I’m taking my time, looking through my viewfinder composing and re-composing. And then when I feel ready, I click the shutter, usually just once. And I hope for the best. Sometimes the photograph is just what I had in my mind’s eye, and sometimes, many times, it’s not. And that’s all right with me. Shooting with film takes practice. And that practice means accepting that imperfections are part of the process. Seeing that those imperfections are okay, that they are what make that very image unique and special. That those imperfections are actually quite perfect just as they are – just like us.  

We are works in progress, too. We are the perfect imperfections of being human. Each of us flawed. Maybe a bit off-center. Sometimes over-exposed, like when we feel the harsh spotlight on us. Or maybe we’re more under-exposed, like when we don’t feel seen. As with shooting film, in becoming who we are, we need practice. Practice at being comfortable in our own skin. Practice at speaking up and voicing our needs. Practice at finding our place in the circle. Practice at being who we really are.

Shooting with film is helping me become a better photographer. It’s helping me focus on practice, my one little word for 2012. But more than that, shooting with film is helping me become the truest version of myself.  

Do you shoot with film? What does shooting with film feel like for you? Has it taught you any lessons? Please share a photo you shot with film with us today.

Image and words courtesy of guest shutter sister Meghan Davidson, contributor to Film26.

A prescription for film

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It’s a typical afternoon. As I’m heading to the park with my daughter I decide to grab the camera to see if I can catch a few shots of her playing in the sunshine. A couple of hours later I have about 200 photos. This often happens to me. I have a problem. I’m shutter happy.

It started years ago when I began using a digital camera. I couldn’t, and for the most part still can’t, stop clicking. At first, in part, I just liked hearing the sound of the click. Truly. I was also in love with the instant feedback on my LCD screen and the quality of the image. It was just an entry level DSLR with a kit lens, but each photo looked amazing to me at the time, especially since most of my previous photo taking was with disposable film cameras. I was somewhat indiscriminate about what I was shooting. I would point that camera at just about anything and click and delight in the magic that produced an image right there in my hands to look at.

The freedom of taking photos without the expense of purchasing and developing film kept me clicking away, taking hundreds of photos at a time. In some ways this was a great gift, because I could accrue a lot of experience quickly and was free to experiment. On the other hand, I had very little discipline when taking photos. My constant clicking prevented me from thinking through my shots and carefully composing them. I also had the mentality that maybe if I kept pressing the shutter, I would achieve some incredible images through sheer luck or odds.

This was my M.O. for quite some time until one day, my camera malfunctioned. It had to be sent away to be fixed and I was left with a photography addiction and no digital camera. Fortunately I was able to dust off my dad’s old film camera, a fully manual Pentax K1000, that he used to take so many of our family snapshots over the years.

It was such a strange, yet invigorating experience to work with film and a fully manual camera. I went from a trigger happy photographer to a slow and methodical one. Each click meant something. Each was valuable and important.

First, I considered what my subject would be, what was inspiring me and where the lighting was just right. Then I took my time looking through the viewfinder, double checking the composition, methodically adjusting the speed and aperture to get the needle where I wanted it in the light meter, and carefully focusing and refocusing. Then, I would hold my breath and with great anticipation and a bit of anxiety, snap! It was so strange without the LCD screen, however when I pressed the shutter I felt like I had a pretty good idea whether the photo worked or not. It was as if my mind took a photo at the same time. If I really loved the image that I was aspiring for, I went ahead and took two or three shots, sometimes bracketing the exposure, especially when using back lighting where I would overexpose slightly. And when I took photos of my two year old daughter, I simply had to accept that I might have to use several frames to get the end result I wanted without the help of auto focus. I took my time working through the roll, not wanting to waste it.

Once I took that last frame and tentatively wound the film and popped it out of the camera, I took it to my local camera shop for processing. This was the best part. The anticipation of waiting for that first roll of film to come back was just about as exciting as waking up on Christmas morning as a kid. I’m happy to tell you that the results exceeded my expectations. Out of that first roll of 36, I had 19 good photos, 10 of which I thought were really quite good. And I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that I didn’t have hundreds of photos to sort through and I had absolutely NO editing to do. All of the work occurred up front and now I could just enjoy the finished product. The prints were beautiful. There’s just something so gorgeous about the quality of film prints that I could never replicate in Photoshop.

I currently shoot most often with my digital camera, and even though I have tried to apply a more deliberate approach, I still get carried away with my clicks. I have also continued to shoot film with my Pentax at a much slower rate, and every time I complete a roll I practically skip down to the camera shop to get it developed, feeling like it’s Christmas Eve again. I’m still savoring the results. I think that film brings out the best in me.

For those of you who haven’t picked up a film camera in a while, or those youngsters who perhaps never have, I encourage you to give it a try. It can be intimidating, but it is essentially the same and you will relish the accomplishment when you get an especially sweet shot. And there’s something so satisfying and tangible about creating an image on film. If you’re not sure what to do with your film, I recommend looking for a local camera shop that does processing. You can order prints and/or a CD with your images scanned. Sometimes I just get the negatives with the CD and it costs about $12. Then I take the negatives back in and get prints of only the shots I love. For your first roll, I say get the prints right away to celebrate your accomplishment and see the beauty of that gorgeous film. If you have questions about delving into film, leave them here so myself or others can help.

For those of you who shoot film as well as digital, I’d love to hear about your experiences. How do you approach film differently? Is there a particular type of camera or film that you prefer? What do you love about it? Please share a favorite film image here.

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Today’s image and words by guest shutter sister Tracy Collins.

weekending by rakusribut

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Rakusribut shoots images like this with her Olympus PEN P3/ iPhone/ Canon eos 450D and spends her weekends alternately outdoors, catching up with friends and family, and indoors with her sweetheart and their 4 dogs and 2 cats, the blinds drawn shut as a request to outsiders not to disturb.

 

 Rakusribut can be found online at any of her three blogs: Exploring with my Camera, iPhoneography Unplugged, or Hipstamoments.

 

What does your weekending look like this weekend? Do share!

magic sand dollar

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Do you have anything that holds magic?

I use the term loosely when I say “magic”. I mean something that inspires you, something that makes you feel better or something that you treasure. The magical items in our lives often come as gifts from someone or are items that we have found. They are things that have been kept for a long time, by ourselves or by others. They are often old, but not always. They can be jewelry, fabric, art or handwritten letters.

Recently, when digging through my boxes of stuff, I came across this sand dollar. I remembered that it had been given to me by a traveling stranger that I met one night at a coffee shop that I frequented while I was in college. I couldn’t remember very much else, so I dug through my drawer of journals until I found an entry from January 1996 in which I had written down the details of the encounter.

The traveling stranger was named Julian and he had picked up the sand dollar on a beach in San Quintin, Baja. He told me that my power was to see the truth and he told me a Lakota story of the Four Directions; the West is black and represents voice, the East is red and represents land, the South is yellow and represents the mind and body and the North is white and represents togetherness.

Now, the younger, naive version of me was enthralled by this story and took it at face value. The older, wiser version of me went straight to the Internet to fact check. I was able to find out that there is a Lakota story of the Four Directions. Many Native Americans tell the story differently, with different colors and attributes ascribed to each direction, but the essence of the story remains the same. It is about balance. I was also able to confirm that you can find sand dollars on the beach in San Quintin, Baja California and they look exactly like this one, small and without the five key holes that are typical of sand dollars. It seems this mysterious stranger was not just giving me lines.

I feel very lucky to have received these gifts, the story and the sand dollar, all those years ago. It was at a time in my life when I was seeking direction and I needed some guidance. I think it is fitting and appropriate that I am now a photographer. I am so glad that I kept the sand dollar and that I wrote down the details of the encounter with Julian, in a way they mean even more to me now.

I keep the sand dollar wrapped in tissue paper and tucked into a glass jar on my shelf. It is delicate and needs protecting. Every time I take it out to look at it, sand falls out of the hole in the back. It sparkles and makes me think of the pixie dust in Peter Pan. The sand dollar is full of lines and the flower-like imprint on the front is amazing. I try to put as much sand as I can back inside when I put it away. A little bit is lost each time though, falling into my lap or stuck on my fingers. It is the price paid for a little inspiration.

When I hold this magical item now, I am inspired to tell stories and to take pictures. I am inspired to share the truth of what I see and experience with others. I remember the unusual person that gave it to me and I wonder where he is now and what he is doing. I imagine he is still telling stories and sharing his wisdom with the world. I think of him as an ancient medicine man, traveling the world, looking for people to heal and inspire. I hope that I can be as wise and generous with others as he was with me.

Today, I would love to see pictures of your magic items, those things in your life that are comforting and special, and to hear the story of how it came into your possession, how long you have had it, and what it means to you.

Image and words courtesy of guest blogger, photographer and artist Leslie Fandrich.

weekending by cherish bryck

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Cherish Bryck shoots images like this with her Canon 5D and spends her weekends with her family.

Cherish can be found online at Cherish Bryck Photography, on Flickr, Facebook, Twitter (@CherishBryck) and Pinterest.

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Congratulations to Beth Reynolds who won the random drawing for the Two Takes giveaway. Yay! And thank you all for your comments on Bindu Wiles’ post. It never ceases to amazing us how compassionate and caring this community is. What a gift we have in one another.

on International Women’s Day

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Two years ago I visited Haiti for the first time, as a woman. Let me clarify, I have always been a girl, have all the parts and PMS to prove it but something happened to me when I made the decision to visit Haiti. The woman in me emerged.

I spent my toddler years in Haiti, yet when I decided to travel there in 2010, it had been more than 25 years since I had visited. It started with an ambitious list I drafted for myself to accomplish in one years time. My first order of business was to learn more about my culture, “become more Haitian”, so to speak. This small task had a sub-goal, instructions if you will, which would make the task easier. Underneath I wrote “reconnect with family” mind you family living in Haiti to whom I had been estranged from since my late teens. I was convinced that it would be that simple: travel to Haiti + connect with estranged family = be more Haitian. As the universe usually does, it responded to my request in a big way. It shook the world, the earth cracked open and so did my heart. The earthquake came and my fate was sealed.

Sometime before I left, I spoke with my aunt who visits the island frequently. I admitted I was afraid of Haiti, of Haitians. I was afraid that I wouldn’t know what to say, to do or even how to act. I had no idea what to bring or how I would be received. She, in her stern voice, reminded me that I was going to bring love and I was going to receive love, in this, there was nothing to fear. She was right.

I flew alone to Port-au-Prince. My aunts greeted me at the airport. We drove through the broken streets and I inhaled the scents of my country. Immediately, I was comfortable and in love with these women, my people, myself. I was eager to be out of the car so I could sit with these loves, and have my heart reflected back to me. Finally the moment came when we three could gather in the small seating area of the makeshift refuge and sat and shared. In that moment, my everything was everything. The women of Haiti welcomed me to see myself, to understand what it means to be Haitian and to be a woman of delicious brown color. They cooked for me, they shared stories, they laughed at me and with me. They inspired me. I have never been more clear about my core values. I knew right away that I was blessed. Over the weeks of my visit, I met many wonderful people. I spent time with family and made new friends. Always the women would hold my heart in all it’s vulnerability and teach the girl in me how to be a woman. These aunts and mothers and sisters and daughters carry the hurt of Haiti and they bestow the joy of Haiti too.  I was and am so proud to be a woman and to have the honor to carry the words, the wealth and the wisdom of whole cultures and generations.

Today is International Women’s Day! Let’s celebrate ourselves in gratitude of the many women who inspire us to wonder, to try earnestly and to welcome possibilities. Share an image of yourself with women in your life that have taught you to honor yourself.

Images and words by the wonderful Myriam Loeschen.

How to Live

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Having come to the hopefully, middle of my life, the question of How to Live? has never loomed larger. In fact, it has bubbled up from within me this 47th year of my life not as a whisper or a nudge, but as a volcano/tsunami/earthquake/tumbling end-over-end-in-deep-space-without-the-astronaut-rope-to-the-mother-ship, that has left me feeling deeply disoriented, spiritually bankrupt, and quite frankly, in an anguishing pain.

A life-long hater of all things cigarettes, I actually bought a pack one day recently, thinking I should take up smoking. I have nearly gone insane from emotional pain in the last 10 months with the last 3 months being particularly horrendous. And I mean literally insane.

I have spent roughly the last 30 years working on myself. In that time, through hard work, a variety of therapies and spiritual work, I gratefully managed to have broken the cycle of violence, addiction and aggression in myself that is my family tree. And yet here I am, wondering if there is any Thing or One or Power out there in the universe who cares personally about my life and my existence.

I have developed an intimate relationship with Despair this year. I believe this is what the philosophers officially call an Existential Crisis.

Other people would probably just say I need to buck up, get over it, forget the recent past, and move on. And maybe I do need to do all those things. But telling someone who is grieving, lost, desperate, emptied out of things they knew, is like telling a pig to fly. Sometimes, the spiritual practice we have cultivated or had for many years ceases to be effective. We find ourselves simply unable to go on the way we have been. We crave comfort for the blows we have received. We want respite from the torture of heart and mind. We crave wholeness. We wish we could laugh like we did in the old days.

I know enough not to strike out to try and make myself feel better. Staying still and quiet can sometimes feel like you are turning an ocean liner on a dime. It is a Herculean effort and one that awakens me each night at 3.30 am. I often feel I can find no way out of the emptiness and betrayal and injustice of it all.

What I am describing is the lesson I am learning at mid-life which is how to accept life on life’s terms. To surrender to the way things have gone, which is not to say I agree or like them, or think some people have treated me decently, but rather to say, the question of How to Live? begins with surrender and acceptance. These are not easy things for me. I kick and scream and cry and wail. I feel as if I will die.

There are things going on in my life right now that I have no idea how to accept. They are too big, too unfair, too upsetting. They turn my stomach to acid and upset me so much I usually make a sound out loud.

I’d like to share with you one of two things I have discovered as a way through the process of grief, loss, being emptied out, disoriented, betrayal, being lied too, humiliated…. whatever your particular heart pain is, and toward acceptance and serenity (the other one is for another post another time!).

You are either holding it in your hand, on your lap, or staring into it right now. It is your camera phone and your computer.

Bet you didn’t expect that right?!

Well, neither did I.

Here’s what I have found: Our refuge lies in our ability to express ourselves and in our ability to lose ourselves in the world around us.

Every day now, I go out into the world with my iPhone and look at people and light and the environment. I have found that walking is one of the only things that soothes my pain. So I have been walking all over NYC taking pictures. Sometimes I am out there for hours and hours. Well, actually, I am usually  out there for hours and hours! (I recently had to get a bigger external hard drive to store all my photos) I don’t know if it’s because I am getting older, or just my particular state these days, but the quality of light has been indescribably beautiful to me at certain times of day.

When I take photos with my iPhone, I am absorbed into the act of looking and seeing and therefore forget about my pain and myself. It is the most magical occurrence. I lose track of time and feel a reprieve unlike any I have known. The world goes on even though I often feel I cannot. The human condition is right there in front of me. The colors and gestures and surprises that catch my eye deliver me. My perspective is literally changed—it’s expanded, softened, and moves into a sort of hope. Which is another way to say I have received a little bit of acceptance and serenity from my camera and the act of looking.

As I write this, it has been 10 days since I had to put the love of my life, my 14-year-old dog, Rumi, down. She had been failing in health for a couple months and when her quality of life crossed a certain threshold, I didn’t want her to feel one more ounce of suffering. She was put down at home, I held her in my arms, and she was surrounded by four exceptional, gentle, women who cried along with me and helped me function afterwards. I have been deeply affected by her death, and had to leave my apartment in the days after, her absence was so enormous and felt like the last straw in a string of deep losses. 

It’s sometimes the right thing to get on a plane and fly to the sun and beach, which is what I did.

The reason I tell you this about my sweet dog, is because the day after she died, I woke up and went to get her food out of the fridge like I have for all those years and realized she wasn’t here anymore and that I would never be able to see her or kiss her or hold her again. I had no idea how to manage my feelings. I was choking I was crying so hard—and then I heard this voice inside that said, Write to her.

So, being the Moleskine hoarder that I am, I walked over to my desk and opened a brand new one and began in my favorite black marker, Dear Rumi, I miss you so much… It’s been years since I hand wrote in a journal, but I have written to her every day since she left and I feel so close to her. My point here is not the Moleskine. My point is the writing. The pouring out of feelings to someone you think will listen and who loves you so much and never wants you to hurt. We simply cannot bear these things alone.

We are never lost to ourselves when we take refuge in our creative expression. There is deep comfort to be felt there.

All this is to say, I hope you will join Tracey Clark and I for our month-long photography course, Two Takes which is about using photography to support, sustain, and comfort you in your life.

Which, for me, is another way to say, How to Live?

Images and words from photographer and writer Bindu Wiles. You can find more about Bindu on her blog or find her on Instagram @binduwiles.

Share with us today the image(s) in which you have found refuge and you’ll be entered to win a random drawing for a complementary registration for Two Takes. Leave your comment by midnight EST 3/8. The winner will be announced on Friday 3/9.

weekending by cara

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Cara shoots images like this with her Hasselblad and spends her weekends soaking in each free moment.

Cara can be found online at Cara Rose Photos and Mortal Muses.

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a note from us at Shutter Sisters:

And with this fine image from Cara, we kick off our “weekending” series. This post will be here today and tomorrow and we do hope you share your weekending links with us here and anywhere else you are on the web. If you hashtag your shots #weekending, we can find each other. And if you want to be considered for a future weekending post, email your image to click at shuttersisters dot com.

 We wish you a wonderful weekend filled with all the things you love.

your life is newsworthy

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I graduated from college with a journalism degree.  And for the past twelve years, I’ve been doing a job that has nothing to do with journalism.  I’m okay with this fact because I enjoy what I do.  My job allows me to live a life I truly enjoy.  Even though I don’t use my degree, I can’t ignore it.  I love a well-crafted nonfiction story.  I love one that’s interesting and full of rich details.  I love happy resolutions, but I realize life can have terrible endings too.  Sit at my table and I’ll happily listen to you ramble on and on about your life.  And then I’ll take my turn.  This banter could go on for hours.  I’m routinely asked to shorten or get to my point, but I like to squeeze in every single tidbit for the listener.  It should surprise no one that my love of the story transfers to my photography.
 
I don’t remember much before I was six years old and the years after are a little fuzzy.  When I watch my boys play, laugh, argue, and wrestle I am sad they won’t remember each detail as clearly as I do.  For the past three years, I’ve approached my life as magazine pictorial.   Until recently, I didn’t realize that I’ve been using my college degree to tell a story with my photography.  But now I fully embrace it.  I’ve become the photojournalist of my life because I’m responsible for the story my children will remember.  Good or bad, they will see it in our family albums.  The trips to visit family with cousins scattered around the living room.  Birthday wishes.  Conquering the potty while waving Good-bye to diapers.  But life isn’t full of unicorns and rainbows, the bad stuff has to be documented.  Tantrums.  Doctor visits.  Tears because independence wasn’t quite fully realized. The full plates of food pushed away at the dinner table.  I’m careful not over-sensationalize these less than happy moments, but albums void of them would not be truthful.  Years from now, if my boys struggle with their own parenting I hope they can look through our family albums and relate.  And I hope the photos will help them remember it was a good life: one worthy of documenting.  

I don’t believe you have to have a journalism degree to be a good photographer.  I didn’t touch a camera during college.  But it’s my love of an honest story and my desire to remember every detail.  And those are the types of photographers and photographs I’m attracted to.  I don’t have a disgust towards coffee mug shots, landscapes or posed newborn shoots, but those images don’t make my heart beat faster.  I want a photo that tells the story of someone’s life.  I want raw emotion.  And in my family, I’m the storyteller.  Why should I let anyone else tell my story?  

You can do the same thing.  Snap an image that will make you weep tears of joy when you’re in the Old Folk’s Home.  Shoot a scene that will show your children you were an amazing parent who tried their best.  Photograph your story.    Tell it with photos that are full of details, honesty, and real life blazing through the frame.  There’s no one more talented or more eloquent to tell the world.  You are the greatest storyteller of your Life.  Start now.

Share your story with me.  I’ve pulled up a chair and you’ve got my full attention.

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Today’s guest post is from Erika Ray. Gabbing/communicating/gossiping is in her genes. Meet her mother and try to disagree with this statement. Plus her youngest son never stops talking, which feels like a loving payback from the universe. She uses her blog to report on life’s celebrations, disasters, and to keep her sane.

 

brave leaps

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Recently I posted a self portrait that felt risky to me, but I wound up being amazed by the effect my personal pronouncement had on others.

The risk I took – that leap?

I made public my deepest held personal desire, that for as long as I can recall I have wanted to be an artist and while it most definitely felt scary as I hit the “make public” button, in the days since I have been asking myself, “why?”

There is no greater satisfaction than taking a risk and succeeding                                                             but so often we don’t because we are afraid… of failing… or embarrassing ourselves… or not being taken seriously.. (feel free to insert your personal bugaboo here)

but think about the illogic of that for a moment.

If you are not even willing to say out loud what it is that you most dearly hope to be or do, how will you possibly convince anyone else? How will it ever happen?

So, today I challenge you to be brave and take that leap. Do you have a dream you hold so close that voicing it scares you? Make your declaration today with words or a picture. It’s a safe space, and I’m hoping you’ll have plenty of company.

And because sometimes even the bravest among us need a little moral support, I’ll be sending one of my pocket-sized super heroes out to one courageous commenter.

Peace, love and bravery!

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Today’s words and images by guest shutter sister, artist, photographer, mother, Deborah Candeub.