Shutter Sisters

Searching for Hope–Raw and Real

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Around this time every year, something in my brain flicks a switch.  Just like the bud of a newly forming leaf is triggered by enrivonmental and genetic cues, these same signals and accompanying consequences–the emergence from winter darkness, spring rains, blossoms shooting up overnight, the cheerful chatter and melodies of songbirds–rouse in my subconscious an homage to and remembrance of one of the most significant experiences of my life.

Seven years ago, almost to the day, I received news that my father was dying of inoperable pancreatic cancer.  One month later, the day after his 64th birthday, he was gone.  During those short final weeks of my dad’s life, I developed an intimate relationship with my then-new digital camera.  Perhaps it was the shock of imminent loss that opened my eyes in a new way and motivated me to search for the hope I so desperately needed wherever I went. 

It was during this time that I developed a deep and abiding love for wandering the streets of my city, camera in hand.  Much of what caught my eye back then wouldn’t be considered beautiful in the conventional sense of the word.  In fact, I found myself often drawn to the weathered, beat-up and forgotten images that most people would rush by without a second thought (or even a first).  Maybe it was because I was feeling somewhat weathered and beat-up and forgotten myself that I was trying to comfort my soon-to-be-crushed inner daddy’s girl by gathering up these overlooked mementos and treasuring them, savoring the moment in which I found them.  It was as if I needed to know that I could find light in the midst of darkness and decay and even death, because if I could, then I would be able to find hope no matter how dreary the circumstances.

I find it quite timely that now, when my thoughts and emotions are conjuring up the memories and feelings from that month of watching my father succumb to cancer, our Shutter Sisters have embarked on this voyage to Picture Hope.  I am thrilled because I know the power of images to stir our hearts and minds and to plant hope in the midst of dispair.  I think Stacey Monk said it quite eloquently in her comment, “Hope is the most beautiful direction in which a lens can be pointed.”

Will you share with us today your images of the weathered, beat-up and forgotten that nevertheless convey to you a hope and beauty that’s raw and real?  It would mean ever so much to me…

Comments

  13. I just saw this am that the mother of one of my best friends of over 25yrs has been diagnosed with
    liver ca. And that she’s coming home to hospice. So sad; but she will find relief in hospice. They’re a
    wonderful organization.
    Loss is so hard, even when we know it’s best. It’s posts like this that make you think…

    Here is an image that reminds me of something that was once so beautiful..
    http://www.flickr.com/photos/jodyangel/3407635045/

    Sarah never forget. Thinking about him keeps him alive in a sense. Hugs girl…keep talking!

  15. What a beautiful, honest post… I never associated my attraction to the weathered & beaten with Hope, and I really like this connection. Thank you! Here are a few shots from a church that’s been abandoned for over 50 years. I have spent much contemplative time here, pointing my hope-filled lens…

    http://www.flickr.com/photos/jagspace/3414807068/in/set-72157610159243695/
    http://www.flickr.com/photos/jagspace/3061921641/in/set-72157610159243695/
    http://www.flickr.com/photos/jagspace/2608703077/in/set-72157610159243695/

    xox

  16. What a beautiful post. I wasn’t sure I had a photo that would be appropriate today, but maybe this one will be. It’s of an infant grave from the past. And my two-year-old happened to step into the photo too. I think of those mothers who lost their children, and surely they had hope for a better future….a future in which children didn’t die so easily. And here we are, living in an age of technical and medical know-how where that hope came alive.

    http://www.mamaofletters.com/Site/The_Focal_Point/Entries/2009/3/31_Infant_Grave.html

  32. wow how powerful and raw and real. so happy that you had those walks and were able, even if forced, to find the beauty you so needed to see and feel. peace to you.

    this shot was taken on a day last november when i heard of the sudden unexpected death of a dear friend. he was only 44. i live too far away to go to any memorial. i was very sad. i took a walk on the beach. it is empty in winter. cold bleary at times, boards on everything, worn by winter winds, i looked up and captured this. it was what i needed. i felt hope in the sight of this pigeon in flight from the abandoned pier.

    http://www.flickr.com/photos/14811117@N02/3045827917/in/set-72157608160457239/

  34. I am compelled to admit I have trouble seeing hope directly in the worn down-and-out. For me, the value in really seeing the old/battered/lonely is the stark contrast they create against things that are fresh. Or, more keenly, things that are tended by some hopeful caretaker who, despite his or her knowledge that all things, well, go the way of all things, pours time and love into another temporary bit of life.

    So here’s a little such contrast that called to me once: http://www.flickr.com/photos/31866449@N04/2983118544/in/set-72157608459958942/