83. Ordinary

Here's the problem. More than 90% of the time my life is nothing more than ordinary. So considering that I am more than 20% of the way through my one year project I think I have already given you everything extraordinary. 

82. Self Portrait a al Arbus

This afternoon a experienced a rare twenty minutes without any pressing matters to attend to. Thinking it would be great to work on the blog before 10 o'clock I started playing with my webcam on the laptop (the only camera in reaching distance at the time.) With no true direction I ended up with a self portrait merely because I was the only interesting thing to photograph in my office. This image was created with a program called Photo Booth and the effect at the time of exposure was called "mirror". So essentially the image on the right and left is duplicated, but flipped as if in a mirror. The end result reminded my so much of Diane Arbus' "Identical Twins," 1967 in which the Wade sisters are obviously identical but there slight differences in expression become haunting and bizarre when capture with Arbus' camera. So creepy that they inspired Stephen King to reference the image in the "Shining."

81. Mustard

Spring time in the Santa Monica Mountains is incredible. The weather is perfect and the wild flowers are blooming. Literally everyday the hike changes and I notice some new flower popping up. A couple days ago the thistles were still closed up and today, purple tuffs. Soon the butterflies will be out! Can't wait.

For the past couple of weeks the flowering plant dominating the landscape has been the yellow mustard plant. As a child (and recently my own 4th grader) I learned about this plants part in California history. At the time that California was under the control of Spain, the Spaniards built the California Missions to both control the natives of the region and spread the word of Catholicism. In the south is the mission is San Diego, in the north is San Francisco, and in between are 21 missions a long day's journey apart along the El Camino Real (the Royal Road). Legend claims that the priests traveling this road dropped mustard seed along the way to mark the path for travelers the next spring. Creating a beautiful ribbon of gold flowers along the path of dirt.

I did some quick reference checking tonight on the mustard plant before hammering out this post. What I didn't realize is that the mustard seed is an important symbol in Catholicism. Who can blame me, Sunday school was 30 years ago. In a parable about faith from Mark, "It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds of the air can perch in its shade."

The Camino Real likely did not cut across the Santa Monica Mountains that border the southern edge of the San Fernando Valley. This would have taken out of the way if crossing from the San Fernando Mission in the north valley to the mission in Ventura. So my beautiful dirt path hike is not the Camino Real... none-the-less I image it is just as beautiful.

80. Near or Far

I didn't do much today, so I don't have much to say. At some point what I was watching on DVR ended and the television automatically flipped to Dora the Explorer. I watched it for a good 20 minutes before I realized.

Some how I feel the need to explain the photograph or at least write a story that goes along with it... but no good stories today. How about some technique? Depth of field in photography defines the range of focus in an image. Depth of field is controlled by the aperture... to a point. Typically when you focus on subject matter far from the camera (i.e. several meters away) there is a lot of depth of field in the image no matter what your aperture setting is. And the opposite in true when you focus on something very close to the camera - very little in the image is in focus.  To sum it up? If you take a picture of a rose about one foot away from the camera lens, the rose will be in focus and the background blurred. Alternatively, if you photograph a mountain range miles away, everything in the image will appear in focus. Even though you may not know anything about photography your brain knows how far an image is from the camera depending on the blur in the photograph.

This is the secret to why today's post looks like a photograph of miniature diorama. I used PhotoShop to add blur to an image that had none. Giving the illusion that things that were very far, are very near.

79. Past & Present

My mom had a really, really hard day. She is wrestling with health issues and often it is hard for her to stay in the present. It seems that she longs for the past when times were more structured and had purpose. First, the past had my step-dad, the love of her life, and in the present he is no longer with us. In the past her kids were young, needed her, and were always around. Now we are all grown-up and some live far away. In the past, as a practicing physician she saved lives. Now her days consist of struggling to keep the mail organized. In the past she was healthy and now she has Parkinson's.

I grew up with tons of family around. My mom fell in love with my step-father when I was five. He moved in with his two boys and joined my brothers and I. That made five kids, two adults. My parents hired a housekeeper that had just arrived from Guatemala and eventually she brought her children to live with us. That made seven kids and three adults in 1800 square feet. My grandmother (my mom's mom) lived three houses down the street with my grandfather. My aunt (mom's sister) lived around the corner with her two children. It was always a party, it was wonderful. Rarely were we alone, rarely did you long for someone to play with.

What she longs to see is my kids, and my brothers' kids playing together. That is her perfect day. I assume it brings her back to the past when all her kids and her sister's kids played together. Maybe it is comfortable and safe in those memories and she needs to relive them. But that is rarely possible. And when it doesn't happen she is so heart broken and disappointed.

78. Shot Not Taken

Today was my grandmother's 100th birthday party and I dreamed of the portrait I was going to take all night. This morning I had it all worked out. I would take an amazing and beautiful portrait of her today at the party, post it and write about her tonight on the blog. That didn't happened.

The party was fantastic. It was great to see all my cousins and for the girls to not only see cousins they are familiar with, but they met cousins they didn't know they had. I was able to get some great snap shots of the kids together, but I chose not to take any of my grandmother, Bayto.

As long as I can remember Bayto always took the greatest pride in her appearance. Perfect coiffure, flawless make up, and clothes with excellent tailoring. But today, I was surprised at her appearance. It had been a little over a year since I had seen her and she has changed greatly. She is 100, and having numerous health problems as can be expected with old age, but her appearance was a little shocking for me. I just wasn't ready for it. When it finally came to the opportunity of taking that portrait, I realized I'd rather remember her as she was years ago. Bright smile, warm eyes and animated expressions.

There were plenty of cameras there, and plenty of photographs were taken to mark the day, but mine was not one of them. Instead I searched my photo albums and scanned (yes, scanned) this image of Bayto and Abbey from 2003.

77. Seems so easy

Some nights I struggle to churn out a post... I don't have anything to write about and I haven't taken any interesting photographs.  Honestly the day has been less than unique, outstanding, or eventful so I am stuck writing about and photographing blah.

On the flip side I sometimes have packed days, full of fodder. So packed that I start to watch the clock and wonder if I will even have time to stop having fun in enough time to post before midnight. (Like anyone is sitting around watching the clock to see if I miss the deadline!) Today was full.

This weekend my grandmother (my father's step mom) turns 100 and a lot of family members are in town to celebrate. With all the family coming into town (and alcohol)  things can become more than dysfunctional.  Keep your fingers crossed... but know if things go wrong than my blog posts will be more interesting. So today/tonight all fun and minimal dysfunction. It could have gone all astray but didn't. For one, I haven't see my dad in close to two years. The last time I went out to visit him in Colorado he walked out of a restaurant on me and my family because Abbey didn't answer his question. She was six, had been at horse camp all day, and was exhausted. My family stayed at the restaurant and had a nice meal. When we returned to his house where we were staying for the week he gave Abbey (again only 6 years old) an ear full about how rude she was and that he was starting to live his life for himself after 67 years. Whatever. But it was enough. I had had enough. I realized in that moment that I was near 40 and was done seeking his approval. I just had to move on.

My parents had split when I was a mere three years old and I really don't remember him ever being a part of my day-to-day life. I do remember being excited about him picking me up for a visitation weekend. Carefully packing my bag, Cookie Monster (a favorite), and blanket and waiting and waiting and waiting on the couch for him to show. It may have been a matter of minutes, but it seemed like hours. Eventually the phone would ring and my mom would come into the living room shortly after. She would sit in between my brothers and I on the green floral couch and try and come up with a great excuse why he wasn't coming. Why didn't she just say what she felt? Again, I was crushed.

I spent most summers with him in Colorado. In July I was sent to live with a stranger - I really didn't know him. The first couple weeks was a serious period of adjustment. Eventually I learned to please him in two ways. First, I cleaned and organized his house so that he couldn't yell at me and my brothers about anything. I was sure to pick up my brother's shoes and legos that they left in the den. I did the dishes. I mopped the floor. I cleaned the kitchen and the bathrooms. I straighten the couch cushions. I was nine years old.  Second, I disappeared outside. My father's house is located in the Rocky Mountains outside of Denver. Heaven. I guess I owe my love of outdoors and nature to summers in Colorado.

Eventually he fell in love with a wonderful woman who would become my stepmother. She helped him become more patient with us kids. The summers changed and the time in Colorado is something that I will always cherish. I wanted my girls to have that same experience and after Katie was born I brought her there every summer for 8 years in a row. I sacrificed other vacation possibilities so that she (and Abbey) would have time to know Colorado and the grandparents that reside there. But as I mentioned earlier we haven't been back in a couple years (nor has my father been out to visit Los Angeles.)

So this weekend brought a bunch of concern...but we had many of the family members over for dinner tonight...and it was fun, warm, loving, and nostalgic for better times. After everyone left Curtis and Katie were playing the piano together - him cords and her the melody. I love watching them together. This morning she complained bitterly about her father and how she can't stand him. She may think that, but then I saw them together tonight and it is so beautiful to watch. Something I really never even had the chance to have.

76. Effort

I consider myself progressive and I try to consider the environment in my daily life and I know that I do better than most. My kids' lunches have all reusable containers. I try not to use plastic water bottles, but refill a stainless drinking container instead. We watch how much water we use each week when watering the lawn. I constantly turn off the lights around the house as my kids flutter from room to room. The recycling bin fills up before the trashcan.

But yesterday, on Earth Day, I realized I have one really, really bad habit I need to work on. Most mornings after driving the girls to school, I continue along in my SUV to the drive thru Starbucks and wait in line (in my car) for my non-fat latte served in a disposable cup. Honestly I could handle this a lot better. It is time to step up the effort.

75. Excitement

Katie just got home late this evening from a overnight school trip to Sacramento. She had a bag of red-hot candies in hand and a necklace with a little vile containing gold flecks around her neck. She should have been too tired to speak, but she was so wired and excited from the trip she was telling stories faster than her mouth could move.

Sixty-three fourth graders and eighteen parent chaperones (no I did not feel the need to be one) flew on a plane up to Sacramento yesterday morning and over a two-day period visited the state capitol, Sutter's Fort, Old Town Sacramento, the American River, and a museum. I am sure I left something out, but really does it matter. What an experience!

I tried to take a photograph of her in her Sacramento shirt, but honestly after five minutes of trying to get her to hold still I gave up and went with the excitement of the last couple of days.

74. Not so sharp

I spent much of the day researching and writing a grant. My ability to communicate in standard written English has been reduced significantly by overuse. Tonight a photograph and minimal text.

The image of my dog, Chelsea, reminds me so much of Julia Margaret Cameron's portrait of Sir John Herschel, astronomer and one of the contributors to the invention of photography.

73. Equivalents

Alfred Stieglitz's equivalents are considered the first totally abstract images in they have absolutely no time or location reference to reality. In these photographs of clouds that excluded the horizon or any other reference points he removed any clues to when or where they were made. If Stieglitz was alive in the 1860's he likely could have made very similar photographs of the clouds that he did in the 1920's. To capture an image of reality, but have it so far removed from that reality is a truly modern idea.

Beyond the originality of the series is his sheer dedication to it. Over his lifetime he took hundreds of these "equivalents".  Many historians argue why. Was it his quest for perfect form? Was he looking for something he had yet to define visually? Was it simply practice? Was it exploration of a technical feat?

I have been thinking a bunch about Stieglitz' equivalents lately. Beyond the creation of a totally abstract image I always thought they were too simple, too easy, nothing special. After he made ten of these images did he really have to create another several hundred? I have a tendency to breeze by them in history of photography class because I am not sure I embrace the art speak that has always been applied to why he continued to make these images over a whole decade. And he practiced the same dedication to photographing and rephotographing his wife Georgia O'keeffe's hands. Today, walking out to my car... obsessively thinking about my blog it hit me. Maybe Alfred Stieglitz was a little obsessive too (no evidence here, just an anecdotal guess). Maybe he continued to make equivalents because he just had to.

72. Nothing is that easy

I didn't leave campus tonight until 8 o'clock. I didn't have any classes that met it was just a long day of one meeting after another. I actually got to spend a little time with my dear friend and colleague Kevin. We chatted a bit about my blog and he was impressed with everything else on my plate that I was able to keep up with it. (Honestly I didn't think I would make it this far - and I swear every night this is my last post.) I mentioned I have been thinking about working on a series of portraits for a couple of reasons. First, I love taking them so they are easy for me. I may have to work at mastering other subjects, but portraits I am good at (forgive the boasting, but after all it is my blog.) Second, there is always a good story that goes along with the portrait. Everybody has a story.

So after our conversation wrapped up I grabbed my iPhone and took a quick portrait of Kevin. It took may be a minute, but I do "like" it, a lot. I think much of "liking" a photograph is more about recognition. There is often something it reminded me of... it took a couple hours but then it hit me... Bruce Charlesworth.  I don't know a ton about Charlesworth but I first became familiar with his work in the early 1990s. It was a series of constructed images of a man in a dressed in a suit, alone and in edgy, risky or precarious predicament. He stance always stiff and unnatural. Very 1990s, very post modern, open-ended narrative.

The portrait of Kevin shares some strong elements in this photograph: his stance mirrors that of the fire hydrant in a comical yet familiar way, the color of the  green street light from above with the warm glow of the flood lights in the distance, and then there is the odd red curb that recedes into nowhere. Totally different situation, similar composition and outcome.

So, in the end I took a portrait of Kevin because I thought it would be so easy to tell you all about my friend of 15 years. How we met, what we have experienced working together almost everyday for that last decade and a half, but in the end the image got the best of me. Sorry Kevin... I will have to tell your story another night.

Bruce Charlesworth

71. Parasite

You are thinking... she is still stuck on the abstract expressionists right? May be Pollock? Well maybe...but this is actually a plant, a parasitic plant called dodder. The scientific name being Cuscuta Californica. It is considered a noxious weed by most - a plant that has no need to photosynthesize on its own because is sucks the life out of any plant it attaches itself to. It is oddly beautiful (like fine orange spaghetti) sprawled out along the top of sage plant on the hiking trail. Beautiful, but deadly.

70. Lighter side

If you know me at all, you know that I love modernism, particularly Abstract Expressionism. The preconceptions that photography was a mere mechanic process void of artistic merit was left behind in the previous century as fine art photographers were operating under the same artistic goals as painters by the 1910s.  Even though most photographs are taken by pointing the lens out to capture the real world, artists like Stieglitz, Kertesz, Strand, and White through their use of exposure, camera angle, and distance to the subject, render the literal subject matter unrecognizable and irrelevant.

As a photographer,  I have always been envious of those that can draw. I can't - well at least not well. Although I can create the elements of abstraction with the photographic process. I can't recreate what modernist refers to as the diaristic gesture or mark that was uniquely displayed in the work of artists like Jackson Pollock, Franz Kline, and later Cy Twombly. Pollock moved the canvas off the easel and poured and dripped paint on it. Franz Kline grabbed a large house painting brush and made large sweeping strokes of black against the pristine white canvas. And Cy Twombly (my favorite of the three) obsessively repeated non sensical but visually familiar marks.  I can't make a physical mark with a camera. I can compose like a painter: line, shape, repetition, tonality, even texture its all the same. But as a photographer I can never replicate a brush stroke.

Today, I decided to clean out the marker bin and test each pen for continual usefulness. Turns out that may be I am over thinking abstraction --  kind of a psychedelic Twombly, no?

Cy Twombly

69. Stages

With everything going on in the last couple of years I have to say I haven't quite felt like myself. I feel that I am often on autopilot - kind of numb. Generally I think it is a defense mechanism to protect oneself from feeling anything - but particularly the pain of losing a parent. The last time I remember feeling anything deeply and an a truly authentic level, Curtis' mother passed away. She had been sick for years and we had heard about her tenuous health so many times that I think it was like, "The Boy that Cried Wolf". It was the holiday season of 2007-08 and all of us were sick with horrendous colds. We decided to postpone our trip to Arizona for fear that we may get Curtis' mom, Diane, sick. My brother-in-law called and asked us to reconsider... "yes her health is tenuous but this may be the last Christmas'. Diane was so full of life, so full of stories, and smiles that it was hard to image that she really wouldn't be here.

After our visit, her health declined rapidly and before Curtis could turn around to visit her she passed. The pain was extraordinary. I called a friend to mind the children and curled up in bed for the next 3 days sobbing. Eventually I emerged from my room, red faced, tear stained and numb. Tonight I realized that I really have been numb ever since. Diane passed in January of 2008.

Before we really had the time to work through all the stages of grief after Diane's death my step dad became ill. He eventually passed from prostate cancer June 2009. (see blog post 59. Original.)  With cancer you know its coming. From the experience of Diane's death I knew that it didn't matter how much he longed to live, death was coming and it was finite. Why fight it? I had already moved past the stages of denial, anger, and bargaining with Diane. I knew that Ken's death was inevitable and I moved onto acceptance. Right?

If I worked through all the stages, why the numbness? Did I forget something? The strangest thing happened tonight - a old friend that I haven't seen in a really, really long time stopped unannounced. She literally lives blocks away, but we never talk or see each other. Between these two deaths I needed her desperately and she couldn't be there for me. I was mad and hurt and stopped trying to hang out with her. I felt she owed me, I had been there so many times for her in the past 20 years why couldn't she have been there for me?

She stayed for a few hours tonight. We chatted about nothing remarkable but it felt great. Kind of like the feeling of nostalgia while watching an old movie. It was so nice to see her that I was having trouble remembering why I was angry in the first place. She stayed until almost 11:00 pm and since she walked over, I gave her and her daughter a quick shuttle home. As I was driving the quick distance back I realized I didn't feel as numb. And then it hit me... I had decided to move onto the last stage of grief, acceptance, without acknowledging the 4th stage... depression. Oh but I have been at that stage for a while and now truly I think I can more onto acceptance for real this time. Thanks for a breaking the numbness.

68. The One

This is a portrait of my husband, Curtis, and I love it. It perfectly draws the viewer to his soft, kind, brown eyes - the reason I fell in love with him.  But where I find it easy to spill the most intimate information about my kids on this blog, I am guarded about Curtis. I almost feel as if I will jinx it. Ridiculous, right? But I took this photograph over a month ago with the idea that I would use right away. I have started a posting about it several times and then backed out at the last minute.

Curtis is a husband that is home every night. His job doesn't require travel and he loves to hang out with his family. (At least he is good at faking it if he doesn't). This week he has been away for the last two nights - a very rare occasion for him.  I am sitting here exhausted as usual just wishing he was home. It seems when he's here, our kids monopolize the conversation. Katie tell Daddy it's dinner time. Abbey let Daddy know we need more milk. But even though we may not always be able to have the deepest conversations on a daily basis I miss that he isn't here.

We met twenty plus years ago and started dating soon after. With in six months we moved in together, but took another 8 years to get married. It is hard for me to remember a time when he has not been in my life. Curtis' humor is his best quality. He is smart and quick witted. Something I always lacked and wish I had. He is patience when I am not. He is sensible, when I am impulsive. He is compassionate, when I am stuck in my head and indifferent.

He made a career change seven years ago. It was a difficult financial move. He went back to school and decided to become an elementary school teacher. Besides the love of the craft, the job security was very alluring. Lately, with the insane budget crisis in the state of California it has been so stressful for him - not knowing if he will be able to continue to teach. Its all so sad... he is a really, really great teacher, totally dedicated and passionate about the job. As his wife, best friend, and lover I wish I could fix the whole mess and give him some peace of mind.

67. Bully

I have had a pit in my stomach all day. It started first thing this morning. A friend of mine concerned about how our children were interacting called my daughter, Abbey, a bully. She used the term three times in a matter of five minutes. This friend is a close friend, someone that I would trust with my life. A smart, sensible and cultured woman with wonderful kids that I adore. But I totally disagree with her and that's why it hurts so much. Abbey is best friends with her child and has been for 3 years, that is most of Abbey's conscience existence. Abbey is impulsive, silly, spacey, kind, and loyal to a fault. She once took a punch for this friend when he was being intimidated. At five years old she told another kindergartner off because they said some ignorant about a friend's parent's alternative life style. She would throw herself under a bus for her friends. And when she doesn't like another kid, she just walks away. She ignores them - no name calling, no teasing, no mind. So Abbey a bully? I just couldn't understand. The conversation left me so upset I cried through all 3.5 miles of my hike and then I cried again after lunch and now the kids are asleep the tears are welling up one more time.

May be it was just a poor choice of words. Even the best of friends have disagreements and altercations. But lately the word "bully" has very nasty connotations. Bullies are blamed for school shooting and teen suicides. Schools all have zero tolerance policies about bullying. Bullies are mean and insecure and want to destroy others in order to feel better about themselves. I think when children interact one must consider intent. When I asked Abbey if she had hurt her friend she was completely miffed. Her response in tears was, "Why would I ever hurt my best friend. I am a good girl. I wouldn't do that!" She continued through now her sniffles and tears, "My friends are everything."

I ended up calling my friend back and asked for more details to try and remedy the situation. She said that Abbey has repeatedly kicked her child several times and the behavior is a pattern. He is afraid to go to school with Abbey. She has absolutely no memory of any altercations. Abbey says she never kicked him but he always calls her names. Just this morning he had a big smile for her in line. Neither of them has ever declined a play-date. I have never witnessed a fight between them. The two are obviously true friends that see something very different. I can't be there every minute but I just have never seen this repeated abuse. The relationship from my viewpoint has been nothing but positive, but obviously my friend has been saving up the talk and feels strongly that her child is telling the truth. It is also clear that she sees Abbey's actions are the only that need correcting and her child is only a victim not a participant.

But what should I do? Abbey has never struck her friend in anger or with the intent to harm him. May be she's playing rough and going too far. If this is labeled as "bullying" than what? Do I split them up? (Tears flowing...) At this point, I just don't know what to do and so the pit in my stomach is still there.

66. Roly Poly

I came home today to find the girls playing with roly poly bugs (otherwise known as sow bugs or pill bugs). They run screaming from flies and spiders, but there is something about roly poly bugs that kids love. The first time Katie held one she was about 2 years old at preschool. We ended up with at least different ten different containers filled with them. Over the next couple of years we researched habitats and diet to create the best possible homes for them. A few weeks would go by and Katie would leave the plastic container out in the sun. At first the container would heat up like a moist sauna and steam the bugs. After a few more days the habitat would dry out and I would dump the dead crispy bugs in the trash before she noticed they had gone missing.

In the past couple of years both girls have seemed more interested in pop music, fashion, and make-up than bugs. But something must have changed today. May be it was the warm weather after the nice spring rain we had yesterday, but after school I started to empty Katie's lunch pail and found that her snack containers were not filled with remnants of chips and carrots, but soil and roly poly bugs. Yes, I was a bit taken back in shock. I asked Katie about why the sudden interest in roly poly bugs and her answer, "It's that time of year. I was looking for lady bugs and soon butterflies will be out. It is spring - my favorite time of the year."

She took the bugs outside in the backyard and made a nice little habitat for them. She came back in the house with a requests for instructions on how to sex them. I quickly printed out some suggestions from the internet about egg sacks on legs and copulatory appendages. At nine year old does she even know what the definition of a copulatory appendage is? I hope not. She went back outside to try and figure it out. About a hour later she announced she was breeding the bugs and selling them for a profit. Ah, yes, spring is in the air and I guess she didn't need a definition after all. But alas, I didn't have the heart to tell her that it is hard to sell something that anyone can find for free.

65. Cozy

Brain numb. Body tired. Going to snuggle up with my cozy, comfy blanket and not my lap top. Keeping it short tonight.

64. 3D

The technology that makes 3D possible is nothing knew. It has been known for hundreds of years as stereoscopic vision. The process allows for the illusion of depth in a two dimensional image. Long before photography the technology was first explored during the Renaissance - that infamous time when pursuit of art also included the pursuit of science.

Humans perceive depth by viewing a slightly different image out of each of their eyes.It is easy enough to wink one eye and then the other and watch how the images changes slightly. The small difference in the two images is most noticeable in the relationship between fore and background objects.

A typical photograph would be the view from one eye. A 3D photographic image is created by taking two simultaneous photographs approximately 2.5 inches apart (the common distant between two human eyes). Later when a device is used to see these two photographs the illusion is that of depth. When I was a child that device was a toy called the View-Master. When stereoscopic photography was first invented around the 1860's it was the Bates-Holmes Stereoscope that entertained children and kids alike for hours on end. Long before television and cinema there was little competition for forms of entertainment.

Of course 3D in cinema is nothing new. I love the classic images of movie audiences with their blue and red eye glasses. For sometime 3D movies have been surrounded by the gimmick of trying to get the audience to duck from an illusion of something flying out from the screen. It often distracted from the story rather than adding to it. Avatar was likely the first movie to use stereoscopic technology to tell the story over the gimmick. Avatar was literally shot with two cameras (even the animated sections rendered two separate images for viewing.) Since Avatar undeniable and unmatched success many films are now being released in 3D. But many of these films are not shot with the two camera stereoscopic technology so the effect is far from similar. Alice in Wonderland is one of these films.

I have read about home 3D television systems just coming on the market at a cost of $10,000 plus with viewing glasses at additional cost. I don't believe that any companies are rushing to broadcast in 3D but they are definitely working towards it. My concern? Unless the content is actually shot with the two camera stereoscopic technology it will not truly mimic the illusion of depth. I feel the same about high definition television. If a program was recorded with HD technology the image broadcast is extraordinary - creepy clear. But so much of what is on TV is a rebroadcast of old media. That will never look better than the technology that was used to record it. Just something to think about before you pay extra for 3D. How much of what you view really be seen in stereoscopic illusion?

63. Backstage (mom)

If you have been reading the blog lately you know that my girls are in their elementary school's play production and the performances are this weekend. This photograph was taken of Katie backstage just after last night's performance. She looks outstandingly beautiful in the shot, but at the same time I find it terribly disturbing... in the JonBenet sort of way. Although she is only 9 years old, she looks much, much older.  It is not easy to see her grow up or to realize that she heading so rapidly for the terrible tweens. She is amazingly photogenic (if such a thing really exist) and a cooperative model. If the industry wasn't such a destructive place I may consider encouraging her into it. In the meantime she will have to be satisfied with performing in school plays once a year and putting on way too much make-up so the stage lights don't wash out her face. (She really loves the make-up part.) What I didn't realize is that a bunch of my friends are stage moms...

I had a bear of a time curling the girls hair. On Friday the curls had fallen out before we made it to the theater. Today I put double the effort into the task, and although the curls lasted longer, they still fell flat too soon. Backstage I approached a couple of moms whose daughters displayed the perfect ringlets. How did they get those great curls and how did they make them last? The answer was consistent... a professional salon. And the make-up job, yes, a professional too. While my daughters' hair was obviously not up to par, several moms asked me who did their make-up so I guess I did OK. The thought of taking a 8 and 9 year old to the salon for hair and make-up before the school play never, ever crossed my mind. Again, feeling a little JonBenet creeped out.

There is always competition for solos in play production. There are more kids than parts with solos and of course even more stage moms. Let me back up... this is an elementary school performance. The kids are 7-11 years old. Every child that wants to participate does and everyone will get a turn at the mic... but it may not be a solo.  So last fall all the audition preparation that we encouraged Katie to do was nothing more than to sing along with Liza Minnelli to her iPod. She did great and ended up with a duet.  Call me naive, but I had no idea that some parents hired professionals to coach their children on their audition songs. I guess like everything in life if you really want something you need to go in prepared to get it. So much for enjoying childhood, Katie will have to give up her summer to prepare for her next audition. I will have to book early for the salon, I heard it fills up quickly.

62. Play

Are they singing or screaming? 

61. 5 hours, 5 mins

Two photographs tonight... minimal text.

Again, I documented my daughter's play production rehearsals today and took 4873 photographs - not all of them were good. I have a giant headache from closing one eye for five hours and need to sleep, so I am keeping this very short. It will take me weeks to edit all the images down to what I want. I preach to my students about not shooting so much, but shooting cleaner. Of course I don't listen to my own advice.

I spent the first 30 mins or so waiting for the show to run while the lights are being set, music cued, choreography reviewed... I know this image of the empty stage, solo microphone stand and red curtain is a bit cliche, but the lighting and color sucked me in. It was the first image I took today.

I thought it would be nice to show the last image I took - one of Katie. Her pose reminds me Davinci's Last Super.

60. Dedication

Today, I took several hundred photographs of my daughter's elementary school play production rehearsals. There are so many shots that the editing alone will take hours - which I don't have tonight. On a quick initial review I picked the above image. Why did it make the favorite out of almost 900 shots? The photograph was taken just after one of the musical numbers was rehearsed. The cast is breaking and waiting for more instruction while the director and her staff discuss the run through. I could spend hours looking at this photograph deciphering all the body language of its participants. Additionally, with everything happening in the shot, some how I managed to organize the frame... not easy.

59. Original

I have received all sorts of requests from my blog followers. Some of you simply like the photographs; some of you like the insights into my personal life, and still some like it when I connect my photographs to history. Others think that my blog is unfocused and I should hone in on one strategy and never stray. Well you can't please everyone. So tonight, it's personnel.

The first year anniversary of my stepfather's death is two months away. He passed in June 2009 just days after his birthday. So it is that time of year in which a lot memories have been dragged to the surface. I am feeling fragile, raw, and weepy. Papa Ken was first diagnosed with prostate cancer around 2006, and by initial reports, the doctors caught it in plenty of time. By fall of 2008 the prognosis changed drastically to less than one year of survival. Of course in all my parents’ optimism I don't believe they ever admitted defeat - always holding out for some hope.

This week my daughters, Katie and Abbey, have their yearly play production performance. Last year's show was called "Music America" and Ken knew all the songs. Katie and him practiced together for months. When the show date finally arrived, I was truly overwhelmed with curling Katie's hair and getting her ready for the performance. Her call time at the theater was less than an hour away when my mom called - Papa wouldn't get out of bed. He was argumentative and non-responsive, two words no one would ever use to describe him. In much of a panic I left Curtis to cope with Katie's hair, make-up, and costume, and drove to their house. My mom had gotten him out of bed. He was sitting at the dining room table with a delicious breakfast in front of him - untouched. I spent childhood sitting next to Papa at every meal. I constantly had to be on the defense to keep him from stealing the bacon off my plate. It wasn't like him to ignore the delicious bacon - totally uninterested. It's not that he didn't want to go to the play, it just seemed that he was unaware of what we wanted or were asking him. It was at this time that reality hit and I understood that his cancer was truly terminal.

Some how we got him dressed without his help. It was hard to be his daughter for so long and then have to help clean and change him. It embarrassed both of us. After he was dressed the next challenge was to get him out to the car. Although he was walking fine the night before (and would walk fine the following day) again he was unwilling to even try. The car was down a couple of steps with no ramp. Even with the recent weight loss he was still easily 190lbs. But some how I got him to the car. I finally solicited his participation by singing "Roll Out the Barrel". I knew he loved that song because I had listened to Katie and him sing it for hours. He had explained that it was a popular song he sang during World War II as a boy.

Curtis was at the theater to help unload Ken and thanks to ADA it was wheel chair accessible from there. We rolled him into the theater as the lights went down and the music began to play. All of a sudden he woke up and knew where he was. He knew what we wanted. He turned into regular Papa and he started signing. He sang almost every song. He clapped and cheered. I sat there holding his hand, and cried softly in the dark theater. I knew this would be the last time for him to enjoy his beautiful K-K-K-Katie on stage. As Katie (and now Abbey) prepares to once again take the stage I have to say with all my heart, “I really miss you Papa.” The girls will be singing for you don’t forget to join in.

58. SFV at Night

Tonight's post is inspired by Brassai, the Hungarian photographer from the 1930's that published a book called, "Paris at Night". He often walked late at night and captured the abandon streets under ambient light from street lights and cars. The effect is enchanting. Eventually he took his camera inside the only establishments open at late at night, bars and brothels, and photograph the patrons with harsh flash.

A few weeks ago when up in the mountains I did a series of images of snowy landscapes under an almost full moon. In post production I was able to push the images closer to daylight.  The result is curious and  unlikely (see post #22  Magic). Tonight's long exposure shed such odd light on my banal orange tree in my suburban backyard - it resembles flash or daylight but is neither. I have to play with the process a lot more, but there is something surreal to the exposures and I can't walk away from it just yet.

57. Minor

My students will vouch for me... I LOVE the work of Minor White. I am completely obsessed with one of his photographs taken in 1959. I first saw it about 20 plus years ago. I'm drawn to the image because it seems like so many objects to me at the same time. I spent years knowing it was algae on a rock, but wishing it was really the side of an elephant.  At this time Minor White's work closely paralleled the work of the abstract expressionistic painters like Jackson Polluck. The literal subject matter is irrelevant. There is no reference to scale or local.  In abstraction, the image should not refer to the real world and if it does the subject matter should be difficult to decipher.

For the last two decades, I have taken likely thousands of images of rocks trying to recreate something close to White's 1959 photograph. The image was taken on the Oregon Coast and sadly enough I drove right past Shore Acres State Park this past August and had no idea I was so close. Just this last Friday at Leo Carillo Tide Pools in California I believe I got fairly close. The image is not nearly as interesting as White's but at least I am no embarrassed to exhibit it. I realized that the deep crevices in the rock are key. The crevices make a hard inanimate object look more fluid and flexible like fabric or skin.

Minor White

56. In the moment

What I love about Katie is her ability to live in the moment. We can be running from a bomb that is about to explode and have seconds to live and she can stop, distracted by a paper clip on the floor. It is paper clip that has been in that exact location for 6 weeks and she has ignored it everyday she has walked by it. But at the time when I am on a tight time schedule and desperately trying to get her help in moving from point A to point B she becomes completely lost in her own world and unable to transition back to ours. The paper clip is all that exists.

In the moment she has no memory of the past: she doesn't recall that Daddy just asked her to go to bed, or that Mommy said no more make-up, or that her teacher gave her a chance to catch up on homework, or that she cried at her last piano lesson because her instructor was disappointed in her progress.

In the moment she has no memory of her future plans: she doesn't remember the promise to clean her room so that she can have a play date tomorrow, or that she wants to build a replication of the San Miguel Mission for extra credit, or that she honestly loves her sister and will never punch her again, or that she is planning to clean out the side yard and plant a garden.

Part of it is being a child - that ability to escape into the make believe. But since I can no longer reach that world of hers, it is frustrating (and sometimes infuriating) as a parent to try to call her back to our boring reality. As a middle aged woman, part of me wishes I could just let her linger there until she is ready to come back. What's the rush?

55. Wish

In honor of my child's birthday wish I am choosing not to spend an hour writing my blog... but instead spending it with her. 

Happy Birthday Abbey!

54. Extinguish

Lately it feels like I am a poster child for Smokey the Bear. I am constantly putting out fires. Fires at work, home, fires at my mom's house. Today I kept repeating the mantra, "If I can only make it to spring break." But besides a short evening of a little wine and time with the family, the week ahead is likely to be very nuts - and it's my vacation. I think I am waiting for things to settle down, but honestly I think you just adjust to the stress and wait for it to get turned up a notch, again. I am always at a lost how to prevent this from happening. My question - has life always been like this? Before TV, cell phones, internet... was there more time in the day? If I add up the time spent answering emails (mostly from students), texts, checking in on Facebook, watching Criminal Minds, tinkering with the iPhone... it's a lot of time. But if I was 40 years old in 1950, would I have more time.  I certainly wouldn't have a blog and I would likely be in danger of being a house wife.  I am not suggesting that I get rid of my iPhone - hell no! The answer is always there, but you can't see the forest because the trees get in the way. Just wondering what a simpler life would be like, back when Smokey was the hero.  I think sometimes I just need to remember to stop and smell the roses.