MEXICAN PARTIES

 

These were the times of marshmellows, cooked by the kids on a small clay stove, and supervised carefully by the young Daniel. These were the times of piñatas: for Easter, for birthdays, for graduations, for nothing in particular. All the children in a line from smallest to tallest, me at the end, candy flying everywhere and tiny grabbing hands. These were the times of mechanical bulls, and the bullying that went with them: Get on the bull! Go again! Just once more! They only wanted to have a laugh.

These were the times of nopales, tortillas stuffed with pescado, and carne asadas bubbling away in huge vats dug out of the earth. Of Mane's sweet empanadas, and Bari's tequila-and-lime concoctions, which the younger ones would try and sneak into red plastic cups. Of corn cobs, milk jellies, flan and steaming cups of atole. 

These were the times of inside - outside - inside. Of quips and jokes and all kinds of laughs. Of the need for a quick wit and a sharp tongue - especially around the guys. They were the times of sisters, mothers, daughters, friends, all gathering to prepare the feast. Of the crowd at the pool table, the break, the scratch, the balls clacking and remarks of triumph. Of children running barefoot through tiled halls, and pulling at my dress to be picked up and cuddled. Of their smiles, everybody's smiles. My smile.

AKUMAL SUNRISE

PATIENCE  |  A PERSONAL LESSON

MY EXPERIENCE OF SUNRISE
(JULY . 7 . 2015)

Deep calm breaths. That is what I should have been taking, on the picture perfect white sands of that Mexican beach. Deep breaths is what I was taking, all right, but they were not calm. My bare feet sunk into the grainy coolness of the sand, scratching against hidden shells and coral bits as I ran. Panting, camera in one hand, other arm flailing. I was about to miss the rising sphere of the sun, eclipsed by that small curve of the bay... I could see the golden threads of light weaving their way out of the clouds already... Cutting it fine. 

I made it in time to watch as the light from the sun spilled out over the water to grace the earth. Either my timing was impeccable, or it was like a bundle of messy sticks - kind of haphazard and crazed. That is how I feel sometimes, when taking my photos. Forgetting all else - the early morning bed-hair, the eating of food, the conversations going on around me, my mind can be elsewhere. I sometimes feel torn between my photo-brain and my life-brain. And yet, photos can weave me back into the world in a way no other art medium has done before. Although I am scattered in my conversations, my mind becomes a pinpoint focus of light and energy - like a lens. I watch the ground move under my feet, spying bits of broken glass glinting up at me. My hands move between the leaves of a hedgerow, snapping off small samples to twist and twist between wandering fingers. A ladybug crawls on a concrete fence, and I am there with it. A bird's wings make a kind of whirring noise as it scoops out the sky. 

For my poor friends and family, I am sorry that I seem so lost sometimes. But really I am there, in the moment, in so many different ways. 

It is balance that I now look for - between the mundane and the fantastical; the real and the imagined; the grounded and the created. Sometimes I must bring myself back to the earth, to listen intently and to laugh. Other times I simply must fly away, to be free and to smile to myself.

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THE QUESTION

It has been over a year since that day when I ran headlong across the beach of Akumal. I have thought of that moment many times now. It stands out in my memory as one of those life-altering events. The change in myself happened slowly. It would be almost too ironic to say 'it dawned upon me,' but I see this as a kind of poetical irony. 

The scene hit me with its simple truth: there I was, in the presence of life and the light of the world and the wonder of it all, and I was so absorbed in my own head - a swirling mass of worries about my photography, and the future blog post to come of it. I saw it at other times too, this worry - when I did not have my camera with me, I was mentally kicking myself. But what for? What was all this crap in my head for?

I started searching for a reason - the reason behind my work, and I found none existing.

Here was an instance of a blank canvas if I ever found one. Here was the opportunity, the moment offered to me, to create meaning.

I began to fill the void with meaning, asking myself: 

What do I want from my work?

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THE ANSWERS I RECEIVED:

To be bettered. To learn, to grow, to search, to find, to push myself. 
To be the scholar that I am.

To create. To germinate, to form thought into reality.
To be the artist that I am.

To live. To feel each moment in its purest form, to exist in time, to fill my life with the present as it happens.
To be the being that I am.

To philosophise. To think critically, to look for meaning, to be fearless in my words, to explore my own and others ideas, to never settle.
To be the thinker that I am.

To expand my consciousness, to explore my spirituality, to inspire others by living my own life, to tell stories, to communicate wisdom, to exude the joy inside of me...

...to find everything wonderful.

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THE BALANCE I HAVE FOUND

Those answers were the seeds that have now sprouted into curling tendrils. I have found a balance in my work by melding it with life so that they are one and the same. I cannot work without first living, because my art finds meaning in the doing. So I take my time, not rushing, never worrying but simply being in the moment. I do not take pictures until I am calm and fully present. I put down my camera and my thoughts to listen to others, as they are full of wisdom that I do not yet know. I conduct miles of research, sometimes just for the sake of learning, because it feels sublime. I read and read and read. I think. A lot. I have so many conversations about my work now. In doing all this, I have inadvertently turned my attentions from the surface value of things: the pretty, the luxury, the self, to the deeper murmurings.

I am also tentatively stepping along my spiritual path, my strides becoming bigger as I leave behind all those fears I had of rejection. Because I have realised, too, that I do not wish to pander to others, but to expand my own perceptions. If I focus on changing myself, I may become like a drop of rain in the lake of humanity - tiny, but a creator of ripples. 

JUNGLE PARADISE

“ I have come into my garden...
I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.
I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey;
I have drunk my wine and my milk.”

— THE SONG OF SONGS

Is it not a product of our Christianised minds, to demonise all that is pleasurable? To instead revere asceticism. Even those of the Buddhist and Zen inclinations would tell us to avoid an attachment to material things. And yet, I assert there is some good in the material aspect of the world, and our pleasures in those things. Carnal desires. The root chakra. The base instinct. These have their origins in the Earth - rooted to all that is Earthly. For, if we are to truly appreciate the miracle of our lives and bodies, we should engage with life around us, putting every ounce of our being into sensing every inch of the world. And what an abundance of beauty and suffering the world is! What a difference a candle makes, or a watermelon. It is a wonder we are able to experience life, and it is wonder we experience when we come openly to life. 

Sometimes, I like to force all of my being, all of my existence into only one sense; at other times I let the world wash over me like a symphony.

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The sound of a million insects, and me, blind in the nighttime from the balcony, while the warm air creates a sheeny film on my skin. A sense of inner quiet as I look out at the jungle, so alive in the darkness.

A kind of elation, when I have my bathing suit on underneath my dress and I can simply peel off the sticky layers and jump into the pool. That moment where my skin makes first contact with the water: silken feeling, the currents rippling against my legs as I move. A heightened awareness. 

Wandering aimlessly among bamboo forests, ponds of koi fish and frogs, patios shaded by umbrellas, and under spreading flowering trees. A visual feast of brightly coloured petals, and the utter grandeur of a tree with an expanse bigger than a house. A moment of wonderment. 

My discovery: of a clutch of sparrows, winging their way through an alcove.

The joys of walking barefoot in breezy and warm tiled rooms.

The taste of fresh dates.

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