I’ll oft take lots of mediocre photos that never see the light of its day. They aren’t “aesthetically pleasing” or, at least, worthy-of-the-gram–they’re usually a little weird or off-centered or discolored or blurry. Or, more frequently, mundane. There’s nothing breath-taking about them, no famous mountains or monuments grandly displayed in the background, just streets and lights and angles and figures, sometimes empty space.
Even so, these images bring me a sort of quiet pleasure in their dullness/mundaneness, in their unassumingness, and there’s nothing about them that asks to be ‘liked’.
Don’t get me wrong, I love typically beautiful Instagram-mable images as much as the next person, but sometimes I don’t want to produce merely beautiful photos. At the same time, daily mediocre-ish photos, depicting the quotidian, scream to breathe instead of being buried in Camera Roll.
That being said, I might just carve out a corner of this blog–which I already word-vomit and art-chuck onto–for photo diary entries.
So here’s my first batch of photo diary photos, which I’ll call Things That Aren’t, just because the phrase was marqueeing through my head this evening, 7:03 PM.
My fingers are pink and numb, my nose tulipy red: I’ve just come back from prancing around in the snow, making snow angels, kicking up powdery light snowdust. Our boots sunk three inches deep. Light mound of snow layered the field, coated every surface, nook and crevice like frosting (Ah, Frosty!)
The snow was too fine for snowmen or snowballs, so we resorted to dragging our boots through the snow, windmilling bodies into snow angels, tossing handfuls of snow. “Snow, please,” I’d say, since I’d forgotten to wear mittens. Then a sprinkle-shower of snow would scatter over our heads.
Snow came hailing (hailing hail, hail isn’t the one thing that hails) down all of Saturday, blanketed the city in a coat of white. On the walk back home, post snowball-fight and snowfall-shoot and snow-name-carving, we marveled at the small flakes, crystallized asymmetry, dainty and ephemeral.Pinprick patterns of cold dust, size of freckles. Imagine if we could store these in jars indefinitely, keep each one intact. Snow way this comes from the sky, Instagram caption.
My boyfriend pointed out earlier today that I haven’t written much on my blog (“Well, sort of. I posted my art recently.” “No, I meant a journal entry.”) and for a moment I felt emotionally sweaty. Hm, well, why haven’t I? Because the thing is, I have been avidly writing, from midnight rants about psychology studies to utterly mundane journal entries– I just haven’t been publishing them. Think I’ve just been feeling self-conscious lately. So I’ve either distanced myself from the things I’ve written or felt nauseated about them, taken a step back from blogging to do other things instead, life things. But I might go ahead and publish some things I’ve written. Or maybe not.
Anyhow, I am… alive and kicking.
The past three weeks have been interesting. Well, maybe interesting’s too strong a word. Interesting connotes deviation, and I wouldn’t say they’ve been different or strange. They’ve been… pleasant. I spent the entire pre-Thanksgiving weekend at my best friend’s house, where I recorded her in slo-mo bellowing (she’s a really talented singer) to Christmas hits by Mariah Carey and Ariana Grande. I painted portraits; we cooked carbonara; the whole family went Thanksgiving dinner shopping. After this brief respite, I took yet another one, of Thanksgiving break, which felt like one big intake of fresh air. I hope you had a restful break! chirp emails. Well, I did have a restful break. Filled with family, food and sleep.
The week and a half since has been both mellow and fun. Lights are up, both in the city and in New York, so I’ve been visiting parks and spaces now glittery lit-up. Twinkling trees, glowing branches and whatnot. Over the weekend I went to New York City, which ended up being one wild adventure stuffed with dessert-y foods and rich pasta and spiked Korean watermelon and, of course, window displays and Christmas lights. Oh, and a missed bus and speed-walks down 50-60 blocks (this time through Times Sq. and Rockefeller Center and Saks 5th Avenue!) to catch the next bus. I’ve just finished going through the 300+ photos I took on the trip, and I’ll elaborate on it soon once I have more time. I’m also trying to use my camera more, too; I’ll start upchucking them onto here.
Time flies is one of those cliches you secretly hope will apply to you. And, well, it did for me. That we have one more week of classes left is appalling, that we’re nearly done is baffling, that it’s 20 days ’til Christmas is absurd, and insert-whatever-other-synonym-you’d-like. I haven’t honestly wrapped my mind around it, and I probably won’t until I have to, until I have to come with the wing-flapping nature of time. It feels like yesterday was September, the day before was August, and the day before that was February. The less you pay attention to time, the quicker it goes; I’ll try my best not to count down the next 15. And blog more while I’m at it.
Photographed this about three years ago. I miss New York and all its lights; I’ve been itching to visit for the past year or so. In my general consumption of rom-com movies–always based in NYC (of course) and around Christmas (yes), Christmas lights, in particular, have become somewhat of a myth.
So I’m going back soon–for the sixth time!–this time to see the Christmas lights!
– april 23rd, 2015 | 4:08 pm
Something my best friend said to me a few years ago.