A little more than three weeks ago I decided I would start posting a photo a day on Instagram. This is not a new idea, but neither have I started an official photo a day project with any guidelines or projected outcomes. I am not particularly good with daily rituals, they generally come to feel burdensome, and inevitably I miss, a day or several, and when my streak is broken the perceived failure typically wards me off from returning. This holds true for creative projects, self-care projects and weekly house cleaning intentions. It is some kind of self-defeatism that is decidedly unhelpful. However, I think that the structure of a project can sometimes overshadow the intention of a project and we can become focused on the achievement and loose the experience. So this is not a project, but something I have just decided to do. Originally I thought I would share my weekly collection here, every Saturday, with some reflection or review. I haven't started that yet. I don't know if I will. But I have found some value in my daily photos and that is something that I would like to share.
Because my photos are accompanied by words it has become almost in equal, a daily writing exercise, not by intention, but by default. I sketch in words, rather than images in pencil and paper, it is the characters of the letters; they are how I process and understand. One of the things I find interesting about writing is the ability of our own words to speak back to us. Perhaps our words can speak better to us than any intended audience, particularly over time. They reflect our feelings; they remind us of understands, that have sometimes faded; sometimes they are embarrassing; sometimes enlightening; but always they are a window back to ourselves; they are perspective.
My daily photos have shown me the character of my days, I have tried to choose images that reflect some aspect of my day; my thoughts or activities, and as I look back over them I can see how varied my daily experiences actually are, how quickly the weather changes, how diligently time passes. They help me look quietly when my mind wants to move fast, faster than my days, which are moving quite fast enough.
They are tiny reminders, reflections and rebirths; here are a few of my favorites.
I was out today for Flood the Streets with Art and feeding my soul
My great-grandmother's thread box