My 2018 Word: Possibility

It's a New Year, and with it comes that familiar sense of fresh purpose, renewed vigor, and revived hope.  It's Spring for the soul, this mid-winter hush, this hard re-set, this dazzlingly blank page full of promise and Possibility.

Possibility.  It's my focus word for 2018.  In 2017 I honed in on Balance;  that was last year's word, and by embracing it, I gave myself permission to step back, reevaluate, and get my feet underneath me.  I'd just made an epic decision to quit traditional photography so I could pursue what was truly in my heart of hearts to do: honest, artistic storytelling.  I gave myself permission to breathe, to explore, to rest, to push and pull and be a human being, not merely a human doing.

I've not fully mastered the art of balance (because life is a process, and growth is a journey), but I do sense it has served me well, and that I am now being given a new opportunity -- with moving to Florida and starting fresh in a new place -- to step out in faith, to branch off onto a fresh and exciting journey.  I see this grand world opening up wide to me.  I see it offering endless Possibility!  

A New Year -- can you feel it??? 

Now, I could be the sort of person to insist on caution and prudence, to allow a sense of cynical demise get the best of me, to slap on my common sense hat and advise against this, that, or the other ...

But let's be honest:  I'm not that sort of person.  I'm a daft and dewey-eyed dope.  I'm more of the "let your dreams soar and your heart beat Life into ya" school of thought.  This New Year stuff gets me excited -- and this 2018 New Year stuff has me excited in ways I've never been excited before.

Why?

Because I've made a plan, and I can see just how much I get to learn in 2018!  I can see clearly the growth I'm about to experience!  I can see the Possibility!  I have set goals and charted the course to attain them.  I've made concrete promises to myself, and I've allowed pockets of grace for renewal along the way.  I've determined my priorities and I've joyfully embraced the process between January 1st and December 31st, 2018 -- 365 sunrises and sunsets, with new people to meet, new challenge to embrace, new hopes to be had, new art to be made!

How about you?  What have you determined in your heart to accomplish this year?  What is your possibility?  Please share in a comment below -- I look forward to learning from you!

It Begins: The Little Mermaid

Once Upon a Time ....

That is how all fairy tales begin.  And my own real-life fairy tale is no different --

"The Little Mermaid" is in full swing. Gowns are being sewn, watery realm costumes are arranged, camera settings are pondered over, and shot lists have been made. The first of seven sessions is slated to take place tomorrow afternoon. It will involve a pool and several mer-people, a water-housing for my Nikon FX, and a cooler full of bottled waters for those on-set.  I'm fairly certain I've planned for everything -- and also fairly certain I've forgotten at least twelve necessary things.

Of course, I am beyond excited to be photographing something so near and dear to me, a lifelong dream in the making -- but more than that, the community of people who are volunteering to come together to do this Monumental Thing, regular folks turned models, mothers bringing their little mer-children to sessions, dads posing as sailors and castle folk, and fellow artists and photographers, actors and make-up artists .....

Sometimes, in the midst of nitty-gritty, hardcore planning and swelling rushes of excitement -- sewing gowns and sending e-mails, text-answering questions about hair and make-up, thrifting for fabrics, props, and accessories .... I just stop in the middle of it all and breathe it in and think what a BLESSING this is to my heart of hearts, the thing that pumps hot life into my soul --

And also what a blessing it WILL BE to other artists when The Fine Art of Becoming hits its full stride, ushering the way for other artists to create in mad and wonderful ways, unleashing a fullness of freedom for creatives who are currently struggling or standing in the shadows, creatives who question their validity and purpose.

The way I did for so many years.

I am overwhelmed by the unfolding of it all.

My heart nearly explodes for the hope I feel for them.  They don't now it yet, but they are going to experience an awakening.  They are going to Become.

And it all begins, in earnest, tomorrow afternoon, at a neighborhood swimming pool, with a few humble hearts and a wish embedded deeply inside of visionary souls.

And they lived happily ever after?  Not yet .... and yet, indeed.  Because this is living, this madness, this community, this shared passion and purpose.  It's glorious.  And with each new development, each challenge and inching toward success, I am reminded of why we're pulling together to do this.  And that is indeed happiness.

Up Next: The Sessions.

Plans and Art and Mermaids -- oh my!

"I must be a mermaid... I have no fear of depths, and a great fear of shallow living."  - Anais Nin

I'm sure it appears I've totally abandoned my website and my faithful readers because ... well I kinda did. 

But I promise I didn't!

The only excuse I can offer is that I suffer from two simultaneous and equally debilitating ailments:  "Lookit All The Things! Disease" and "I Can Only Do One Thing at a Time Disorder".

Being a creative has its drawbacks.  On the one hand I have a brain filled with an assortment of wonderful and magical ideas!  On the other hand, I am easily distracted by said wonderful and magical ideas.  So it's a constant struggle to understand my purpose, re-evaluate my intentions, and re-order my activities to align in a way that supports the taking of one step at a time toward the goal.

Hence my lack of appearance here:  I've been passionately pursuing The Goal!

Four years ago I had a secret vision with an intense drive and purpose to serve artists and thus make the world a more amazing place.  And recently, that vision has taken a more solid shape, allowing me to finally act on it!  Y'all this is it, The Big One: 

I'm designing a book.  A gorgeous book, with giant, full-color illustrations, telling the classic Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale, "The Little Mermaid".  It's going to be a literal work of visual art, for delighted lovers of fairy tales and imaginative folks passionate about story and art.  People like you and me, in other words.  

Why would I do this?  Because I'm bored or something?  Oh no, no, no.   This massive illustrative project is going to fund my bigger (more vital!) vision to support, encourage, educate, and equip future artists and creatives to push past boundaries and sing their truth!

As an artist, I've had the unique position and honor to meet many other artists, to speak with them, know them, understand them, and one thing is clear about this creative journey: art is opposed.

Art is demanding. It requires something from a person that is more than paint or paper or (in my case) turning on the computer and opening PhotoShop. Making art means culling forth something Other residing within – often very, very deep within. This takes work and self-awareness, and while it is good work, manufacturing as it does such beautiful things, it is difficult work because it exhaustively demands heart and soul.

Art is devalued. As a collective society we'll fork out millions to watch the latest C.G.I. mega-blockbuster, and some of us will even hand over a fiver-plus-ten to attend an art exhibit featuring a name we're familiar with –- but what about that gal working on a wall mural in a child's nursery … or the lady who designs really clever objects made of wood and stone, right out of her garage? For every “successful” artist deemed worthy of money and notice, there are hundreds more struggling to be acknowledged, struggling with self-doubt, doling out thousands for materials, giving countless hours to education, learning and growing and developing more fully in their passion and skill – striving to have a voice which sings of truth in color and lines. And these are the artists who are often overlooked and largely ignored, which explains why –

Art is lonely.  Meant to be partaken of communally, art is ironically a solitary thing. When you're alive inside of yourself and working so diligently to pull that out into the light of day, to reveal it in a way others can partake of, it has a strangely isolating effect. Working so intimately with something, be it brush bristles smeared with paint or kneading bread dough, an individual's art is more accurately described as birth. And birthing something to life can only be done in quiet, dark places. Our friends and family don't fully understand what is going on inside our brains, what is writhing just beneath the exterior surface, and we artists aren't always articulate enough to express it until the final work is produced, which means working solo until the Just Right Time.

Art is a mystery. Creation happens in places within that are sometimes dark and squirrely. Ideas are born of emotions and meaningful experiences, formed in the recesses of a human heart into that something Other. It takes a lot of digging, which can (and does!) consume years and years of a human life. It's an evolutionary process, this making art thing, hard to hack at and difficult to reveal.

And yet, art is natural. It's as ingrained and necessary as breathing. Humanity exhibits this insatiable drive in a variety of ways, from baking in the kitchen and setting the dinner table, to sewing or knitting gorgeous wearables or putting up special made curtains in the family room. The urge to create is strong in us. One could even say it's a driving force, this thing that holds us firmly entrenched in either self-doubt or outright dismissal … but it is also the very thing that is the catalyst for life itself.

I believe in God, and I believe He is the Creator of all good and beautiful beings – and I believe we, the crowning glory of God's creation, are created in His very image to create.

We just don't always know how. And as difficult as art is – isolating, devalued, mysterious, and demanding – many of us don't even want to partake of the creative process. So we just –

don't

And yet ….

How many times have you looked at someone's This or That Thing of Beauty and thought to yourself or even spoken aloud, “I wish I knew how to do that” – but then shrugged it off as outside the realm of possibility? I'm guessing a lot. I hear it all the time, when someone admires what I do, wistfully yearning they could do it too, and I just hurt for that person who is more wrapped up in defeat than she is in victory. Because art is important. If it wasn't, so many of us wouldn't be (or want to be) doing it!

A while ago I experienced a very profound thing: I realized my Calling was not just in “being an artist”, but it is also in helping others experience the joy of creating art themselves. I am built to guide others to the source of their creative energy. I'm designed to help others act on the natural creative force already hardwired in their souls.

That's how “The Fine Art of Becoming” was born, a specialized retreat weekend for the purpose of supporting, encouraging, educating, and equipping artists on their creative journey – which also includes those amazing people who don't (yet) see themselves as artists but who secretly believe (and rightly so!) they could be – they just need that little extra something to prove it to themselves. “The Fine Art of Becoming” will consist of structured, creative experiences and restorative solitude, encouraging talks by experienced artists and creatives active in the field of their expertise, and specialized lessons built to whet the soul's appetite and instill the courage to go forth and make art! It's an entire, immersive weekend to enliven fellow sojourners to their possibility, find their voice, and learn how to bravely go about singing and sharing their truth.

You want a spot on The Fine Art of Becoming retreat?  Registration opens in June of 2018.

[insert record scratch]

I know.  It's a long way off.  But it has to be.  You see, this kind of long-term goal planning takes time and prayer and a whole team of people -- and gobs of money ... something which seems to be in short supply around here.  Guess that whole "starving artist" thing is an Actual Thing.  Dangit.

Hence my illustrated book! Call it Phase One of The Fine Art of Becoming.  A fundraiser of sorts, this thing is gonna be crafted from the highest quality materials with gorgeous illustrations, sure to entertain and captivate lovers of stories everywhere. It'll be a work of art in itself, this book. Just you wait and see.  Especially by artists, for artists, to support artists.

So why “The Little Mermaid”?  You mean aside from the fact that I've been obsessed with mermaids since I was a little girl, even wanted to be one ... but sadly I never learned that breathing under water trick?

Because The Little Mermaid is someone so many of us relate to, even if on a subconscious level. The Little Mermaid belonged neither here nor there. A creature born of water and salt, yet longing for land and air. She never quite fit in, but never let that stop her from becoming who she knew, deep down, she was supposed to be. Her voice was stripped from her, she lost her way, but in the end, she discovered the core values set in all hearts, human or sea creature: vulnerable love, self-sacrifice, deeper belonging and holy purpose.

And that, my friend, is the very definition of Art.

That's why it's important to tell her story and share it in a way that we can all cling to. Because her story is our story.

When will “The Little Mermaid” book be complete?  Well, the process has already begun -- and you get a ringside seat to the whole show!  Parts have been cast and plans are already in motion to complete all thirty-five illustrations and have a publisher secured by May 31, 2018. It will take a great deal of orchestrating the scheduling of sessions, shooting all of my models, shooting additional photographic elements (such as architectural bits or clumps of flowers for a particular scene, and so on), after which each image must be sorted and cataloged. All of that has to happen before I can even begin putting all of the visual bits together in photographic form. Each illustration will take a minimum of six hours to complete – and that's just the final editing!  It is a highly processed, thoroughly detailed undertaking -- but don't worry! I'll keep you up-to-date on the goings on, so you can be the first to know when the final product is released.

Are you in? Good. Let's dive!

Woodland Mysteries

The woods.  They feature prominently in so many stories.  Fairytales, myths, legends -- hundreds of opportunities to experience something other-worldly. 

There is a great and marvelous magic about a wooded forest, from its leaf strewn floor, damp mingling with dusty-crunch, to the beams of sunlight filtering through moss-coated branches overhead, dust sparkling in the air like fairy glitter.  The woods bode lovely things, mysterious things, the natural world inviting you into a deeper one brimming over of secret, inner imaginings full of life and strangeness and delicate, yet powerful beauty.

My heart of hearts longs for this.  It always has.  It's why as a child I was drawn to films such as Willow and The Neverending Story and The Dark Crystal.  There is a soul-aspect that speaks to dreams and of mystery, and I find myself falling into that deeper place any time I walk in the woods.  It's an invitation to something higher and truer, a place where sparkles on water allude to dancing fairies and falling leaves hint at creatures beyond the wildest imaginings.

“Etheria”
by Sarah Lagon

As if caught within the most beautiful dream,
A vision of untouched majesty only gods could scheme —
The likes of which whisper promise of mischief quite supreme —
Lies far behind the sunset's blinding gleam

A forest beyond jagged mountain pass or gently rolling hill,
Lazily idling into that sleepy Autumnal still
Which precedes the bite of winter chill,
Where curious beasts wander at will

Capricious and cocksure creatures without fear
Which, if inattentive clod be ambling near,
Need only one swift moment to disappear
And slip softly by that untrained ear

But if, perchance, observed by wayward passerby
The mystic glint of dewy fading light might belie —
Perhaps some subtle trick of the eye —
A slight presence there where faeries lie

Breathing Again

You see the smile that's on my mouth
It's hiding the words that don't come out
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed
They don't know my head is a mess
No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what
I've been through like you do

-- Brandi Carlile, "The Story"

There is a phrase (or variation thereof) which I have been given time and time again, over the last half decade or so, a phrase so often repeated by friends and perfect strangers that it is too numerous to count:

"You have such a way with words -- have you ever thought about writing?"

And when I receive these words -- mind you, always as a compliment and an encouragement -- I've felt a deep, very hopeless heartache. 

Why?

Because I was a writer.  I did write.  I not only thought about writing, I wrote like the dickens -- for decades.  About people and self and stories, thick literary overtones littered with the occasional madness.  Exactly like a properly proper writer.  

You see, when I was ten years old I had a dream:  to be a published author.  Nearly fifteen years later, I started a blog, back before blogs were a Thing, and with it I had a fairly decent following.  I graduated college with a dual B.S. in English and psychology, my Senior project being a full-immersion with a literary professor who personally guided me through the dark and mysterious waters of editing and publication -- ostensibly so I would be well-versed in how to finally be "a real writer".  And I wrote a novel, dozens of short stories, placed well in writing contests, and received lots and lots of wonderful feedback.

But also, heartbreak.

My novel was never published, despite my best efforts, and when my dad died in 2009, something bigger than my frail abilities fell over me, smothering me.  The words dried up.  The desire for words dried up too.  I laid aside my pen with no intention nor expectation of ever picking it up again.  My heart was completely broken.

I began a journey toward healing when I picked up a camera ... and that's how I wound up doing photography -- which makes perfect sense since photos are simply stories of a visual nature.  I did well in that creative field;  I still enjoy using my camera to create art and further capture moments that would otherwise be lost in the ephemera of time -- will continue to enjoy photography and creating visually because it is now a piece of me --

but still

words

They've been my constant.  Such simple things: curves with connected dots and sticks in various stunted heights, nothing more than vague black symbols with associated meanings, never the same depending on who or what circumstances observes them -- but oh the soul to be found in each and every word!  There's never been a day -- even when I consciously put aside such things with hardened intention -- that words have not been my saving grace.  They are the air in my lungs, the lifeline tethering my flesh to the spirit pulsing inside.

And every time I made a comment on a Facebook status or sent an e-mail or a thank you note or did anything of any sort which involved heart-laced words, I would hear it again and again and again -- like a beating drum ... or the insistent whisper of the heart pumping hot blood through laced veins:

"You have such a way with words -- have you ever thought about writing?"

write, Lauren

(( write ))

For the longest time I refused.  The pain was too heavy, the defeat too overwhelming.  Then, I refused out of a sense of anger and defiance over past failures and a grief so thick it clung to me like a choking tar.  But after a while it became impossible to ignore.  See, when you are nudged, however gently, toward the edge of a precipice, at some point you realize you will fall -- or soar.  At some point you realize God is offering you the very wings which are vital to your soaring.

So it is with wide open excitement (and, I must admit, nervous anxiety), I write these next words:

I'm writing again. 

Not just here (though, yes, that too -- so many ideas I haven't the time to share them here with you all!), but Real Writing.  With broad topics and chapters and research and everything.  I'm working on a deeply personal project, an idea I had many years ago but which wasn't quite ripe enough for the plucking.  But now is the perfect time, ripe as it is, ready to be sliced open, juices spilling out, all fresh and sweet and life-giving.

I want to thank every single one of you who voiced God's urging, even when you didn't know you were doing it.  By simply reaching out to me in love, you put me back to rights again -- piece by delicate piece, reminding me of my nature and higher calling.  I can't thank you enough.  I'm writing again.  I'm breathing again -- truly and properly filling my lungs with intoxicating air and exhaling relief-suffused purpose and joy.  And that is everything to me.

Everything.

Thank you.

Friends & Sisters: a day in Chattanooga, Tennessee

Saturdays (if done properly) are lovely, luscious things, filled as they are with connection, and good food, and the kind of soul rest that is born of deep sighs, belly laughter, and inside jokes. 

American teenagers know how to do this kind of Saturday better than anyone I know.  Too mature to cling to childhood, but as yet still inexperienced and gorgeously and righteously ignorant of adult nonsense, a coven of teenage girls knows more than anyone the value of a proper Saturday, the kind of day that is spent truly together, with headphones and ice cream, and a semblance of external entertainment that is less important than the fellowship of shared ideals and interests.

This is the sort of Saturday that is sacred and worthy of protection -- for the memories induced will be lifelong and lasting, the kind of day the adult self will look back on with wistful remembrance of everything good and holy and desirable.

Autumn 2016: Happenings & Gratitude

"Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile." - William Cullen Bryant

This Autumn has been a bit of a blur.  We shan't speak of current world events;  no, let's pretend all the sordid bits of modern culture have had absolutely no impact on us, shall we?  Let us bury our heads in the sand and focus on the good in life.

There is much to be thankful for.

In October, my husband and I braved the post-hurricane hype and journeyed to Charleston.  It was a rapturous city, full of light and architecture, sounds and textures, food (so much food), and history (so much history!).  I absolutely adored the four days we spent walking among the friendly people, scurrying between buildings to be delighted by a secret cemetery, taking photograph after photograph, and just enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin -- a rare treat in October.  My husband and I enjoyed shopping, eating (too much), several historical walking and carriage tours (including a trip to the Charleston Old City Jail), and a rest under the shade of the hundreds-years-old Angel Oak Tree.

Over on my Instagram page, I've been participating in the 30 Days of Thankfulness challenge.  I haven't always had an opening in my busy life to post an image for each and every day, but when I have, I've taken the time to thank God for so many lovely things, like family and a cozy home, nature and life.  I learned long ago that a peaceful and content life means having a grateful heart and choosing joy.  I'm doing that.

I have found myself already slowing down, acclimating to the changing of seasons as light begins to dwindle more and more each day and darkness begins to lull the world into restful sleep.  Autumn used to be a time for activity and cold air in lungs ... but in the last few years I've listened more intently to a new rhythm: a crunch under foot, a quiet in the air, a muted tone blanketing the earth.  It's a lovely thing, this sort of pre-Winter twilight, the thin line between wakefulness and dreams.  It is still my favorite season, Autumn, though now I adore it for different reasons.

I do wish you a lovely season full of hot cuppas, snuggly sweaters, and laughter among friends.

Life is Better By the Sea

My family, like so many families this summer, recently headed to the beach, to Cape San Blas, a heavenly peninsula in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico.  It was a time of merciless sun and breathtaking sunsets, salty air, coconut-scented sunscreen mingled with sweet sweat, sand clinging to damp skin, wind-dried hair, half-consumed water bottles strewn about, wet towels draped over every available surface, and gluttonous quantities of fried clams, seafood chowder, fresh shrimp, and tartar sauce drenched fish.

Life is better by the sea.

While there, in the throws of vacation ecstasy, we spun out cotton-candy dream-plans to make the ocean our permanent, year-round, lifelong destination.  We'd buy a two-bedroom cottage with an ocean view, purchase infinite numbers of shorts and tank tops, and have a weekly bonfire on the beach.  To pay the bills, my husband would get his ordination license and together, he and I would do weddings and elopements for visiting couples:  he would perform the ceremonies, and I would photograph them.  (My friend Jan, who was also at the beach with us, volunteered for the job of wedding coordinator).

Life is better by the sea

We miss it already, that semi-limbo, almost surreal monotone that one drifts through when one's seemingly endless days are filled with the delicious monotony of early morning swim-float sessions, casual sandwich-and-potato-chip lunches, afternoon naps, and sunset seashell hunting, sand and sea foam pooling between bare toes and eddying around ankles.  Life now, having been away from the ocean for right at a week, is taking on again that hard bite of reality, of laundry and chores and "day jobs".

Oh the harsh, harsh reality of day jobs!

Life is better by the sea.

All that lingers are fading tan lines, worn flip-flips, and peeling, sand-scoured feet.  And photographs.  And Memories.  And smiles of reminiscence. 

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea." - Isak Dinesen

Want to see even more from our trip to the beach?  Head on over to my Instagram where you'll find every wonderful thing fully documented in pure photographic glory -- including photos of that amazing food we overindulged in (not to be missed):  Lauren Bee on Instagram.

PhotoShop Escapades

I've been an artist for decades.  Whether the endless unicorns and mermaids I drew as a child (I'm talking notebooks full!) or the two years' worth of pastels, acrylics, and graphic drawings and paintings I created in college as a Fine Arts major, I've always felt this near-manic drive to create visually.  Even when I was a writer, my words attempted to invoke the visual-emotive through effusive comparisons, similes, and allegory, words flooding the page like a thousand drops of liquid rainbow, mingling with a thousand more splashes of warm honey-glitter.  (See what I just did there?)

I suppose it's only natural that something inside of me shifted when I began to use a DSLR to full effect.  At first it was just playing around with a Kodak point-n-shoot, but then the Nikon D3100 became "a necessity", followed by the D7000, the D7100, and now the FX D700 (two of them in fact -- yes, two).  Don't even get me started on the quest for quality glass;  my current obsession is the Sigma Art line, the 50mm 1.4 being the most frequently wielded weapon of choice.  

The learning curve didn't stop there.  Along with self-propelled education in the use of manual mode and Kelvin white balance, I ripped through editing software with a hunger akin to Edward Cullen on a vegan diet.  Lightroom was a very good investment, along with a few Creative Live classes, watching assorted and sundry YouTube tutorials, and picking the brains of several excellent photographers.  It's been painful and maddeningly frustrating at times, with sudden stops and starts, moments where I just didn't understand (!!!) and even the occasional (violent) urge to just quit it all!

And all of that in just four years.

Around this time last year I signed up for Creative Cloud.  And then I just quietly paid the monthly fee, terrified to dip my toe into the waters of all things Adobe.  I wanted to try Photo Shop;  truly I did.  I just didn't know where to begin.  So I didn't.  I just stared at it.  Weeks went by, more payments made.  I tried to find the time to start playing with the buttons and whatnot... but it was just so terrifying, so daunting.  So I ignored it.

Until about eight months ago, when my creative spirit just sort of said to me, "Lauren, look.  If you procrastinate any longer, you're going to stagnate -- and artists don't stagnate, you hear?  'Cause when they stagnate, they die.  Long, horrible deaths, moaning and wailing in pits of darkness and despair and --"

And that's when I told my creative spirit to shut-it because I got it (and she was being way too melodramatic anyway .... which yeah, is what creative spirits do...)

So I started playing with Photo Shop (PS).  The first few attempts ended in tears and much bemoaning to a friend who is very well-versed in PS and who just swore up one side and down the other that it's pure magic.  Bless her, she tried to explain some things to me, but I just was not getting it.  I didn't even know words for things, so I couldn't so much as Google for information.  I mean "how to use that swipey thingy that does The Cool Thing in PhotoShop" didn't yield such great results.  Still, I tried and tried on my own, hacking and sawing, reading up on things, watching more tutorials, taking more Creative Live classes, hacking and sawing some more amid wailing and gnashing of teeth ...

And then, one day, it just started to click.

I began layering things, adding on textures and pushing buttons and using brushes (I think that's what the swipey thing is called), creating clipping masks, adding and manipulating text, and, and, and ...

I also found that those long-distant semesters spent in Fine Arts school started to pay off.  I brushed up on my fairly decent understanding of shading, lighting, shadows, and two-dimensional depth, making the painting in of finer details an intuitive process.

As my confidence grew, my ideas started to gain some steady momentum, becoming more grandiose by the week.  Ranging from the dark and emotive, to the light and whimsical, one day it was fairy wings and solar flare, the next day it was head swaps and 19+ layer composites with excessive Gaussian blur.  It became a sort of game where I dared myself to see if "it" could be done (whatever "it" happened to be at the moment) -- and that creative spirit of mine, not one to back down from a dare, said to me, "Challenge accepted."

I have so much more to learn and so far to go -- but I can't wait to learn all the things and go all the places PS will take an eternally budding artist!  I've even got my sights set on Adobe Illustrator;  I hear it too does miraculous things -- and miraculous things, that's where it's at!  I love more than anything the process of creation, of plumbing the depths of a human heart and pulling forth beautiful and amazing worlds and emotions and stories.  They've been there all along, but the act of bringing life to it all.... this is why my creative spirit exists.

Want to see how I do it?  Enjoy this warp speed video of a recent edit, taking my daughter from sweet blond Jerrica to "truly, truly, truly outrageous" Jem!: