My Sacred Space -- Huntsville, Alabama Portrait Photographer

"Your sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again."  -- Joseph Campbell

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Last winter I was honored to be a part of one of Tammy Smith's workshops.  At the time I'd been feeling less than good at what I do, disjointed, scattered with very little direction.  I didn't know if I wanted to keep plowing through professional waters or hang my hat and go back to aimlessness -- heck, I was already aimless.  I knew I was deeply artistic, knew I loved visual story, but I didn't know how to turn that into anything more than "just photography".

And then Tammy happened.  One day spent with her made me do an about face, a total 180.  I went from feeling powerless and pointless to empowered and purposeful.  It was absolutely the (gentle) kick in the rear that I needed to push through and give myself permission to claim status as a photographer, an artist.

Tammy gave her workshop participants a few homework assignments, and I went home and almost immediately began work on the task that seemed most enjoyable:  making a visual board.  This is an exercise detailed in Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way (a fabulous book recommended by Tammy -- and myself, something I hadn't picked up since fine art courses in college);  in order to find one's visual soul -- very important as a photographer! -- a person need only a stack of magazines and a pair of scissors.  Turn page after page, looking with the deepest, most instinctual part of your being, and if something -- anything at all -- gives you pause, rip it out and set it aside.  Don't question, just do.

I encouraged my daughters to join me in the exercise, and it was a wonderfully liberating experience, not just in tearing something up (and there is a childlike part of me that found a great deal of pleasure in destroying some magazines), but in opening up and tearing down interior walls.  It was a form of play, with purpose, because the ultimate goal was to create something from the chaos: a collage depicting the sacred space that lies within.

As I sat there, ripping and cutting into the stack of pages and tidbits I'd culled from magazines, I thought about what I was truly seeing, listened to the words and feelings that rose to the surface of my heart.  I experienced a deep sense of self, of my soul, accepted that many of the images I'd chosen -- been drawn to -- flowers and spices, food and light, romance and art and architecture, it all evoked a sense of quiet comfort and peace, of home and beauty.  I recognized the deep appreciation I have for story and spirituality, of connectedness to the earth and to humanity and thus to the Creator of it all.  I sensed a vast desire to experience adventure, recognized deep ties to words, felt a sense of wonder at the cluttered state of my alive and active mind, brimming as it is with color and texture and yearning for relationship and experiences.  Tones of mystery and promise, hope and warmth, dreams and fantasy -- all of it swirled in front of me.

I was rather shocked at how deftly my mind had created this from a disjointed jumble of magazine guts.  Something deeper than my conscious mind had clattered forth and laid claim to that which spoke most deeply of my needs, of who I am purposed to be.

So now I have this collage.  I love it because it's like looking at the inside of me.  And seeing "myself" like that is eye-opening, mind-altering.  And it's already changing the way I view my work and art, the way I interact with other wonder-filled souls, the way I approach them with my camera.  That's a beautiful thing.

If you've not done this exercise, you absolutely should.  And when you do, please come back and tell me all about it -- better yet, shoot me a message with a picture of your soul, your sacred space.  I'd love to witness that with you.

The ABC's of Smoky Mountain Camping -- Huntsville, AL Photographer

"Going to the mountains is going home." -- John Muir

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It's no secret how much I adore the The Great Smoky Mountains.  From the peanut butter fudge and bluegrass banjos, to the fried pickles and rambling nature trails, there is something in them there hills that sings to the innermost core of my Tennessee-born, nature-loving soul -- and the more I visit (which is at least once a year, twice if I'm lucky), the more deeply I realize how Appalachia is my heart's home.  My spirit finds the truest, most authentic rest when my body is nestled amid wildflowers and the clean white "smoke" rising from shaded valleys and clear rivers.

My most recent trip to the Smokies was a five-day camping trip back in April.  I returned home feeling keenly refreshed, fully ready to take on life's little dramas and challenges (along with five days worth of sweat- and campfire-scented dirty laundry) -- but that good feeling has worn off somewhat.  Another excursion to the mountains is in order!  But since Real Life beckons for now, a visual trip down memory lane will have to suffice.

I present a light-hearted look at my beloved Smokies -- in alphabetical order . . .

Check it out: a complete meal for five including shrimp, zucchini and squash on skewers, and baked potatoes (below on the hot coals)!

Seriously, just don't.  It's not good for the wildlife and it's not good for you.  No one wants to be fined and/or arrested -- or be responsible for the endangerment of animals or plants.

Anyone and everyone can become a member of Friends of the Smokies.  I'm a member, she's a member -- wouldn't you like to be a member too!?!

The Smoky Mountains are world renowned for their abundance of wildflowers.  From late April through early September, you can see flowers everywhere.  They blanket the whole park with smatterings of lovely color, and it's truly delightful to seek and find these beauties along paths and in unexpected places.

My husband and I have found a great little locally owned place to dine, just outside the park, in Townsend, TN called Riverstone Family Restaurant.  It's where I first tasted (and fell in love with) fried pickles, but they've also got killer fried catfish and some of the best fried green tomatoes and homemade pies ever.

H is for hot showers (or lack thereof).  Sorry, no photo for this one.  You'll just have to trust me on this: if you plan to camp inside the park take some dry shampoo and baby wipes.  And stay behind the camera, not in front of it.

I swear, the store in Cades Cove campground has The Best Ice Cream.  I don't know how they do it, because it just looks like soft serve.  But it isn't.  It's a piled-high vision of creamy wonder, sweet and rich with light icy texture, and boy does it taste guuud!

Is there anything better than simply lounging around in your camper amid the silence of a Great Smokies campground?  I think not.

Cades Cove is filled with all sorts of natural wonders -- but also man-made treasures from an era gone by.  It's a wonderfully rich place, suffused with peace and the sense of wonder that surely surrounded the everyday lives of those who once called home this beautiful valley.

There's a little bit of magic in the act of picking a quiet spot (or even a spot filled with the sound of a giggling stream) in the Smoky Mountains.  Just to sit.  Stay awhile.  Breathe deeply.

I learned something new this last time we visited the Smokies:  there's a wild leek that grows in the hills and dales called a "ramp".  We saw a roadside seller with some of these grassy-looking vegetables, and I bought some to take home.  Lemme tell ya, they made a delightful dinner sautéed in butter with some potatoes.  Yum.

From the leaves bursting from branches to the moss clinging to every damp surface, there is abundant life everywhere in the Smokies.  Is it any wonder I love the place so much: it proudly displays en  masse my favorite color -- green!

There are literally thousands of miles of walking and hiking trails in the park.  We've wandered many a path, even hitting up from time to time parts of our beloved Appalachian Trail.  And other than seriously sore muscles, there's nothing to regret about getting out and enjoying nature as God intended.

If you want to see more of the Smokies, then head on over to their official website.  Better yet, plan a trip!

Risky Behavior in Huntsville, AL -- Portrait Photography

It's confession time.  Hi, my name is Lauren, and until this past February, I've been (more often than not) stuck on Auto. [shiver]

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I want follow up with another admission, more crucial than the last.  I've been pushing myself, with the intensity of a crazy person (probably because I am a crazy person), to rectify that most major of photographic errors: I've been learning Manual Mode.  And yes, I personally view it as a huge (huge) mistake to go any further in my photography using anything less than Manual mode.  Why?

Well, for starters it feels like a total cop-out.  It's the lazy, 'fraidy cat in me that's been avoiding a few minor leaps in the brain power department -- it's felt risky, too many "what ifs", mostly having to do with displeasing clients.  It's been soooo easy to arrive on-session with camera set to Auto and just snap away to my heart's content.  This results in good photos.  Good enough to accept payment from smiling folks.  I shoot, I capture, everyone goes home happy.

Except I've not been happy.  Because complacency and fear are poor replacements for gritty diligence and courage.  At some point along the way, I realized I could give so much more to my clients, that I can boost the happiness measure up a few notches  -- and who am I to allow fear to rob us all of visual joy?

Secondly (and this one is closely related):  I wasn't fully and artistically satisfied.  Yeah, I shot some beautiful images.  But deep down I knew I could take awesome photos.  I knew the ability was out there to do incredible things in camera -- and like anyone else, I so love to do incredible things!

So I took the leap.  I've used Auto from time to time, when I sense there is a shot I'm about to miss and I just don't have the time to fiddle with camera settings.  But I'm proud to say, more often that not, practice atop heaps of practice, I'm in Manual mode -- and friends, that is making all the difference.

Now, one very interesting side effect of all this Manual Mode Mayhem is the sheer madness that begins to take over.  After a while, immersing yourself as you are into the inner workings of your gear, you begin to think like the rogue artist you are.  You begin to push.  You begin to do crazy things.  You begin to stretch out of places you were once quite comfortable in.  You wake up, come alive, and begin to pick away at previously well-guarded walls.  You begin to wonder "what might happen if . . ."

And that's when magic happens.

A few weeks ago I picked up my Nikon, the cold, dark weight of it in my hands, glancing down at the  50 mm Prime lens I had attached, and a spark of an idea flashed in my brain:  what would happen if I detached this here lens from the body of the beast and pressed the shutter button?  I quickly discarded the idea as unsafe, foolish, and reckless.  I'd spent thousands of dollars on my equipment, no way was I about to endanger it.

Then a couple days later I just happened upon an online mention of something called free-lensing.  Apparently that idea I'd had -- to set free the lens from the camera body -- it's a Thing.  I was so proud of myself for thinking of something on my own -- and that it was already being done (with safety measures put in place), so there was no need to fear the process.  I was so excited, in fact, that I went right out with my new 35mm Prime lens and tried it myself.  The photos in this blog post are from that exploratory session, and I have to say --

I'm in love!  It's like nothing I've ever done before.  The images are full of life and energy and light.  Oh swoon!  Oh joy!  I can't wait to get back out and do some more -- I think I'll even try a few shots of my next client, toss them in as extras, just to see how they like 'em.

So you see, risky behavior pays off sometimes.  It's worth it to step outside of a well-worn comfort zone and unleash the inner Creative -- she shines best out in the open.

This Creative Thing -- Huntsville, Alabama Photographer

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of the memoir Eat Pray Love (and more recently the novel The Signature of All Things) talks extensively about the concept of creativity and what exactly it is and has been believed to be over the course of history.  It's rather a complex thing, Creativity -- and from here on I think I'll refer to it respectfully with a capital "C" -- complex because it is elusive and difficult to achieve and capture, yet simultaneously thick in the air around us, filling the nooks and crannies of our collective human presence, assuming responsibility for what is beautiful and ingenious and mind-blowing, invading consciousness in the wakeful hours of early morning yet slipping away just as dawn breaks and real life clamors for our time and attention.  Creativity is a driving force in the lives of so many -- I would even venture to guess in the lives of most, if not all of us, even if some of us are the first to self-depricatingly murmur to the contrary.  (If you believe yourself incapable of Creativity -- don't.) For me, Creativity has been the single most torturous -- and transcendent -- entity of my existence.  It not only feeds the driving flashes of brilliance within me, it also nudges me in my darkest hours, when I least expect its presence, when I've given up all hope of it ever appearing again -- and just as I feel that glimmer of excitement at its return, it giggles before slipping away like so much smoke on a breeze.  Creativity has been, for me, exactly as Elizabeth Gilbert describes it, a sort of demon spirit, irrational, inexplicable, otherworldly.

Otherworldly.  Yes, now I am on to something . . .

I am tempted to describe the ache and torment of Creativity as a demon, taunting and cruel.  If I think on it long enough I can even make up in my mind the sound of its derisive laughter as I grapple with this or that word to write, this or that visual image that just.  isn't.  appearing in the way I need it to.  But if I am truly, deeply honest, maligning Creativity in that way feels so off.  So wrong.  So the antithesis of what Creativity is, a slander against its good name.

Grappling with Creativity then becomes more about grappling with the self -- the limitless inner self of spirit in juxtaposition with finite blood and bone.  It ceases being "this internalized, tormented thing" and instead becomes "this peculiar, wondrous, bizarre collaboration, kind of conversation" between me and God.  The reconciliation I make, when I wake up on those mornings where children have to be fed, and clients have to be called, and homeschool lessons have to be administered, and laundry has to be done -- it is on those mornings that I feel Creativity sitting idly by, ever present, watching me from a dark corner -- smirking at me?  No, something within me insists on an understanding much deeper than appearances:  that it is merely my inner turmoil doing the talking, my insecurities and fears.  Suddenly the reality becomes what I know to be true and good and right:  Creativity is more properly described as divine, as a calling belonging to and coming from Someone higher than me and my worries, my petty fears.

Child of God that I am, made in the image of the supreme master of all things miraculous and scientific, wondrous and beautiful, kind and inordinately breathtaking -- what I must concede is that God has made me as well -- fearfully and wonderfully (!) made to go out into the world and create fearful and wonderful things.  And doesn't that transform the idea of Creativity from the imp I envision, chortling derisively at me in a corner, thwarting my every good desire, into something more accurate, something much higher, something filled with light and infinately more trustworthy?  Oh yes, it does.

And there -- there it is, can you see it?

Creativity, the delightful, dancing spirit within -- not come to mock me, but invite me, come to rescue any average day and redeem it, perfect it, hone it, transform it.  And just like that, all is put into its proper place.  Laundry gets done (at least one load).  Dinner gets made (even if it is a pre-packaged pizza tossed into an oven).  And I give myself permission to slip away and into the intoxicating coma of Creation, channelling through my spirit the spirit of God, in large and small ways, feeling at peace in the act of capturing beauty in a photograph, sculpting words into a sentence, post-editing a perfect image.  It's a partnership, my soul mingled with that of the Creator, and for one brief moment, a glimpse of who I truly am, who He truly is, and who we are truly together: Creator and Creation.

Beauty Abounds -- Huntsville, Alabama Photographer

Last week on Pinterest I saw a meme which quoted Yann Arthus-Bertrand  as saying, "The earth is art;  the photographer is only a witness."  This statement resonates so completely with me because it's fairly exact in the way I view the world and how I move around in it -- indeed, I've found the very simple act of picking up my camera has forced me to see things even more clearly than I ever did before:  the beauty in a drop of water, steam rising from the dew-soaked earth, catch lights in the eyes of a child, dust motes in sunlight -- and all of it is art, moments that evoke a sense of awe, moments that bring me to my figurative knees.  

I've described it, this magical thing that happens the moment I have camera in hand, as a forced slowing down.  Weather I move around in my own home or step into the out-of-doors, with a client or alone in the woods, we -- my camera and I -- see the entire world all at once, yet through a singular, hyper-focused pin-point of concentrated light.  I see details I never noticed before, details I want the whole world to see because they're heart-stopping in their simplicity, in their raw beauty.

As Dorthea Lange said, "the camera is an instrument that teaches people to see without a camera."  (I saw that on Pinterest too.)