WEEK TWENTY FOUR.

project 52 / week 24 / imagination

24/52 // is imagination the upside down of reality?

Imagination.
Or lack thereof.

Refers to the ability to form mental images or concepts of things not perceived through the senses. Aphantasia, the inability to visualize, is a specific example of a lack of visual imagination, but not necessarily a lack of imagination in other forms.

I definitely do not have aphantasia. I have “phantasia”. I live in a fantasy world, part dream, part delusion, and a small sliver of reality to hold it together.

In one of my favorite shows, Scrubs, a supporting character, Dr. Kelso asks the main character: “Are you an idiot?” JD, the main character, replies rather matter-of-factly: “No sir, I’m a dreamer.” And I felt seen. It’s still one of my favorite lines.

When I was very small, I couldn’t fall asleep because I had all these thoughts rolling around in my head (still do). So I’d stick my arm up into the air and write words in cursive with my index finger in the darkness. I did this for what felt like hours, but was probably only 30 minutes. While this went on, I’d work though whatever it was with the current fake scenarios. “If I say this, then they’ll say this.” And on and on. Eventually it wasn’t just words, I’d imagine the place, the weather, the setting, the people, etc. At some point, I’d fall asleep mid-scenario and then the dreams would begin. I am somewhat of a lucid dreamer and have subtle control. Not every time, but sometimes, my scenarios became the dream. Sometimes I hated it and wanted to wake up, sometimes I wished I could sleep forever.

When I was a pre-teen, I started writing down my thoughts to try to get them out. But it didn’t help the scenarios I would imagine before falling asleep. To this day, I still do this, but it’s not just before sleep, it’s in the car, on a plane, waiting in line, drawing, painting, photographing... As ljf would say, “your brain is the most powerful tool you have.” And mine, is very powerful.

So imagination. I wasn’t sure how this photograph was going to turn out but I knew I wanted to be in the clouds. I feel like clouds represent imagination. “Head in the clouds.” As the saying goes… I try really hard to keep my feet on the ground, but it’s just so much more fun to be a dreamer. Sometimes my imagination definitely runs amok and anxiety takes over but I still don’t think I’d want it to be another way. As much suffering as my own made up scenarios can cause, I don’t know any other way.

Recently I listened to a speech about how we’re not so afraid of failure, rather that we might succeed. That we might live up to our potential, that we might be brilliant and clever and all the things we wish to be. And that’s scarier in a way. To live up to the person you wish to be.

I have many versions I’d like to be. But perhaps the best one I am is the somewhat delusional dreamer, because every once and awhile I let her win and live up to the “imagination” she concocted.

How it was shot.
Backdrop: dark blue wall.
Light: continuous video light, 6 inches from the ground on a little tiny tripod as backlight.
Stool: in front light about 2 feet from ground.
Tripod/Camera: about 5 feet from set up. ISO 3400, 1/100th, f/4.

I had to light from behind because of the cloud images I wanted to use. In post, I cut myself out and then overlaid two of the same cloud pictures using “overlay” as a blend mode. This made it see-through but dark enough to get that perfect sea-foam green color. The background image is from a set of pink clouds with a helicopter flying above. I felt I needed my hand to almost be reaching for something like I use to when I would first imagine those scenarios as a little kid. I was tempted to fill the frame with clouds, cramming them all in as if my imagination was “stuffed”. But it just didn’t feel like the right fit. And upside because I love Alice in Wonderland and it felt like imagination might just be the upside down of reality.

WEEK TWENTY THREE.

project 52 / week 23 / a past life

23/52 // a past life, part 1

23/52 // a past life, part 2

23/52 // a past life, part 3

I think in a past life I was something quiet and dark.
I tried hard to think this one through but I could never settle on any one thing.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end.
Here’s what I wrote for the larger narrative of these photographs.

Every couple days, weeks, months. [Insert an unknown amount of time here] it’s really hard to be alone with myself. And I don’t exactly like the person that I am in that moment. And I wish to be one of those other versions of myself.

  • the one who got it right

  • the one who said the thing

  • the one who made the point

  • and so on

In this moment, for any given length of time, I feel restless.

  • starting and stoping movies

  • picking up a book, reading a paragraph over and over and over

  • thoughts aimless

  • body exasperated

And I give up. I give up on all of it. I can usually drag myself outside and it’s here that I realize exactly where I am. Just before this part, it’s not clear, that the darkness is back. It’s like being in limbo, waiting for an answer that is going to alter your life. The moment the coin flips and what you wish for settles into your gut. But this is the life where you get the lemon and the coin lands on the choice you didn’t want.

So I go outside and breathe the air, put one foot in front of the other and walk.
And it’s here where I realize the darkness is there.
It’s back. And I am in it. Again.

It’s here where I realize I was a fool, to think it wouldn’t still remain, clinging to me. Carrying on with me, as I go, no matter how much light I try to cram into it. It just ricochets off and dissipates. It makes me feel inadequate because just a few hours ago, a day, a week ago, [insert an exact amount of time here], I was better. Maybe even good. Maybe even bright. My name means bright, perhaps this is where some sort of cosmic oxymoron took place.

Special thanks to the girl who grew from flowers handling lights for this shoot and being a little literal ball of light in my life. To get the shot, I set up a tripod, dressed in all black (duh), and set up the camera. ISO 100, f/4.5, 6s.

I counted out loud, One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi, RUN! And we ran out of the frame, hiding the light so it didn’t trail in the long exposure. I stood in front, GWGFF stood behind me, giggling and squealing about bugs, and held the light so I would be a silhouette. The light glowing around and behind me.

Leaving the frame halfway through the exposure, created a see-through effect (ghosting). Once the bugs descended in full force, we retreated back to the safety of the trailer. To get the effect right, I did some editing. In post, I selected myself, duplicated it, and added a Layer Style of Outer Glow, selecting the same orange color of the light. Then I deleted my selection (my figure), leaving only the glow and a “hole” in the image. Behind the “hole,” where I had been, I put an image of the background (lake) sans me, the light, and GWGFF. I added a few texture plates on top to give it a little older feel and done.

WEEK TWENTY TWO.

project 52 / week 22 / hologram

As this project started, I knew I would run out of ideas quickly because the goal is to get better at visual narratives and storytelling. So I called for outside input and asked family and friends to supply prompts. When I heard this suggestion, 22/52, I was very skeptical and a little unsure if I was capable.

Hologram.

It seemed like a very far stretch from my style and I’d need to fiddle around in photoshop to create a believable effect. Luckily, school is out for the summer so I had extra time. On a drive, an idea came to me. I’ve always been interested in timelines, multiple universes, alternate realities, etc. And it is summer… So we go back to August 6th, 2024 with 218/365 “the girl who grew from flowers”.

218/365 // the girl who grew from flowers

The idea for 218/365 was to have my niece be a water flower girl who wasn’t quite of this world, this timeline, this reality. I used double exposure techniques to infuse flowers in the foreground and upon her as if she leaves them wherever she goes. The persona of the girl who grew from flowers (and kind of Ellen too) is that she is pure, innocent. She’s tied to nature (flowers) and water. She grew from flowers and flowers sprout behind her as she moves through the world. She leaves things better than they were. She knows more than she lets on, but continually wanders the world looking for a place to fit. People try to get to her but she’s just out of reach, among the water and tangled in flowers.

So now you know the backstory of the girl who grew from flowers… I had so many images I loved from this little shoot with her. But I hadn’t really done anything with them yet. And I thought, what if I “hologram” into her world. This hologram girl grew from something less than flowers. She grew a little darker. I was a little unsure if the hologram girl is visiting, suddenly appearing, or getting pulled into the girl who grew from flowers’ world.

Is it an older version of her coming back in time?
Is it an alternate version of her?
Is it another reality and the stitching has come undone? Allowing small fragments to wilt so that the two worlds or realities are fading and blurring, spilling into each other.
Either way, both girls exist, and they exist in the company of water. And now, perhaps each other.

For many reasons, this was a very vulnerable shoot for me and the friend who gave me the prompt was enlisted to help me photograph the vision. So I’m not sure I can really take full credit. I know I can’t. But alas, the vision has come to life. Perhaps in 20 or so years, the girl who grew from flowers will get another visit.

22/52 // the water remembers before she was me

WEEK TWENTY.

project 52 / week 20 / something from the archives
an idea you’ve had but haven’t done

that 2 a.m. feeling

WEEK FIFTEEN.

project 52 / week 15 / a secret

15/52 / fragments of a secret

In a house sits a lamp, in a guest bedroom with a window that faces south. It used to sit in a green house on Illinois Avenue atop a bedside table in the middle bedroom. The wall across from it, shrouded in photographs of a family tree. Words were whispered back and forth in this room.

”doghouse” “firefighter” “notebook”
”I don’t get it.”
It’s a compound word.
”What’s a compound?”
A compound word is formed by combining two smaller words to create a new meaning.

And it went on and on with my questioning and her answering. Always the teacher (her not me). I can recite all the compound words we said. But doghouse was a big one. You can have a dog, and a house, and a doghouse. Who knew? I try to recall the last one-on-one talk we had. She asked about the boy I liked, about photography and art, about who I wanted to be. I wish I remember those words like I remember the “compound” lesson but I don’t. And I wish she could have seen who I became, a teacher too.

She taught me a how to tie my shoes, how to draw a cartoon in profile view, how to spell, how to make popcorn, how to put a knife under my plate so the syrup didn’t touch my pancake and — a whole lot more.

This weekend the family gathered and we played another round of “Remember When”. When I got back to my sisters, back to the guest bedroom, back to the lamp. I turned it on and went about getting ready for sleep, tidying my suitcase, plugging in devices, closing curtains and in the picture frame across from the lamp, the memory sparked again. I pulled out my camera and photographed it, not thinking I’d use it for this, or anything really but I kept seeing these little hints, small touches of her. Recalling how everyone spoke today of how they listened to a little voice, a tug of a feeling, and went where it called or didn’t, and regretted it. And even though it didn’t feel like a “photograph” I listened, followed the hunch, and took the photographs. I’m not sure, now, why I’m using it for this, but it feels like I should. So like the shadow I am, I’ll follow it.

15/52 This is what did it, it looks like the start of “Willow”.

15/52 fragments of light

WEEK FOURTEEN.

project 52 / week 14 / the “between”

14/52/2025 // carousel

14/52/2025 // carousel

I keep writing about these photographs and hitting delete like Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail.
I know what I want to say but I don’t know that I really want it to be known.

I had other plans this week for this prompt, the “between”. I was going to be like Henri Cartier-Bresson and capture “the decisive moment,” the moment just before the action. I focused on spring sports — baseball, duh. But then…

My thoughts send me on a carousel

And it goes around and around and around.
So with these things that don’t get said, I’ll make a photograph.
Because it seems, I’m almost, always, in the “between.”

WEEK THIRTEEN.

project 52 / week 13 / urban twilight

13/52/2025

I stopped taking the pills
Now my dreams slip
They slide in and out of my head
It’s irrelevant
It isn’t real
Sometimes, I wish it were
Like when you hold my hand
Or when we stick our arms out wide to catch the wind
It slips too — the wind, right past the skin under our arms
Across my cheeks, into my hair
I wake, wishing to return

I dreamt I cleaned grandma’s kitchen floor
There was more —
But it slipped
I woke, feeling so alone

I dreamt of a compound
Where we all lived
Someone kept stealing shoes
So I went bare foot through yellow flowers
The flowers: the key to everything
I’d walk a section line, watching everyone work
I couldn’t feel my feet, yet I walked
Through prairie grass, rocks, and dirt
I drove the car, past everyone working among the yellow
They’d reach out their hands like the dead
Patrick was at the gate
He opened and saluted
The dream slips, shifts
I stir, barely awake and dive back into it

It’s winter on the compound
Someone stole our shoes
Gas is rare
The animals need to go to the vet
The car only moves a section line at a time
Stopping to refuel every quarter mile
From gas in old beer bottles buried into the ground
I wake, unsettled, unfinished

I stopped taking the pills
And now, my dreams slip
And I always have to start over

WEEK ELEVEN.

project 52 / week 11 / memories & prized possessions

In my house, lives a box
In this box, lives:
Every terrible thing I wish I didn’t remember
Every wonderful thing I hope I don’t forget
Every broken piece in every last chapter
In this box, lives the essence of who I am.

11/52/2025

11/52/2025

a short poem for broken pieces

In my chest, lives a box
Where I keep all the things I don’t want anyone to see
I’ve buried it deep
Sometimes I, even forget it’s there
I want to take it out, but my heart has grown around it
Sealed it in —
Forever a part of me
I don’t like that
I don’t like it

What if one day, the hidden things, want out —
What if they scrape and claw —
And rage against the sides until they’re blown wide open
And all that I’ve hidden, escapes
Leaking into the rest of me
Like an unstoppable infection
Pushing, pulsing, past my heart
Riding along my veins
Within my blood
To my mind
And seeps out through all the broken pieces

WEEK TEN.

a total lunar eclipse

01:55; 14 march 2025 // blood moon

01:56; 14 march 2025 // blood moon

project 52 / week 10 / collage two photos together (not double exposure)

10/52/2025

10/52/2025

10/52/2025

WEEK NINE.

project 52 / week 9 / transitions in light

…
I’ve become predictable.
This prompt didn’t lend itself to well to a narrative.
But from Saturday’s moon to Sunday’s moon a lot of light transitioned.

I’ll see you next week.

WEEK EIGHT.

project 52 / week 8 / on repeat

…
I mean, obviously, this is on repeat.

8/52/2025 // on repeat

8/52/2025 // on repeat

8/52/2025 // on repeat

I’ll see you next week.

WEEK SEVEN.

project 52 / week 7 / book

…
I really don’t like it again but I need to move on with the day.

7/52/2025 // worlds inside

I’ll see you next week.

WEEK SIX.

project 52 / week 6 / metaphor

This, is not that. It is only chance, the similarities of a metaphor.
Two things happened at the same time and I don’t know what to do about it...
So, I’m just going to leave it be.

6/52/2025 // in the overlap

I’ll see you next week.

WEEK FIVE.

project 52 / week 5 / sideways

When you think you’re all out of stories. Turn it sideways.

5/52/2025 // oh, sweet nuthin’

5/52/2025 // she ain’t got nuthin’ at all

I really don’t care what you think about it. Not in a mean way, I just don’t.
It’s exactly what I want it to be.

song: oh! sweet nuthin’ - the velvet underground

I’ll see you next week.

WEEK THREE. WEEK FOUR.

project 52 / week 4 / vintage

I got down with the sickness. So I had other plans for week four of fifty-two. Perhaps one of these fifty-two will say “A Do-Over” and I’ll get a second chance. Project 52 is unique in that it never ends up being what I think it will be. Even with all my scheming. Harder than 365 in a way. I’m not sure if I got the narrative this week or not but it’s vintage enough for me. I even threw it back to week two with a little noise.

4/52/2025 //

4/52/2025 //

4/52/2025 //

4/52/2025 //

project 52 / week 3 / monsters under the bed

3/52/2025 // late night 911 calls

3/52/2025 // metaphorical monsters

I’ll see you next week.

WEEK TWO.

project 52 / week 2 / grain or noise

2/52/2025 // there’s something in the static

2/52/2025 // there’s something in the static, I think I've been having revelations

I don’t hate it. I just don’t like it at all,

and it’s terrible.

song: not strong enough by boygenius

I’ll see you next week.

WEEK ONE.

project 52 / week 1 / capture what photography means to you

1/52/2025 // & every day i wake, i tell myself a little harmless lie: the whole wide world is mine

1/52/2025 // & every day i wake, i tell myself a little harmless lie: the whole wide world is mine

1/52/2025 // & every day i wake, i tell myself a little harmless lie: the whole wide world is mine

So here we go again. Project 52. 52 weeks, 52 prompts, 52 photographs. But I can’t seem to just take one. If you’ve been around, you know I love AVA. That I love space, stars, planets, the moon, etc. etc. When I got this prompt, I immediately did the shoulder sag, head down, ljf stance of doom and dread: “that’s like the hardest one.” I got the prompt from a former student and she knew exactly what she was setting me up for. I did not know. At the time she told me, I didn’t know what I would create. So I let it marinate. I had a lot of time to think. Secret #83: My favorite thinking place is the car.

I had many drives from the end of the 2024/366 challenge to think about project 52 and prompt number one. What does photography mean to me? It’s hard to put into words because it’s a feeling. It’s a living breathing thing as we found out last year. It’s a safety net, it’s a shield, it’s a voice, it is magic, it is mystery, it is truth and lies, it’s past, present, future. It’s pretty much everything.

What does photography mean to me? Yeah, let’s go with that: it’s pretty much everything.
It’s the reason I’m in this state. It’s the reason I have the job I do. It’s the reason I document. It’s the reason I have the people I have in my life. It’s the reason I met you. It’s the reason you look up. It’s the way we speak.

It’s the thing that gave me courage. It’s the thing that helped me say what I wanted to and then what I needed to. It gave me strength and actual power. It’s the reason he looks up. It’s why you opened your eyes. It held me up. It brought me back down to earth. It saved my life. It keeps us connected. It’s the thing I can’t let go. It’s the thing I can’t set down. It’s the thing I need.

You have to find your thing. You have to find the thing that fills the spot in your chest. It will feel like everything. I can’t explain it. You just have to feel it. Find the thing, let it consume you. Let it drive your life. But if you want to listen to a song that feels close to what it should feel like… Try this one — rite of spring by angels & airwaves.

”If I had a chance for another try, I wouldn’t change a thing, it’s made me all who I am inside. And if could thank god that I am here and that I am alive. And every day I wake, I tell myself a little harmless lie: the whole wide world is mine.”

I’ll see you next week.