Tag: photography

It’s a Black and White Day

I wake today in gloom. The cloudy skies are keeping the sun at bay and the rain is dripping from barren branches of autumn and soaking through the fallen leaves now covering my resting garden.

It’s been a difficult week and I have been away from my own bed and quiet home for almost two weeks now. I have been in and out, repacking my suitcase and rushing off to help family, fulfill obligations and responsibilities, doing for others, my focus outwards.

Today, I am home. But the events of the week still reside within me. We have faced death this week with a beloved family member. He wanted to live but was unable to continue. It was time to disconnect.

I feel a disconnection in my own life. Home is somewhere where I used to live. I need to spend more time here. To feel like I belong here. To remember its beauty. To savour the pockets of comfort where I used to reside. To linger. To connect once again with the beloved creations of who I used to be. To love it again.

And so, on this dreary day, I take my camera in hand, turn out the lights, and let the limited natural light of this cloudy day seep in through the windows and doorways.

I sit, quietly and consciously observing the interplay of light and shadow throughout the room. I recognize and connect to the darkness which co-exists with the light. It mirrors my emotions today. I too am dark, melancholy but want to recognize and remember light-filled days. The brightness is still there. I need to look for it.

I give time to remind myself of the joy I had in creating and arranging small areas filled with memories. Once again I search for the spaces of delight that once illuminated my life. They are still there. And today I have the time to appreciate and cherish them. I focus, I remember, and I snap a photo. I snap another one as I move from room to room.

I am taking an online course called Photography and Mindfulness, 10 lessons that arrive every Tuesday and Friday. I have completed five of them and they are teaching me to slow down, use my senses, change my perspective, observe with curiosity and not judgement. I am learning to accept these dark emotions, give them space. They don’t need to leave. Dark and light co-exist together. They complement each other. Yin and Yang. A balance. I am learning to allow the darkness to just be and let my own light gently illuminate it. And that perspective is reflected in my photos.

I shoot them in black and white, recognizing that the black is as important as the white. Shadows cannot exist without light. Light cannot exist without shadows. They are a duality. Their borders touch and interplay with each other. The bright dried hydrangeas from the garden, sit side-by-side with my Korean print in its muted tones, the blurred framed photo of my brothers and sister in the background. It’s slightly out-of-focus as is my memory of my deceased brother Ping. Light spills in from the front door, illuminating the hall, creating shadows along the edges of the angled walls and staircase.  Texture and tones are accented on the carved vase, the feathered grasses, the struggling spider plant, and the carved wooden bird on my bedroom side table as light and dark play among them.

Sitting with these memories brings back the joys and the pains of my past. I have been in this house now for twenty years and there have been many light-filled days as well as the burdensome weight of dark days too. There has been life and death, celebrations and failures, hopes and disappointments. I have cursed them at times but I accept and am grateful for them. I reside with them all. They live within me.

I am my home. This is where I live and belong.

1 Teaspoon of Paprika

The Internet is a wonderful place for synchronistic connections. I was working on my next chapter “Pass It On” which focuses on recipes passed down from my Hungarian Grandma Haydu. Many of them include Hungarian Paprika with its unique taste. It is different from other paprikas and Hungarians can tell the difference. Well, lo and behold, I came across this beautiful photograph on another Facebook site I belong to and thought “How perfect!”

The photographer Phillip Dove lives in Saltburn-by-the-Sea, United Kingdom, and graciously allowed me to use his photograph in my upcoming book “For the Love of Food: Family Edition.” All he asked for in return was a copy of my grandma’s Hungarian Goulash which I gladly sent to him. Thank you, Phillip. Check out his website at phillipdovephotography.com

The Photograph

I stopped in front of the large photograph on the wall of the art gallery. It was a picture of a make-shift table, more a platform, pushed into the corner of a room. On the table was a simple place-setting: one plate, one fork, one knife, one cup. In the corner of the table was a book, partially read and marked with a bookmark. One chair was pulled up to the table, facing the corner. The wall behind the table was unadorned, devoid of any pictures that would draw the eye. That’s all. There was nothing more in the picture.

My friend said, “Now that’s an odd picture.” And moved on.

I lingered. I thought, This person lives alone. Or at least, the photographer knows what it’s like to live alone. The photo had a stark simplicity to it. Although it was in colour, it left me feeling black and white. It was a picture of life stripped down. But, therein, was its purity. It was a picture of the basic nature of a life when everything else is peeled away and someone is left alone. With no distractions other than that person’s own choosing.  After all, there was a partially read book on the table.

Living alone isn’t necessarily a bad life. It has its benefits. I spread eagle my body across my queen size bed every night, taking all the pillows. I wake up when I want to and retire at night whenever I wish. I have total T.V. remote control power. If I want to cook an extravagant meal with garlic shrimp, roasted eggplant, and Portobello mushrooms, I do. Sometimes I eat Kraft dinner. I have the freedom to jump on a plane or hop in the car and head out to see the world whenever I wish to. Life centers round my own needs and interests and desires. The rhythm of life is my own to create and I beat my own drum, loudly and joyfully. Living alone, one needs not be lonely. Family and friends are only a mouse click or text or telephone call away. Or not.

So, Mr. Photographer (or is it Miss or Mrs. or Ms.), I see your photograph of a life lived alone. But I think my own photo would look a little different. There would be a table with at least four chairs in a corner of a room. I would have one place setting facing out, but there would be a stack of plates and placemats and silverware on the opposite corner, ready for meal-time sharing when the opportunity arose. I would have a vase of bright red tulips in the middle of the table and a crystal glass ready to be topped with sparkling wine. The wall behind me would be filled with framed pictures: my daughters, my grandson, laughing faces in tropical settings, kangaroos and cockatoos, snow-covered mountains, and sunsets over the ocean. The sun would be streaming in from an unseen window flooding my little dining corner with golden rays. There wouldn’t be a book on the table. Good food and private musings would be enough for mealtime contemplation. It would be a photograph full of colour and light, potential, and gratitude. It would be a picture of life lived alone, but never lonely.