I’ve always done a lot of photography at my Uncle’s farm–it’s simply too beautiful not to take advantage of the opportunity to capture this part of North Carolina’s spectacular rural beauty. But recently I’ve been taking a lot more photographs with the past in mind. I grew up coming to the farm on a regular basis and spent a lot of time there during my summers. My grandmother, who still lives here, was my champion when I was a little kid. She made me feel loved completely–unconditionally–and made me feel special (as I’m sure she made my sister and brother feel as well). Her love (and my grandfather’s) was the balm that helped me cope with the effects of child abuse, yet the trauma of that abuse haunted the sunny fields and cold creek water I ran through during the summer. No matter how joyful my time at the farm, a darker undercurrent always made itself felt.
The farm is full of amazing memories–memories of love and healing but also an underlying fear that the love couldn’t quite touch–yet. I created a mobile series called “ghosts and shadows” to represent and work through my conflicting feelings in relation to the farm. I’m nostalgic and I’m wary. And I’m full of love for that little girl who was so lost and yet so at home on the farm.
I’m delighted that “Scavenger,” from the Eternal Childhood series, is part of this collaborative submission with poets JK Anowe and Laura M Kaminski at Poetry Life and Times. If you get a chance, take some time and read their poignant words.
I’m always fascinated by beauty found in unconventional places. These photos are from my uncle’s farm, where the hairs from cows reaching their necks through the barbed wire fence (to munch on the weeds on the other side) got caught and grew garnished with gossamer spider threads and miniature drops of rain.
I take a lot of photos with my iPhone. That’s why I have 64 GB storage. I don’t like to let very many of them go. Recently I’ve been in a landscapes mood. I’ve been scrolling through my camera roll, my fingers itching to play with expanses of nature. So I played and edited three old photos along with a new photo I took last week (“lone pole,” the last one below). Sometimes a photo I dismiss in the moment turns out, six months later, to be exactly what I wanted.