And This Is How We Begin...

First foto of 2012: Two of my favorite Geminis in the world.

First meal of 2012: Kung Pao Shrimp

First drink of 2012: Cheap Pilsner

First album of 2012: Black Star

First movie of 2012: Ghost Dog

First cig of 2012: 3 1/2 month old Nat Sherman Menthol

First wish upon a star of 2012: Something about friendship...

piecing it all together

I thought I'd have it figured out by now, this "knowing yourself" business. And yet here I am, once again questioning and challenging the construct of self that I've held onto for so long. I've been stripping away the layers of how others define me, how I've been socialized to define myself, and I'm trying to piece it all back together again. I am learning to embrace my unfinishedness and to walk comfortably with the idea that my identify is more fluid and flexible than I give it credit for and that I will never be done with the work of self-discovery and reflection...

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I wrote a version of the post above for Shutter Sisters yesterday. These thoughts were spurred by two separate conversations I had Sunday with a couple of my friends. I never expected to have these conversations, mainly because there are some aspects of my identity that I had just accepted my whole life without questioning whether they were the real me or not. Recently, however, I've found myself being unsure, and that's where I am now. Unsure about so much. And I'm actually ok with that. I am also aware that this is possible because of the safe space I operate in within my community, something I know I'm incredibly lucky and blessed to have.

I'm seeking wholeness and authenticity. I know it will require radically changing the way I view myself. I don't know where I'm going with all this, but I'm sooo grateful for those who have been beautifully supportive--old friends and brand new ones.

7 years old and counting

Today, Cadence turns 7. It hardly seems possible to me. Those days and nights of nursing and dancing and singing her back to sleep don't seem that distant in the past. I can still hear her toddler voice squealing and babbling away. And it wasn't so long ago that I was seeing her off on her first day of kindergarten.

And look at her now. She looks like she's posing for her senior portraits. I already see in her glimpses of the person she is growing up to be, and I can honestly say that I totally look up to this child.

Cadence is definitely a force to be reckoned with. She has singlehandedly turned my life upside down and rightside up, and I would not be the person I am today if it weren't for her presence in my life.

Happy 7th bday, Cadence!

we are all made of stars

I caught the happy virus last night
When I was out singing beneath the stars.
It's remarkably contagious--
So kiss me.

- Hafiz

It's easy to forget about stars when you live in a light polluted metropolis like Chicago. Lately I have been trying to find that first star of the night so i can make a wish, like I did as a little girl. There is something strangely comforting about this simple act. Perhaps this is why I am so often compelled to go to the beach at night. It's the one place in the city where the sky is big and {relatively} dark enough for me to actually stargaze. The rhythm of the waves lapping upon the shore as the soundtrack is an added bonus.

Moby is right. We are all made of stars. Billions of years within each of us. So the stars that I gaze and wish and hope and love upon today, that light which took a gazillion years to reach my eyes, these stars may someday be the very stuff within our future selves. Thinking about that helps me to resist cynicism. When what we do and who we are seem so insignificant, I'll think of those stars and believe that the light we shine now will someday be seen, and that the stuff we are essentially made of--not just the physical but the emotional and intellectual and spiritual as well--will still be around in some shape or fashion even though we ourselves may be long gone.

Y'all really should come to the beach with me one night...

giving in to the blur

The motor of the camera’s lens spins and whirs, straining to make sense of the darkness. Sometimes, autofocus is plain futile, and you just have to switch to manual. Even then, your eyes struggle and squint through the tiny viewfinder, and so, out of frustration, you give in and let everything go out of focus and click. And that’s when you breathe deep, relax and see the beauty in the blur. You had no idea. THIS is what you wanted to see tonight.

Life is like that too sometimes, isn’t it? You work so hard trying to maintain clarity, to keep things in focus, utilizing the light you have. Maybe sometimes you just have to give in to the blur, to the unknown and the unknowing. Maybe sometimes you just need to stop struggling so hard to see, to have that perfect vision. For those of us who like to remain in control at all times, the mere thought of letting go in such a way can be an unsettling experience. And yet maybe it can be beautiful. Maybe it is beautiful…

words to chew on

I had a post up on Shutter Sisters yesterday using this foto. I've taken a similar foto at this spot almost 2 1/2 years ago at night. I have these places in Chicago where I like to go by myself at night, and it's always a different experience to be in those spaces in the light of day when other people are around and I am not cloaked in the safe anonymity of the night.

Anyhoo. I think I need to chew on these two little words "Go Slow" for a bit, even as life continues at breakneck speed here in Chicago, where we try to squeeze the last drop of sunshine and warmth out of our summer days before we wake up one morning and find that summer left without so much as a note goodbye, and winter has already moved in. I'm thinking about this as I nurse a strained ankle which is forcing me to slow down during an extremely event-packed week. I have reasons for still going to these events that I won't get into here, but my ankle is making me think about the space I create for myself when I am at these places.

This might be one of those times that I look for solitude even in the midst of community.

The Moments In Between Here and There

My friends had just finished a soccer game in the gloaming, and we had been taking "team" photos in the fading light of this merry band of futbol players. While I think the posed shots were a ton of fun, I have to say that my heart is drawn to the candids in between the "formal" shots. To me, that's where my favorite stories are in photography--those moments in between people's awareness of the camera, those moments in between the subject's consciously exhibiting the persona that they want the camera to capture, those moments in between the awkwardness for those who are uncomfortable in front of a lens.

I love the light in this photo, that light in between day and night, that last glimmer of sun fading into the darkness. I love the chaos in this photo, everybody doing their own thing or trying to spell the letters AMC [for Allied Media Conference which was where we were at] before the photographers yell at everyone to get in position and to hold still. I love that I can still feel the love and joy and magic of this moment, even now..

And I love this...the exuberance, the energy...and mi chiquita in the middle of it all, feeling totally at home w/ mama's friends. And so this is what I read in between the lines, this is what I remember between here and there--that feeling of gratitude for community and friends who "get" my daughter and still love her, because it is a sign that they "get" me and love me too, and I love them back fiercely.

And so my heart melts, again and again, for there is no better way for you to show your love and friendship for me than by showing the same to my child, to treat her with respect, to let her sit in the lap of The Community, totally safe and free to be herself (even when that means her Ornery Self). And this is one reason that I take fotos...to remember these moments that remind me of how much we are loved and how much I love in return.

Making The Road by Walking

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino, y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
sino estelas en la mar.

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing behind
one sees the path
that never will be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road--
Only wakes upon the sea.

~ "Proverbios y cantares XXIX" by Antonio Machado

And so this is how it feels now. In struggle, in life, in friendship. There is no marked path for me to walk, just my feet still trodding on. Those who speak the truth (even when it's hard to hear), with grace and with love--they are welcome to hold my hand along the way. Those who remind me of who I really am and help me clear away the cobwebs of lies-they are welcome to link arms with me in solidarity. Those who believe in dismantling fear and breaking down the self-made fortresses around our hearts--they are welcome to hold me and to be held by me.

I'm gonna lighten the load and leave the naysayers behind. I ain't got time for them.

A Thousand Ways

When I put my camera to my eye at just the right moment and click. When I slice, slice, slice vidalia onions until the pores of my hands sweat out their scent. When I gingerly place filling in the middle of the dough, fold and tenderly seal w/ the graceful twist of la repulge. When I rub her 6 1/2 year old back as she finally drifts off to sleep. When I drive through Chicago in the middle of the night without destination but with a full heart. When I sit by the edge of the water in darkness and let the sound of the waves wash over me. When I lay down in the grass of Humboldt Park as we talk of heart matters until the sky turns morning pink. When I "move to the rhythm that we call resistance." When I speak with my eyes because I cannot find the words.

Do you see me kneeling and kissing the ground? Because I am.

Public Service Announcement With Hearts

Friday night, late enough to technically be Saturday, I was walking down the street on my own, shuffling through my mixed bag of thoughts, reflecting on the events of the night. I was feeling kinda down, truth be told, and that's probably why my head and eyes were lowered towards the ground. That's how I saw this bit of stencil art on the sidewalk in the photo above. I immediately stopped in my tracks. My initial reaction was, "Aw, how sweeet," (semi-sarcastic) until I saw the note scrawled beneath the stenciling ("No, no, I love you, I LOVE YOU"), and then I laughed out loud. This little exchange between anonymous street artist and anonymous passerby reminded me of a Facebook exchange I had with my fotohermano B that went along the lines of "You da BEST" "No, YOU da BEST!" "No, YOU!" and so on...That memory put a smile on my face.

Had I been walking with my head up and a spring in my step, I probably would have walked right over this little message from the universe. I'm not saying that just because I saw this note, I immediately felt embraced and loved by humankind. What it DID do was to remind me that just a block away was a taqueria where some beloved friends were waiting for me, and for the moment, that was more than enough.

So This Is What Gratitude Feels Like

Today (technically yesterday), I commemorated for the upteenth time the day I was born into this world. And all day long, as friends left me messages on Facebook or texted me or emailed or called to sing to me (thanks, Brett!), I was filled to the brim with gratitude as I thought of friendships old and new and how in each chapter of my life thus far, I have always had the people I needed to love and support me and to speak truth to me.

Looking back on the past year, quite frankly, it's been really, really hard. I've had to face choices and changes that are some of the most painful I've had to deal with (and I've been through some tough shit in my life). And yet, there is this inexplicable joy and peace in my heart and an overwhelming sense of gratitude as I write this.

I am reminded of the Kahlil Gibran quote my brother D texted me one particularly difficult night: "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain." I've thought of that quote often since then, and I feel like this pain of the "breaking of the shell" is something I will experience again and again, as the layers around my heart are peeled away. And so for now, I walk between joy and sorrow, often with one foot in each side, celebrating the contradictions and complexities of being human, seeking hope and humility in my unfinishedness, feeling deep gratitude for the gift of loving and being loved.

Solitude and Community

Sometimes I forget that I need solitude, the way I need air or water or food. I can get caught up in so many events--be they the struggling kind or the dancing kind; swept up in the flurry, loving the community, embracing the energy--and the voice inside me that says to find a quiet place and rest gets drowned out amidst the noise.

And sometimes I forget that stepping into solitude can be more frightening and uncomfortable than jumping into a crowd. Being alone with myself, my thoughts, I can very easily take the wrong turn down the path of negativity and self-doubt. And yet I plod on, honing my self-advocacy skills, because I need to spend time here, alone, to dance this dance with myself, learn what it means to be my own partner, my own voice, my own friend. Trust and love and courage come with time and presence and risk.

And what I have found to be true for me is that when I embrace and treasure the times of solitude is when I am most comfortable in my own skin and am most able to love and to be loved in a community of fellow journeyers and strugglers and lovers.  Finding the space to be in solitude freely in the midst of community is a gift that I find liberating and healing, a gift that I cherish.

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Thinking of those of you whose presence gives me the space to be in solitude without the loneliness.

Waking Dream

65th & Woodlawn Community Garden in Chicago

I believe that there is magic that transpires in the middle of the night, when most of the world is asleep, when the volume knob is turned down, when you begin to dream even while you are still awake. You walk through this place full of dirt and growth, marveling at the concentrated spring bursting forth in one small place. You tune out the cadences of the city at night, and your senses tune into your immediate surroundings--your eyes adjust to the dimness, your ears perk up to the whispers, your skin tingles as you breathe in deeply the smell of earth that feeds. This is no garden of eden, but who wants perfection when you can have the beautifully imperfect, lovingly cared for and brought to life by the community?

10 short minutes...Really? That was it? And it could have all been just a dream, save for these fotos you are left with, postcard souvenirs from your late-night urban meanderings.

Open Door

I love the teal door. Don't have much else to say...

An Open Letter to Cadence

Dear Cadence,

I've been wanting to write you a letter for a long time now, but quite frankly, I don't even know where to begin. Excuse me if I'm a bit incoherent, but remember how mama hurt her neck and had to take some medicine? Yeah, that medicine makes me kinda loopy...

When you were in my womb 7 years ago, I dreamed of a little girl with long brown hair who danced with me in circles, clutching my hands. I'm pretty sure that little girl was giggling in my dream, and I'm pretty darn sure that little girl is you. Ever since that dream, I knew you would be no ordinary child, and oh, how you have proven that to be true.

There are the obvious things that I love about you, like how you love listening to music while doing your homework, or how you say that dancing is good for the revolution, or that you love my corn empanadas, or the way you make up stories with your little friends as you act out elaborate scenarios that verge on being DADA, or how you can entertain grownups with your stand-up routine of nonsensical knock-knock jokes, or how you try to convince people like Mr. Mayoral Tutorial to hulahoop, or how you have the foresight to bring along a puke bucket when mama is sick and being stubbornly stupid by insisting on driving empanada ingredients to Francie's.

Then there are the not-so-obvious reasons I love you. Like the way you demand to be treated with dignity and respect in all situations, so that I can't just resort to the usual mainstream methods of punitive discipline. You've taught me to see children as my fellow human beings, worthy of respect not only when they behave "well" but at all times, just because they BE. Or like the way you've taught me that when you are acting your most cantankerous is when you most need me to show you love and affection, to demonstrate that my love is not dependent on your behavior but is freely given at all times. Or how your (surprise) coming into my life forced me to rethink everything--about the kind of world I want you to live in, about justice and equality and community and peace and compassion and hope and joy and love. No single person has instigated more change in me than you have.

I know there are things that we don't agree on. Princesses for example. You know how I feel about monarchy, but you just love the beautiful dresses princesses get to wear. How do I argue with that? Or how about Chuck E. Cheese which scares the bejeezus out of me but which you seem to thoroughly enjoy? And then there is your love of all things glitter and sparkle which I can only tolerate in the form of toenail polish. And who could forget your penchant for sweet while I prefer the savory? We're never gonna agree on everything, and I wouldn't want to. I hope you continue to form your own opinions about the world around you and who you are.

You are growing up so fast; I see your personality emerging more and more, and I keep pinching myself wondering how I got so lucky as to get to mother such a kick-ass kid like you. I simply don't have the words to express how much I appreciate you, mi corazon, mi Cadencia. I love you soooooo much...

Paz + amor,

Mama  

Shutter Sisters Cross-post: Shooting For Transformation

Photo from March 10, 2011 Immigration Rights March in Chicago

(A version of this post appears on Shutter Sisters.)

You thought you were going to change the world with your photography, didn't you? You stepped into that struggle, camera in hand, thinking you would "help" these people by telling their stories through your lens. You meant well, you truly wanted to help, but guess what? It wasn't about YOU. It still isn't about YOU. It's about US. It's about SOLIDARITY. It's about the intersectionality of all the struggles of all who are oppressed. It's about how there can't be justice for one until there is justice for all. It's about letting people tell their own stories, even if you are the one behind the camera, framing the image and clicking the shutter, because we all know that we as photographers can control the story we tell by what we choose to capture and share.

And if you can get over yourself and open your eyes and your ears and your heart, YOU are the one who will be transformed, the one who will be humbled by the stories of The People, the one who will no longer show up as the aloof photojournalist but as a brother or sister in solidarity, the one who is there because you recognize that your liberation is tied to the liberation of all who struggle, the one who will never be the same.

"If you have come to help me you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together... " ~ Aboriginal Activist

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And when I use the term "you" above, I am talking about myself. This is the story of my own personal experience documenting social justice movements in Chicago for the past six months. I write about this after having experienced May Day, which is celebrated around the world on May 1st as International Worker's Day and here in Chicago as a day to also highlight immigrant rights, which are also worker's rights, which are also human rights.

I really thought my photography was going to change the world, I really did. What I learned instead, was that I was the one in need of transformation.