Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Photo Heart Connecting

Sitting Place
Sitting Place
Here's September's winner.  At least today scrolling through the month of images, this is the one.  If I look tomorrow that cute one of Tula Dot lying on the floor might supersede.
This one gets the call because I like it.  Because its subject is sitting in front of a tacky Japanese restaurant with neon beer signs in the windows.  I think this restaurant is more about the bar than the egg rolls.  I like it because unless I told you, you'd never know it.  You'd imagine something quaint.
I like this because I'd just pulled my car into the tired parking lot so I could wander across and down the street to take pics of some cool shadow patterns along a nearby bridge.  But then my head swiveled.  I love that.  I again will say that snap of the neck serves me well.
What does that mean?  Instinct?  What did God give me? 
I still struggle with hearing loss-not because I can't hear at all....I can hear some. Enough to get by if I try hard and wear hearing aids, but not well enough to be a musician, to teach music, to do what I really was meant to do.  To make my work and passion the same thing.
But, would that instinctive eye have been discovered if the music kept feeding my heart?
I'm not willing to embrace the silver lining--yet--
I don't believe the trade off is a better deal--yet--
I'm not ready to stop being pissed off--yet--
but maybe my insides are starting to hear what my swiveling head, instinctive eye, and this sentence of silence is telling me.
Or maybe this is just a gorgeous bench shadow outside an ugly Japanese restaurant.
Today's post is brought to you by the letters P H and C and also with sponsorship through Kat and the Kat Eye Studio.  Bill and Melinda Gates nor the Pew Charitable Trust had nothing to do with the Photo Heart Connection, but you can.  All are welcome.  Click the button and see.


Wayne (Woody), whatever said...

Hear with your eyes, they are serving you really well. How else would you have found this jewel? The light and contrast are great!

IMO, being pissed off is a critical component of passion, embrace it. (don't I sound all philosophic?)

Kathryn said...

Pissed offness is part of the journey . . . at least that's what I tell myself. I'd been thinking of you lately and was going to shoot you an email to check that everything was ok. How's Princess P? When is your Cuban show? This month right?

Anonymous said...

Susan, I love this post, your honesty, even the pissed-off bits. I love the photo, I've already told you that. And you're right, of course, I was picturing something quaint. It is Maine, after all - isn't everything quaint? But the backstory makes it even better. Isn't this what Kat was writing about in her PHC? I love your snaps of the neck and the instincts that make you pay attention. Have a good week, my friend.

Kay L. Davies said...

I absolutely believe it's an instinct, but I think it is born of that blink-of-an-eye when you first saw the bench, then moved, so it didn't register immediately but was imprinted on your retina.
I've only had that happen to me once, and it was in rather grizzly circumstances. My husband and I were in the car on the Trans Canada Highway when we felt something hit the front of the car. "What was that?" he asked, and I closed my eyes. With my eyes closed, I could see the head of a coyote poking out from my side of the car. I told him, and he looked in the rearview mirror. Yes, he saw a dead coyote on the side of the road behind us.
The same thing and not the same thing. In your case, as in the case of my brother the artist, your mind registers the picture on your retina just a split second after you've turned, so you turn back.
It is a gift. Not a musical gift, but an artistic one, which puts you into a small group of people who have been given the opportunity to live with one gift after another, rather than simultaneously.
I know you're not ready to like the trade-off, not yet, but a glimmer of gratitude should one day come, when you're open to it.
PS: This is an offer of hope, not a lecture, of course.

Zena said...

Love this post, the photo is fantastic and so is your text. I love this sentence: but maybe my insides are starting to hear what my swiveling head, instinctive eye, and this sentence of silence is telling me.

Gorgeous photo-heart connection

gina said...

Wonderful photo-heart post, Susan. You have a gift with words, and with images. I admire your honesty in sharing the deep feelings you have about your hearing loss. Is your talent for photography and finding those special images a consolation prize? Maybe. No matter-- your photography has brought you into this supportive community of bloggers, and we are all learning about life from each other.

Deborah Tisch said...

I have to echo what Gina said...I'm personally grateful that you have taken up photography, and share your skills here. Your views of the world never stop amazing me.

Fabulous photo heart connection!

Sarah Huizenga said...

I think that what you use to get from your ears has been transferred to your eyes. You have developed them into a great instrument. You don't have to stop being pissed off about it, but you also can't change it. I say embrace what you do have, some people don't get that chance or have that gift. You know I love your work.

Carol Blackburn said...

Susan, I can see why your head was turned by this long shadow. Don't work too hard.

Adrienne said...

So much here. I love that a small piece of what's in front of you tells a different story than the whole. I love that you were chasing shadows and one was given to you where you least expected it. I love your heart as you share why this matters. Thanks for letting us in. {visiting from PHC}

bgottsab said...

Well, okay - you know I love shadows and this one is a fine example of the beauty that can be found in those elongated shadow visions. And I really like your description of the "neck snap" - that moment of seeing something that needs to be captured. That instinctual vision. So much has been taken from you - it is a mystery why that happened and your anger over that loss is certainly well-deserved. But yet, it seems as if you have also been given something as well - it may not (yet) be enough but it is certainly something. Perhaps not a trade you would have made willingly but something was gained in this silence. An emotional and thought-provoking piece.

Anita Johnson said...

I echo the comments above. I like this photo too, especially with your thought process connected to it. The word "yet" is one I use often. There is more to be come. I believe that is how my relationship with God is.

Kat Sloma said...

Such a poignant post, Susan, sharing a struggle that goes deep. I love your description of the head swivel - that intuition for a good photographic scene that served you so well here. You were out for interesting shadow patterns, and you found one - just in a place you didn't expect. Maybe, just maybe, as you keep on with your journey in photography you will find acceptance of the path that you have been put on. It sounds like there is an inkling of that coming through. Thank you for sharing with us in the Photo-Heart Connection. I cannot imagine the loss you are experiencing through this, but I want to thank you for the gain this journey of photography has brought to the rest of us.

Gotham Girl said...

great post! enjoyed your writing.

Michele Matucheski said...

An Artist is an Artist no matter what medium. So you've switched gears from music to visual arts. You are still an Artist, my dear!--Michele at Sweet Leaf

Cathy H. said...

You're a beautiful artist through your photography. I cannot imagine how one would feel or react hearing lose. I don't know how long the process has been, but it seems you're working through and giving your talent, not with your music, but your photography and voice. And, I love it!

Prairie Jill said...

Beautiful post. Beautiful photo-heart connection!