There’s been a few changes since the last Pictures + Words. The most notable in the context of this story is my decision to upgrade my ten year old digital SLR camera to a mirrorless camera. For non photography buffs, the significance of this change is my equipment is lighter and smaller. Just like when 35mm cameras (arguably) caught up with their larger format predecessors, the technology has (arguably) caught up in a new range the smaller mirrorless cameras.

As if a ten year leap forward in technology wouldn’t be enough change, I also changed camera lines. It almost killed me to sell my trademark white Canon zoom lenses. I was attached to their enviable quality, and they’ve been with me everywhere for the past couple of decades. For a last time, I cradled them like babies before I releasing them to the wilderness of Facebook Marketplace.

I bought my very first camera – a Fuji FZ 3000 Zoom – in 1991 when I was in between my Psychology degree at University of Toronto and my Education degree at York University. I paid for it with tips from a lucrative summer tending bar at the first rooftop patio at Studebakers in Toronto, the iconic 60s theme bar on Pearl Street. Even though I was on track to become a teacher, photography was bubbling to the surface as a significant driver in my life even then.

Smooth at all its edges and held horizontally like a pair of binoculars, The FZ-3000 stood out from the crowd. I would be stopped everywhere I carried it by strangers wanting to know about my strange contraption. Because of its shape and the size it needed to be to accommodate an exceptional zoom lens, they were usually disappointed to find out it was “just a photo camera” and not the latest evolution of a video camera. Photo buffs, on the other hand, would salivate and gaze at the lens with misty eyes.

My present choice for a new camera was in part a nostalgic return to Fuji, now rebranded as Fujifilm. In an ironic twist, my new Fujifilm XT4 is an eye-catcher in its own right, but not for its futurist design. Externally, it’s a throwback, designed to look like the beautiful cameras of the 1960s. This was attractive to me. Its reminds me of the 1964 Minolta camera my father chased us around with as children.

A decision of this significance can’t be just about looks, so I balanced my attraction to the XT4’s aesthetics by watching and reading every review available on the internet. I’m sure I would have waited for a silver model if supply hadn’t been limited because – never mind, I’m not going us the P word today.

For the past couple of months, I have been learning how to use a radically different camera than the ones I could operate in my sleep for the past decade. Even on manual, I still trip up! The dials are in different locations and I swear the zoom turns in the opposite direction. Rewiring my brain to compose and shoot quickly is taking a while, but it’s coming along, and it’s a joyful process.

This brings me to the bee just bee-ing. Having been locked down for most of the past year and a half, a lot of my creative energy has been directed towards our garden. Last year we tore out old overgrown shrubs and replaced them with grasses and lavender, favourites from my gardens in Kelowna. This year has been more about enjoyment and using it to escape my desk in my home office.

This past weekend, I was wrote at the back yard table. Taking time in between thoughts to be still, I watched the grasses and lavender move in an almost nonexistent breeze. A honey bee moved between the swaying purple blooms. I felt a familiar nudge to get my camera.

I shot slowly and deliberately, fumbling with the dials a little less than the last time. The bee is a different subject for me. I’m more of a mountain girl, accustomed to shooting things that don’t move unpredictably. I threw the lens wide open to let as much light in as possible and held my breath.I hoped the bee would stick around and that my shutter speed was fast enough to freeze it in time and space.

The bee wasn’t going anywhere. It had exactly what it needed in each tiny bloom and although it was exerting effort, the bee wasn’t struggling in its work. It was doing what comes naturally. The bee just bee-ing reassured me. Ease with my current camera will return with practice and persistence. And maybe I don’t need to miss my lens babies after all. Fuji still makes wicked cameras and eye-popping lenses.

Click for a full-size view. 👇

Alchemy and alchemist are old words in the English language. They predate and were precursors for the science of chemistry and the chemist. Alchemists believed they could turn lead into gold. They appear as mystics in legends. In time, alchemy took on a figurative meaning – to transform things for the better.

I’ve been reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo at the beginning of each year for over a decade.

The Alchemist is more than just a story. It’s an allegory, a book of wisdom, a piece of fiction filled with truths. Millions of people have read it since its first publication in 1988. My 20th anniversary version is wrinkled and weathered from bedside reading, as well as trips to beaches and into bathtubs. Multicolored flags and highlighted passages show what jumped out each time I pass through.

I’ve always wanted to take the time to extract and reflect on the wisdom strewn throughout the story of Santiago, a shepherd in pursuit of his Personal Legend. The way insights are woven into the narrative feels natural and must have something to do with why it resonates.

This quote from page 27 seems appropriate and confronting on February 1, 2021.

“…when each day is the same as the next, it’s because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day the sun rises.”

There is a sameness to every day right now, couched in ethical trade offs between freedom and safety. It’s challenging, at times overwhelming; and good things are still happening. The choice of what I see depends where I put attention, which is why I’m focused on creating and sharing pictures + words.

Treasures from the past have been unearthed while exploring within the boundaries of my home. They had dropped out of sight as I moved on to the next thing. The alchemy of doing what I’ve always wanted to transforms each day for the better.

I do my best thinking when I’m flying or traveling. To represent that in today’s Daily, I went looking for a photo of a big view. This vista is from a three day drive from Kelowna, BC to Lake Tahoe, Nevada in 2009. I’ll hold and develop the story of how I managed to be surprised by a National Park on Sunday.​

A pause to take stock…

The last Friday in January feels like a good time to take stock of how this public writing initiative is going.

It took a year to prepare for creating in public. In that time I learned from a credible source. Establishing the daily practice required me to build a few systems to make it work, and like all systems, they need a regular review.

First, the numbers:

I’ve released 15 blogs since January 5th – not quite daily, but more than I’ve ever published before. I missed the 10th, a Sunday; the 14th, a Thursday; and 18-20th, a Monday to Wednesday gap.

I’m on track for 17, including today and Sunday.

Why am I doing it?

There’s at least one piece of writing about each of these reasons, but for today, this partial list will do:

For me:

• Creative self expression
• Build and exercise a skill
• Accumulate a body of work
• Fulfill my life long dream of becoming an author

• Stay independent in how I generate money
• Build a living that feels true to who I am in every way
• Unearth the buried parts of myself

This is a journey of creative expression: photography, thoughts, opinion and story kept to the sidelines for too long.

For others:

• There is so much prescriptive writing telling you what to do on the internets. This writing is a different style – more story with “I” and “me.”
• Maybe you can tell me what’s in it for you! Whether it’s inspiration, education, entertainment, or observing the unfolding journey. The email responses have helped keep me going this month, and I am grateful.

What have I learned (so far)?

• Writing this much is hard.
• A big piece each day is unsustainable.
• I love writing as much as I did as a child.
• I was always photographing for now.
• The photo is the feeling, and it almost always comes first.
• Sometimes the writing slips into evening. (Not sure if that’s good or bad. Just an observation at this point.)
• If I miss one day, I’m more likely to let myself off the next.
• I need to design a day off – Saturdays – as a day to catch my breath and be completely away from technology if I choose.
• Sundays have a great vibe for stories.

What am I percolating?

A new name for the blog – Laura’s Daily Letter feels onerous and temporary. Plus, if I design a rest day on Saturdays, it’s not really “daily.”

What’s next?

The future is open. I’m paying attention to what resonates through your responses, and taking the leap into the life of a Creative one step at a time.

Today’s step is sharing some end of January reflection.

Until Sunday’s story,

PS. Remember if you want to see a bigger version of the photo, click through to the blog, and then click on the image.

Writing didn’t go as anticipated today.

It happened, but I dove into something and couldn’t bring it home in one sitting. I almost gave myself a pass.

I wrote extensively, after all. Isn’t that enough?

It’s too late to send it out. Won’t my subscribers be bothered?

Then I got a nudge. A reminder there are many reasons to blog daily. Seeking perfection and worrying about what others think are not on the list.

I sit to write again – after dinner this time.

Limit myself to one idea.

What else happens daily?

The earth turns and the sun shines regardless of the state of the world and the long winter night.

Daily means daily.

Publish.

This photo emerged from obscurity on the weekend. It wasn’t exactly lost, but it hadn’t seen the light of day for many years. The original is on a 36 x 24 millimetre piece of slide film that had been packed away for almost fifteen years.

Saturday was the day I finally decided to tackle a box that has been sitting in our living room, then upstairs hall, since my husband emptied our storage locker into our main floor last spring. The project was a response to our many unexpected consequences of COVID 19. It started as an expense to cut, and has continued as an ongoing purge.

Suddenly out of work, Tony was on a mission. Before I could exclaim “But where am I going to practice yoga?!?!?” our main floor was filled with seasonal furniture, decorations, seemingly endless boxes of paper, stuff we don’t use any more, and things we had forgotten but are using again.

It. was. a. process.

Four boxes remain. All mine. You know those boxes. The boxes that stay packed after a move. The ones that contain things you love but don’t really fit any more. Or that have so much in them it’s a project of its own.

This picture was living in one of the last boxes. The big, heavy box filled with every single slide I deemed worthy of keeping, a long time ago.

–

I remember my thoughts when I took this photo. It April 2006. I was scrambling through a canyon in Summerland, British Columbia, when I noticed tiny bits of lichen growing on a graveyard of old sage roots and tree branches, likely discarded from the orchards above. The bones of the old growth were brittle and sharp as I waded in.

Setting up my tripod, I wondered who would want to look at all this dead stuff but me, but I persisted, positioning the camera, gathering the specks of bright new growth in the frame.

–

One of the delights of Saturday’s unboxing was taking a quick look at pages and pages of slides. I steeled myself and dove in to determine how much I can throw away, but I was greeted by my past creative self. She reared her head and forced me to take notice of how much care and attention had gone in to protecting the contents within.

I had tucked hundreds of slides into protective plastic sheets and light proof binders to keep them safe. A previous unboxing had unearthed my forgotten mini light table. I pulled it out from where I had stashed it, plugged it in, and turned it on. It’s just the right size to display a sheet of slides.

There really is nothing like the eye-popping effect of Velvia 50 meeting light. A rainbow of every imaginable colour of nature met my eyes for the first time in fifteen years. There’s a treasure trove to discover, scan and share, but one photo stood out as relevant for today. A quick check confirmed it was one of a handful I had scanned before boxing them away. The image matched my intent.

The idea I was trying to show through my lens that day so long ago was hope for renewal. It’s not really a picture of what’s dead and discarded. There, at the bottom of an obscure canyon, was new growth on top of what had been before.