Signed, sealed, delivered.

The pictures I’ve chosen to share on this site have been almost exclusively “found” photos – in other words, naturally occurring scenes or subjects (the exceptions that come to mind are the photos of compliant family members that resulted from my bossy posing directives).

Recently I’ve taken an interest in a conceptual approach, where the pictures are more “staged” in order to illustrate an idea or emotion. I’ve kept most of these photos to myself, since they’re more personal.

This one, though, came to mind when I learned that the WordPress Photo Challenge this week is liquid. True, the “liquid” isn’t the subject of this photo, but water is a key component here.

I had been at the dollar store to pick up some tissue paper, and when I walked through the craft aisle to get to the checkout, a package of clear miniature corked bottles caught my eye. Inside each of the eight bottles was what looked like a tiny, rolled up slip of coloured paper.

I stood there, staring at the package. For what reason, I didn’t know. I’m not really a crafty person and I surely don’t need more trinkets lying around the house (I have two school-aged children and therefore far too many items lying around the house). Feeling a bit ridiculous, I bought the bottles, though I didn’t know what on Earth I’d use them for.

That became clearer when some days later I planned a morning photo walk on the beach, and remembered the tiny bottles. Aha! Surely, an appropriate location for such props. I pocketed the bottles, and when I got to the beach, I plunked my toys in the sand and watched them shine in the sunlight.

My mind began to wander beyond the fake rolls of paper in the dollar store containers. What might be written in an actual message tossed into an ocean? Declarations of love? Pleas for help? I imagined it being carried to its landing place by the perpetual currents and waves of the water: the water of life, both literally and metaphorically. Both gentle and wild, both predictable and erratic, both beautiful and vicious. A perilous journey, no doubt.

I thought about the likelihood of a bottle being lost in the depths, or broken on the rocks, or swallowed up by some creature. Or, less likely, swept to safety on the shore. I thought about who might discover it, and what they might do with such a message, and whether they would somehow be changed by this act of fate or coincidence. I thought about the writer’s necessary sliver of hope and lack of expectation in believing that another human being would eventually be at the other end of this improbable attempt at communication. I wondered whether the feelings and facts committed to paper would’ve been altered over the passage of time needed for such a crossing.

Maybe the messages we leave – in bottles or otherwise – are our attempts at affirming our identities and existence. We. Were. Here.

Pictures made, I gently scooped up my bottles, the sand clinging to their smooth sides. Perhaps they served their purpose, and I can pass them on to my kids. Maybe they won’t be interested. But maybe they will. Maybe they, too, will hold those tiny bottles in their hands, peering through the glass, and wondering about the words that might be curled up on those colourful slips of paper.

Boots that work.

 

 

Rough around the edges.

Tuesday’s all about textures over at De Monte y Mar.

True colours.

Most images in my February posts were pretty bleak-looking in terms of the colour palette, so I’ll finish off the month with something brighter in honour of a very vibrant little girl.

These hair elastics are labelled as “ouchless” on the package (not entirely true). They stretch and snap after a while, but we find they hold pigtails like nobody’s business. They’re slick and bright and shiny, which not only pleased my flashy first-grader but also inspired this photo for Narami’s weekly feature, Tuesdays of Texture.

When we got home from the store with the new package of elastics, my daughter picked out all the black ones and all the white ones and gave them to me. “You can have the plain ones,” she generously offered. She already has a good grasp of her mother’s neutral style. Her own style, she refers to as “fancy” (pronounced with an English accent). Aptly, she calls mine “not fancy” (but without the accent).

Though she loves them all, she likes the orange elastics best.

Shine on, girl, shine on.

Under the wire.

 

This is what results when the whole day has gone by and you haven’t made a photo even though you’re supposed to be making one every day. Everyone is tucked in and now you have some time to yourself but the problem is that you’re so tired because the cats think the day should begin at 4:13 a.m. and you’re sure your eyelids must have cinder blocks attached to them.

You’re not sure how creative your brain is feeling at the moment or even whether you can remember how to operate the camera. In fact there’s a very panicky moment when you think you erased your entire memory card but luckily it’s a false alarm.

You make a photo of a candle but it’s boring and so is the one of the beach stones so at this point you’re looking around desperately for something to snap before you fall down or give up and crawl under the covers which is where you would really, really like to be right now.

Then you spot the twirly stick that’s been sitting inconspicuously in a vase with other twirly sticks for roughly 15 years and you notice that it’s a bit rough and spiral-y which could be interesting if the light shines on it a certain way.

Whether or not it’s actually interesting is debatable but you got today’s shot and once you’re done typing this sentence you’ll hit the hay and hope the cats will sleep in till at least 5 a.m. tomorrow.