Guess Where I'm Going?

If you had to guess, what would you say? Beauty contest is wrapped inside every pink curler.

Met this girl from Catawba County outside a theatre one afternoon. When I asked to make a picture, she was more than a little happy to stop for a second, to smile and say cheese.

Forward March

On a recent bright and frigid January morning I explored the streets of Washington, D.C. I'd never seen this solution to walking small ones along the city sidewalks. Love this brand of low-tech innovation - two lines of rope and a few pairs of adult hands. The man drinking coffee seems pretty taken with it the scene as well.

Off He Goes

My little city of Winston-Salem lost our patriarch of cool, Phil Hanes, Sunday morning.

He was the man about town. A one of a kind character with big ideas, big generosity, big interests, and big teeth. He was a cool cat who remained cool, active, loaded with moxie and know-how right up through to the final days of his 84 years.

Phil Hanes made being old look as hip as being young. Maybe hipper.

Thank you, Phil Hanes. Thank you. Wish you could hear us all saying it.

Hiding Behind Words

I'm excited about this moment for a zillion reasons. There's the hiding, the mischief, the crazy eyebrow, and that big fat book.

The act of hiding behind words, spoken and silenced, is one of the big themes in my life. It's part of the reason I felt dizzy when I first began reading Miller and O'Neill. They seemed to just flat out say things. All those words came out from hiding.

And there are always new words. Like pudenda. Just learned that one yesterday. Love it. Cool sound, even cooler definition.

Winter Palette

Day three without school in session. Snow daze are here. Stillness and indoor living take over. This image makes me feel warmer and more relaxed about life. Some times things just slip off so easily.

That Was A Good One

Thank god for the uncensored fun I have with my friend, the writer Ree Davis. I consider her the sister I never had.

A few days ago, we sat together in my kitchen. The late afternoon light was good, and so was our conversation.

Mysterious Pimp

First off, I didn't take this picture. Wish I did. It's a favorite. And, staring directly into Pablo Picasso's one eye would have been memorable no doubt.

But yesterday in the classroom I showed my fourth grade students this image and the responses hit a new high or a new low, depending on your sense of humor.

During our photography lesson, I show slides and say nothing at first. We look. We're quiet. Then I simply ask what they see, what they notice, what they're eye went too initially.

Careful what you ask.

In two classes, boys said, "He's wearing a pimp hat."

I really didn't know how to respond to that. In years of showing this image, I never heard that one before. Are pimps now on Nickelodeon? Anyway, one of the teachers reprimanded her student. "Now, you know we don't bring in language from the culture into the classroom." Hmmm.

It wasn't all pimp and shame, though. Other students described the mood of the portrait with great words like mysterious, mischievous, suspicious.

A Pocket of Light

New Year's Day in Winston-Salem was a murky misty mild day. It's been a day that looked and felt and seemed the same all day long. The light held steady, tucked behind the sun's concealing veil.

I watched the documentary about Henri Cartier-Bresson, The Impassioned Eye. It's a quiet film. Father Henri spoke a lot about geometry, geometry and structure.

Anyway, about a half hour in, I drifted from the DVD to grab a camera and tripod and opened up the aperture wide, setting the shutter for seconds, full seconds. I wanted to see if I could capture that Dutch light in the upstairs window. The exercise felt soothing after a new year's eve that was marked by much jubilant fun and somewhat risky playmaking on my part. Let's just say, I'm not an actress and I acted. I'm not a dancer, and I danced. And I'm not a performance artist, but I seem to want to be. At least on New Year's Eve, anyway.

A few details from the performance: a policeman, a puddle of three dresses, the pussycat dolls, dozens and dozens of buttons, and my percussionist husband, who played the snare drum masterfully while dressed in his high school marching band jacket. (Maroon with wide lapels.)

I jumped in and skidded. I skidded against the rails. I had me a little fun in that way that's just a wee bit terrifying.