Dear reader,
I have the sudden impulse to take landscape photos. Film, not digital. Because I want the sense of preciousness - not infinite shots, only thirty-six. And also the tactility - paper for my hands to hold and feel. And after taking the photos, I want to collect plants from the landscape. Grasses, flowers, leaves. At home, I will boil water. I’ll make tea from the plants. And in the tea, I’ll drop the film. When the landscapes are developed, they will be the product of time, shaped by light, and colored by their plants.
I don’t own a film camera (yet). But my impulse is what’s curious. It isn’t random, I sense. I’m trying to hold on to something I’ll lose.
The anthology Arts of Living on a Damaged Planet defines shifting baseline syndrome. “As humans reshape the landscape, we forget what was there before.”
What we recognize of our landscape is only what we have seen in our lifetime. The rest is a myth we must work to remember.
I reflect on this as I dip my toes back into water. Namely, my book project - Waterways. The water is cold, a little uncomfortable. I worry that I’ve lost my ability to swim. That I can’t feel the flow or sense where the streams connect. I’m writing anyway. I’m thinking about how we keep landscapes - painted, photographed, sketched. Framed in our homes, backgrounds on our screens. Carried in our bodies.
What landscapes do you hold, reader?
Here are some of mine.
Until next week,
Anna
The Creative Common Room
Coming February 2024!! Meet online with me to ritualize your creative practice. These community sessions begin with guided grounding in breath and body. We then transition to setting personal aims for the session. After our solo making time, we'll link back up to share inspiration, resources, and insights.
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