this joy+ride: poetry + photos + inspiration

27: valeda stull

marthasnail — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 17:11:50 +0000

valeda stull
artist + photographer

Valeda Stull is studying to be an information scientist while thinking about how she can use this knowledge to make the world a better and more beautiful place. She is deeply affected by the colors and light of the changing seasons and tries to capture this in her photography and occasional painting. She lives with her boyfriend and dog in North Carolina, where she writes the blog doubleginger and relishes the time she can spend writing, eating, or sitting in silence & daydreaming at her wooden table.

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on the nightstand:

Nigel Slater’s Thirst
L’Occitane Eau de Miel
The Gift by Lewis Hyde
a carafe of water

am loving:

walking through piles of leaves
Alexander Calder’s Circus
lighting the woodstove and listening to LPs
whiskey-spiked hot cider
my cashmere tunics

what inspires you about autumn?

golden light and rusty colors
bits of nature falling from the sky
the stark temperature differences from morning to evening, like moods

what’s your idea of the perfect early november meal?

sharing laughter with loved ones over root-soup, crusty bread, salad, & wine at the table where candles are lit and stories told.

what are three constants in your day?

coffee + fruit for breakfast
licks on the face from my little dog
the brilliant feeling of being in love

26: jen korff

marthasnail — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 13:15:29 +0000

jennifer a. korff
artist + photographer

Jen is founder and principal creative of her one-woman atelier, Sophik Studio. She spends most days chasing light; working to capture moments redolent of dreams. She recently self-published a collection of photographs entitled we never really knew what time it was and loves to blog her inspirations. She resides in Logan Square, Chicago with her partner and two monstrous kitties.

Photographer’s note: The following photographs were captured on a recent trip to New York City, Bear Mountain and Sleepy Hollow, New York.

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on the nightstand:

a collection of journals dating back to my childhood
a clamping glass jar of Olivina body butter
OK OK OK by Mike Slack
an old metal box with trinkets inside including a paper umbrella from a cocktail marked “Matt’s Bday” and a dried leaf charm necklace
a wooden standing tree puzzle bought at a market in Split, Croatia

am loving:

that magical autumn light and how it illuminates the big yellowing tree outside our bedroom window
baking/munching our peck of spurmacs and royal galas
Believer Mag’s October issue
scarfs and slippers, preferably worn together at home
leadbelly on the record player

what inspires you about autumn?

feeling cozy in layers once again
how it makes me turn in, feeling quiet and contented
recipes like this and this old thing

what’s your idea of the perfect early october meal?

A kitchen date with my partner making autumn squash ravioli with sage brown butter, drinking a red wine of his choice (his palate is better than mine) while listening to tunes on the record player.

what are three constants in your day?

Buster paws on my face
S’s espresso
daydreaming and dilly-dallying

25: phoebe varinia demund

sheri — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 05:25:44 +0000

phoebe varinia demund
writer

Phoebe Varinia DeMund curses her good intentions every morning the alarm goes off at 6:30, especially when, characteristically, she’s been up late the night before in a meandering meaningful conversation with her husband, or one or both preschool daughters have woken at some point from their angel-sleep to call out during the night. But most of the time, she’d rather be awake, taking it in, her magnificent life of domestic ritual and ordinary routine. She tries to write when she can, occasionally attempts publication, hopes to travel wide and far in her lifetime, and for now, spends her days at home with her family and dog in Sacramento, California.

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Sometimes the moment is the present

I rub her back in clockwise circles, my hand’s length nearly her back’s width. Her head is pressed against her pillow, one eye open.

I wonder what she’s seeing, and what words accompany the images, if any. I try to remember being that small. She’s got the ten-mile gaze, which might mean she’s mostly asleep but her brain just hasn’t remembered yet to pull the shutters of her eyelids. Or, maybe she’s replaying the morning, remembering things said. Does she yet fantasize about things she wishes she had said?

She blinks and her eye refocuses on the slope of the pillow created by the impression of her head against it. The white pillow case must rise like a hill, creating an horizon line from her vantage, the shadows telegraphing its roundness, which she may someday be able to see with a visual artist’s eye — in that compressed two-dimensional recognition that it is only color and gradations in color that tell us the shape of the things we see. Touch confirms it, but seeing isn’t touch — a concept that only came home to me when I began to take art classes in college. Seeing is interpretation. Art is translation.

She blinks again and her eye drifts to the bangs from her forehead, falling to the side of her nose. I know that cozy, private den — the dimensions of space framed by my nose, cheek and hair, and the rise of a pillow. Even recently, lying on my stomach on a sun-warmed towel after swimming in cold mountain waters, I was noticing it — though it was my arm serving as a pillow. The light’s play on that small essential sanctuary of time and space, the curve of the bridge of my nose, the remarkably vast and minute distance between the surface of my eye and the surface of my pillow (or arm), the red shadows cast by the fine strands of hair that rest across the distance — it’s holy.

She blinks again and refocuses on me, discovers I’m watching, and, too late, I close my eyes.

She rolls over under my hand, and when I reopen my eyes, both hers twinkle at me.

I wish I were the mama whose eyes twinkled back at her in conspiracy — “Let’s spend this afternoon together letting life break open before us and amaze us.” Instead, I sigh and redouble my efforts to encourage her to close her eyes to dream.

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on the nightstand:

A dusty stack of books I intend to read someday
My journal and, preferably, a purple pen
The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh
BIG Little by Leslie Petricelli
A ticket stub from the Big Trees and Pacific Railway Company

am loving:

Pesto made from the garden basil, especially on scrambled eggs with fresh tomatoes
My daughters’ latest developmental leaps — story-telling, representational art, song improvisation, spontaneous and expressive dances
Long sleeves during the morning and a blanket on the bed at night
A short-term paying job
Friendship

what inspires you about autumn?

The sense that it’s time to slow down, stay in, look inward, prepare; the brisk breeze and colder nights; the long cast of light; the yellowing canopy that drapes over our tree-lined street. Also, the occasional, unpredictable, inconvenient, too-hot day, which reminds me that transitions are often naturally kind of bumpy and less than straight-forward.

what’s your idea of the perfect early october meal?

Homemade lentil stew, hearty whole grain garlic bread, and a green salad.

what are three constants in your day?

Internet linkages to the outside world
Repeated reminders to my daughters to go potty, get dressed, put on their shoes, not fight, stay in their seats at mealtime, use cutlery, turn off the running faucet, etc.
A brief, sudden panic about the speed at which time is passing, usually in the late afternoon

24: susannah conway

marthasnail — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 15:42:18 +0000

susannah conway
photographer + writer

Susannah lives in the historic city of Bath, England, where she uses analogue cameras to record the world around her and dreams in Polaroids every night. When she’s not chained to her Epson scanner she teaches people how to unravel, loves blogging, and is a certifiable bookworm.

photographer’s note: These Polaroids were shot during a recent weekend spent in London.

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on the nightstand:

A History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman
One Secret Thing by Sharon Olds
The Stone Gods by Jeanette Winterson
Bottle of water
Moleskine and pen
Vaseline Rosy Lips lip balm
Cheap IKEA lamp
Mosaic table bought in Cairo

am loving:

Jarlsberg cheese with olive ciabatta
The new Toast catalogue
Viennese coffee flavoured with figs
Working from home
Imogen Heap’s new album, Ellipse

what inspires you about the change of seasons?

I find it difficult to let go of summer as the days shorten and move into autumn. I can appreciate the colours of the leaves and will take full advantage of them with my cameras in the coming weeks, but there is still a part of me that holds its breath until spring swings around again. Spring makes me insanely happy; autumn makes me wistful. I shall endure this new season with a constant stream of hot chocolate, vegetable stews and plenty of new books to devour.

what are three constants in your day?

email
sparkling water
burning incense

what’s your idea of the perfect early fall evening?

After a day of shooting photographs, shopping for vintage finds or drinking coffee with friends, I return home to a warm flat, a dog-eared book waiting to be read and/or kisses from someone special.

23: andrea jenkins

sheri — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 16:08:32 +0000

andrea jenkins
photographer

Andrea Jenkins is a photographer, writer, and occasional modern dance teacher, living in Portland, Oregon with her husband and two children. She’s fairly certain her kids hung the moon but is not the kind of mother that likes to brag. You can find more of her work over at hula seventy.

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on the nightstand:

the quiet life camera club vol. 2
when you are engulfed in flames by david sedaris
I wanna take me a picture by wendy ewald and alexandra lightfoot
the latest issue of uppercase magazine
an old postcard from new orleans
a handful of seashells

am loving:

blackberries in my backyard
zinnias gone wild in my garden
pipe cleaner rings made by my daughter
shooting with the polaroid automatic 100
evening bike rides around the hood
old issues of dance ink

what inspires you about autumn?

the way trees scream out color and light, the crisp quality of the air, trips to apple orchards and pumpkin farms, the planning of kooky halloween costumes, the inaugural baking of the first loaf of banana bread, cozy new striped socks in brilliant colors, the glow of jack-o-lanterns.

what are three constants in your day?

laughing with my kids
burt’s bees lip shimmer in nutmeg
late night television with my husband

what’s your idea of the perfect autumn evening?

family bike ride before sundown, butternut squash soup and fresh bread for dinner, nina simone on the record player, time in the hammock out back with a good book, a warm quilt and a mug of hot mulled apple cider.

22: tracey clark

sheri — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 15:24:17 +0000

tracey clark
photographer

tracey is a self-proclaimed everyday photographer and stalker of backyard bokeh. she has two charming daughters who act as creative muses and a new girl-dog that offers constant comic relief. tracey is the founder of shutter sisters (where she also contributes) and blogs at mother may i. she shoots and writes professionally—as well as just for fun—and when given the chance she’ll share her creative insights with anyone who will listen.

*these images were captured with a Lensbaby on my a recent trip to and from NYC

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on the nightstand:

simple abundance (always has been and always will be within arms reach)
a notebook & pen
candles

am loving:

my super-wide angle Lensbaby converter
new perspectives
playing fetch with Junie

what inspires you about summer?

beach days
ocean breezes
tan lines on tiny bodies

what are three constants in your day?

one good cup of coffee
pulling my daughter’s bangs back into a clip
shutter sisters

how do you plan to say goodbye to summer?

i bid summer adieu on my birthday each year. the end of august is a time of welcome change for me. i always get a burst of creative energy this time of year, as i shift gears from the unstructured summer to the schedule of fall.

21: jennifer causey

marthasnail — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 13:02:32 +0000

jennifer causey
photographer

Jennifer Causey is a freelance photographer who enjoys daily breakfasts and frequent coffee breaks. Her work is often inspired by an internal struggle. She is habitually torn between her love for the city and her longing for the country. She currently lives in Brooklyn, NY where she enjoys finding special moments in each day and continuing her quest for the perfect ice cream flavor. She shares her daily breakfasts at simply breakfast and her photo inspirations at simply photo. See more of her work at jennifercausey.com.

Photographer’s Note: These photos are from a recent trip to visit family and friends, which really have me thinking about the possibilities of living in the South again.

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on the nightstand:

Why the Devil Chose New England for His Work: Stories by Jason Brown
Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin
Now Again by Laura Letinsky
Corduroy Magazine
Kiss My Face sliced peach lip balm

am loving:

tank tops + sandals
cool evening breezes
weekly trips to the farmers market
the sounds of summer in the city: ice cream trucks, children laughing, music playing.
the sounds of summer in the country: crickets + frogs, trees rustling, thunder in the distance.

what inspires you about summer?

The carefree feeling it evokes. Whoever you are, you can think back to a time when you were a child and summer meant no school and freedom. I love that it draws people outside and brings them together to enjoy the warmth of the sun and summer picnics in the park.

what are three constants in your day?

my morning coffee
looking out my kitchen window
daydreaming

what’s your idea of a perfect summer evening?

Sitting outside, sipping a cold beer, and looking at the night sky.

20: brian ferry

marthasnail — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 12:05:48 +0000

brian ferry
photographer

brian ferry is a lawyer by day who spends most of his spare time with a camera in hand. he lives in brooklyn, NY and likes cooking, eating + drinking, good music and taking photographs. he is currently involved in a torrid love affair with film, and he blogs about this and other things at the blue hour.

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on the nightstand:

netherland by joseph o’neill
the sailor from gibraltar by marguerite duras
the summer shack cookbook by jasper white
the new issue of monocle magazine

am loving:

cold-brewed iced coffee, taken outdoors
wimbledon
madras button-downs
dark and stormys
the kinks+

what inspires you about summer?

the deep greens everywhere, porch-sitting, visiting the farmer’s market, berries at breakfast, lunch and after dinner, sea salt air, the twinkle of party lights strung outdoors, summer thunderstorms, and the way the streets in new york city come alive.

what are three constants in your day?

running late
burt’s bees lip balm in my pocket
listening to NPR+

what’s your idea of a perfect summer evening?

friends, a game of bocce or croquet, a grilled dinner outside, cold drinks, the sound of cicadas and if we are lucky, some night swimming.

19: brad buchanan

sheri — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 16:03:03 +0000

brad buchanan
poet

Brad Buchanan is Associate Professor of English at California State University, Sacramento, where he teaches Creative Writing and Modern British Literature. His poetry has appeared in more than 140 journals worldwide, including The Antigonish Review, Canadian Literature, Fulcrum, The Fiddlehead, Grain, and The Wisconsin Review. He has published two books of poetry: The Miracle Shirker (2005) and Swimming the Mirror: Poems for My Daughter (2008), and is co-founder of Roan Press, a small publishing operation.

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Stage Fright

A space that teases
and terrifies
with swift light, blinding
movement, and noise
beyond her timid imagination,
this stage stops
her subtle evolution,
freezes her
into what an audience
can understand:
a refusal to dance,
a need to be comforted,
an awe-struck,
awful shyness.
Her teacher picks
her up to save her
from her own terror
at what she sees,
at what is gathered
in the darkness.
She thought she wanted this
and she was wrong—
her only performance
is a pas-de-scaredy-cat:
a backwards step,
with arms stretched out.

The Unimportant Questions

She has asked them of me all day
and I’ve attempted to answer her
as best I can. I have tried to explain
the quivering arrows on street signs,
the meanings of red, yellow and green,
the speed limits, the way to the airport,
the “NO PARKING, LOADING ZONES,”
the need for top security,
the strange importance of her shoes
in a moment of adult scrutiny.
I have told her all the truths I know
about the places we will be
visiting in our travels eastward
but as she leans excitedly forward
and cheers our liftoff, her gaze wide and avid
for life and what she can learn from me,
I see there are limits. If this plane
were spiraling irrecoverably
into certain death, I could not
bear to tell her. I would lie
through the teeth of my own mortality
and hold her terrified body close
and look into her vital eyes,
and when she asks if we’re going to die
I’ll say in my steadiest, steeliest voice
that everything’s going to be okay.

The Father’s Manifesto

She doesn’t know where she is going,
but a direction is finding her out.

She doesn’t know what she is saying
but meaning is being made of it.

She doesn’t know that it isn’t worth knowing
everything, as a matter of fact.

She doesn’t know that she’s delaying
grief by being ignorant.

She doesn’t know, but she is asking.
Soon I’ll have to tell her what

she doesn’t know but is dying
to understand. The girl I’ll create

she doesn’t know yet, but is learning
to become. How I’ll stand the guilt

she doesn’t know, but is slowly forming
the capacity to accept.

She doesn’t know, and I am wondering,
why we love, die, dream and write.

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on the nightstand:

Far, far too much stuff. Do you really want to know? OK, here’s a start, anyway: William Trevor: The Collected Stories, Peter Porter’s Selected Poems, two critical books on Flannery O’Connor, three histories of the Battle of Québec, six copies of Swimming the Mirror, one copy of The Miracle Shirker, Kamala Markandaya’s Nectar in a Sieve, Iqbal Mahmood’s Strategies of Negation: Postcolonial Themes and Conflicts in the English Language Literature of the East Indian Diaspora, Sports Illustrated, the Economist, an issue of Chirp (a children’s magazine), cue cards to assist me in my efforts to write a movie in my spare time (good luck with that), a lamp, a checkbook, pens, myriad unaffiliated papers. And that’s just the top of the nightstand! Yes, my wife is indeed appalled.

am loving:

William Trevor’s stories, the NHL playoffs, European soccer on ESPN 360, Moby’s music, my daughter’s improvised songs, Barack Obama’s presidency, my job.

what inspires you about summer?

That’s easy! I don’t teach in the summer, so I have time to write regularly and intensively and to plan for future projects. For me, opportunity is more important than inspiration. Still, I do enjoy wearing shorts and a t-shirt all day.

what are three constants in your day?

Eating breakfast with my daughter
Checking my email accounts compulsively
Thinking about words

what’s your idea of a perfect summer evening?

My idea of a perfect summer evening involves a light but aromatic beer (Fat Tire works nicely), a barbecued dinner eaten outside with my wife and daughter, a peaceful transition to night-time (putting my daughter to bed without major incidents), a sporting event to monitor while I wrap up the day’s busy work and emails, a good book to read before bedtime, a poem that offers itself out of nowhere and lets me write it down without so much as a blotch on the paper.

18: aino salmela

marthasnail — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 21:44:52 +0000

aino salmela

I’m 28 years old, historian, photographer and maker of handmade things living and daydreaming in Helsinki, Finland. I share my life with my future husband and a welsh corgi. Together we love simple life with lots of bicycle rides around town, and dream of moving to countryside where I’m originally from. I write a blog too (in finnish with a brief summary in english) where I share small details and inspirations of my days.

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on my nightstand:

a Sigur Rós cd (it’s been my good night music for years), Tim Birkhead’s book The Wisdom of Birds, alarm clock, current knitting project.

am currently loving:

wild flowers
folk art
african literature
honey yellow colour
nightly walks
journal writing
Bill Callahan’s album Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle

what inspires you about summer?

Definitely light. It’s everywhere, no matter what the time is! There seems to be some sort of lightness & happiness in people too, which gives me a good feeling. Also summer rain, sea & salty air, day trips and camping, and simply doing nothing are my sources of summer inspiration.

what are three constants in your day?

Walks, reading, tea/coffee. All the year around.

what is your idea of the perfect summer evening?

Two versions for this: one spent in the cottage almost in the middle of nowhere, listening to the quietness or the occasional bird songs. Making a fire and eating grilled vegetables, chatting with family. In the other version the evening is spent in in a crowded concert in the city park listening to Wilco playing.