The commemoration of my hometown’s 300th anniversary invited people from all walks of life to join in the fun. Celebrating the arts, food, music, people, and even aliens who make South Kingstown a great place to live. We acknowledge the impact of of other cultures in the formation of this special place.
There was a time when I wanted to leave SK and never come back. I did leave, but now I’m grateful & glad to be lucky enough to live here again.
Picture this: rolling hills full of happy grazing sheep, an endless expanse of fluffy clouds, wildflowers everywhere; a light-filled chapel under which lays a dark but beautiful crypt housing a fourteenth-century statue; old barns full of sheared wool and aged farming tools, morning light streaming in through the gaps between the worn wooden boards the structures are built from; an impressive overlook one thousand feet high, showing the mighty Chemung river and surrounding mountains and farmhouses from which hangliders are launching, soaring with the clouds… the list goes on of beautiful things I witnessed during my time at Mount Saviour Monastery.
Out of all of that, I choose to show a simple photo of the desk in my tiny, modest room which used to be a monk’s quarters. On the desk lies the summation of my journey: books, journals, too many pens to write my thoughts and poems; prayer beads, a painted icon, and my tiny Buddha statue on the windowsill, reminders of the spiritual journey I am on; a handmade tile and a piece of century-old paper with part of a story written on it, just some of the gifts from the residents I shared the week with; and of course, the charming little lamp which lit the way during the late evening or early morning hours I spent writing. But perhaps most important are the Polaroids lovingly laid out on the small desk. Each one a memory of the people, places and things I saw throughout the week.
I was seized by inspiration for an unexpected project at the Monastery. I photographed each of the residents in the act of creation. Painters, collage artists, musicians, poets, printmakers, each with a story to tell. On the back of each of the Polaroids, I inscribed a poem I had written about the artists and their work. At the end of the week, I gave these away to the artists as a keepsake for their trip. I loved the photos, and it was somewhat difficult to part with them, especially considering they were unique, special, one-of-a-kind pictures that I would likely never see again.
When I first arrived at the Monastery, I was told that what I found here would likely be different than what I was looking for. Indeed, I had many realizations that I didn’t expect, things I learned about myself and those around me and about my spirituality. I was touched by the kindness of everyone I met. Each person was so generous that it positively overwhelmed me with joy. The monks, the oblates, the priest, the caretakers, and the residents I spent the week with are some truly amazing humans. And so I realized that maybe I’ve been doing certain things for the wrong reasons. The benedictine cross I now wear (despite not being Catholic) is a loving reminder of the qualities that I want to embody. To make people’s lives a little brighter, to help foster peace whenever possible, to be generous of spirit and posessions, to never judge anyone for their differences, to create for the sake of doing what I love and wanting to share that love with those who are open to receive it.
to old friends and new
to a life spent together
i toast to your love
Yard Sale (noun): an informal event for the sale of used goods by private individuals, in which sellers are not required to obtain business licenses or collect sales tax. Typically the goods in a yard sale are unwanted items from the household with its owners conducting the sale. Also Known As garage sale, tag sale, rummage sale
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and if you go to enough yard sales, you are absolutely certain to find some unexpected treasure!
I remember yard sales with my grandmother as a child, with my mother as a teen, with my brother as a twenty-something… and now in my thirties, I yard sale on my own. A rite of passage? A family tradition? I don’t know, but there is a thrill in sifting through other people’s discarded belongings looking for the gems. Sometimes you strike gold, and sometimes you strike out. Saturday morning fun!
The Rhode Island summer cookout: fresh lobsters, stuffies, steamers, corn on the cob, pasta and potato salads, soupy, and more…… a feast for the eyes and the stomach. Family and friends gather to eat, drink, and relax together, late into the night. A chance to reminisce about fond memories and to make new ones. Dancing, hugging, singing, and some drunken antics are common as we celebrate each other’s company.
Also–an invitation to Stefan to join in the fun for an October clam-boil!
9GR8+64 Narragansett, Rhode Island
I’ve heard a lot of people say that the arts are not a way to make a living. It’s not a viable career, you’ll never get anywhere, you won’t make money, better to get a “Real Job.” These people say that art isn’t necessary for survival–it doesn’t sustain you like food, provide shelter like a home, or get you things like money.
But just imagine a world without art. No music, movies, literature, poetry, advertisements, greeting cards, museums, galleries, concert halls, radios, television, Instagram–nothing! What kind of life would that be? Art heals. It brings joy, peace, relaxation, community, entertainment, therapy, knowledge, and so much more to our lives. I would argue that we need art as much as we need food and shelter.
I love my job. And I’m making it work for me, despite what the non-believers have told me. The next time you pass by a gallery, stop in, take a look around, and think about how meaningful it all is. Think of the way it makes you feel to be surrounded by art. Imagine a life without it–and be thankful for the beauty it brings to our lives.
FFJG+45 Kingston, South Kingstown, RI
On cool summer days when the rainclouds roll in and thunder booms in the distance, only the truly dedicated make it outside to the coast: those few fishermen, beach bums, and photographers who don’t let the rain get in the way of doing what they love. New England is known for its unpredictable, sometimes wild weather–rain one minute, sun the next; 90 degrees one day, 40 degrees the following; and we can always count on an incorrect weather forecast. While I may prefer these dark and moody days, I have learned to always make the best of whatever comes my way and to work with what I have. Sometimes the best experiences happen during the worst weather!
One of my favorite parts about looking at Stefan’s blog posts is checking out the map of the location of his photo. I am often in awe of the huge amount of farmland in Austria. Rhode Island is not exactly known for it’s agriculture, but it does play a part in daily life here. There are farmers markets all over the state, bumper stickers adorn cars saying “No Farms, No Food,” and there are some surprising facts about farming in the state which I will share here.
About 60,000 acres of land in Rhode Island is considered farmland–10% of the total area of the state.
Out of the 50 states, RI comes in at #49 in agricultural exports.
There are farms for cattle and other livestock, like the one pictured here, as well as dairy, produce, plant nurseries, honey, and even oysters–in fact, RI aquaculture farmers harvest over 8.2 million oysters each year.
There are 1,100 farms across RI out of the 1,214 square miles that make up the state. For a girl who’s lived most of her life in such a tiny place, that sounds like a lot. I wonder how other parts of the world compare?
A child wants a Nintendo. He begs his parents for it, but they don’t want to buy him one. He tells them he will never ask for anything ever again. They give in, and get the boy his Nintendo.
A few weeks later, he wants a new game to play. He begs his parents, but they don’t want to buy him one.
“You said the Nintendo was the last thing you would ask for.”
“Well, this time I really will never ask for anything ever again.”
They give in, and get him the game.
After a few more weeks, the child wants another new game. He begs his parents for it, but they don’t want to buy him one. The cycle continues…..
Buddhism is about breaking that cycle of want.
This larger-than-life Buddha statue rests at the RISD Museum in Providence, RI and is an incredible sight to behold. Thank you to my friend Matt for telling me this story which was told to him as a child when he first visited the museum. I love hearing the stories that stick in a person’s memory, ones which change how they see the world or open their mind to new concepts. I was introduced to Eastern schools of thought much later in life than Matt, but these philosophies have had a profound influence on my life just the same.
And of course, I have to acknowledge that this blog post marks 1 year of Photograf*in: Two Worlds. Today I will toast to many more years of exploring the world around me, appreciating the little things, and learning about far-away places.
To wake alive, in this world
What happiness.
-Shoha
I have returned home after a quiet retreat to an isolated island 13 miles off the coast, away from the temptations of cell phones, computers, social media, emails, and the constant influx of digital information. I now find myself back to the “real world.” How will I adjust again to the pressures of work, relationships, and society? I long to be back among the wind and the clouds and the bluffs. I will find my peace within the sounds of the traffic outside my window, the hectic comings and goings of the world around me. I will hold onto the slow, quiet life on the island, and keep its lessons within my heart.