Perhaps one of our failings as a human race is our perception of beauty.
Our perception that character, and the insuppressible beauty of uniqueness is imperfection.
To me, the most alluring quality in a face is its natural form.
It’s invisible reflection of the soul
It’s unquantifiable energy
It’s stunning uniqueness
I see the character in a face as the epitome of human perfection.
Beauty beyond definition, for it cannot be measured.
Each line represents not one, but many stories. Don’t for one second be frightened of their presence. They are simply our reward for all of those times we’ve put one foot in front of the other, and made it to the other side.
Age is a blessing. Some of the most beautiful people in the world, are those older than us, who have lived, and are no longer afraid to show themselves. They find no comfort in being in any other skin other than the one they’re in.
Faces blooming with emotion, life and character have endless depth and come with infinite interpretations and possibilities, unlike the finite form of perceived physical beauty.
In the words of Amy Bloom-
“You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.”
My life is rather like driving a car. I’m flying down the highway in an auto when I should be taking the back road with my window open, sniffin’ the fresh air, coasting in third.
In my formative years, I always had a tendency to sit and stare out the window-my mind drifted very easily into rest mode.
However as a grown up person, with grown up stuff to accomplish, I am void of this free time as a direct result of the poor recognition that I actually need it.
It’s a repetitive behaviour I knowingly engage in because I am convinced I can handle life without ‘space’-a terrible fallacy.
My husband always says I only have two speeds. Fast and stop-and when I stop, I stop. But there does exist in me a third speed-I know it. If I close my eyes, I can almost touch it. A speed I’d call my
‘staring out of the window speed’
It’s not stop, it’s not fast, it’s my kind of ‘catch my breath’ and chill kind of gear. I used to cruise in this ‘fun’ gear all the time, but then someone traded me in for an auto model, and I’m now stuck with two speeds.
My plan for next week is to sell the automatic car in my head, buy a manual, chug along a wonky dirt road for a few hours IN THIRD GEAR, open the windows, let my dog slobber all over them with his ridiculous toothy smile, play a few tunes, sip some juice, have some home made ham, cheese and tomato sambos-with a little salt, suck the perfect blue sky into my starving lungs, laugh at all the funnies cracked on the cheesy radio breakfast shows, and find my lost smile.
I reckon I’m about as focused AND as ‘Out Of Focus’ as a person can be.
I spend much of my spare time these days attempting to perfect and refine my images.
As a budding amateur photographer, the learning curve has been steep yet exhilarating, and my drive to improve and understand the discipline continues to intensify.
-It has however been coupled with disappointment.
My ‘focus’ you could say, is absolute. That’s not unusual for me of course. To pour all my attentions into something new and challenging with an all or nothing type attitude.
The mental energy I invest into something I enjoy can be enormous, and often I head down the despondency road-to my detriment- or is it?
We all know what happens when we try and pile too many rocks on top of each other. The masterpiece of a rock tower gets taller, and taller, and taller and it reaches for the stars in a beautiful newly created formation of ART…and then it falls with an almighty earth shattering bang-BOOM-all is now dust.
-This is the story of my life.
I have recognised in me, that in times of intense focus, I have a tendency to pile up the rocks like there’s no tomorrow, creating not a masterpiece, but a vulnerable, unbalanced structure, which could topple over with the tiny little push of a pinky finger.
This somewhat ‘out of focus’ short-sighted behavioural pattern has ironically been my greatest teacher.
“Those stupid rocks” I would say as I stared at them strewn on the ground resenting my efforts. Or I would run away and hide never wanting to face them again. Or I would swear to myself that not a single rock would ever again be piled. And then what? Nothing, that’s what. It’s the end. The end of something I loved. Because of why? Because of my own inability to accept one thing-that they WILL fall down.
-My focus became very much out-of-focus when I failed to achieve success in an instant.
Decades of trips and falls has blessed me with a bit of an I don’t really care what happens nowattitude, and as a result I have started to throw myself in with no regrets, and accidentally stumbled upon the answer-of course this doesn’t always happen!
If you love something, but your efforts seem to be futile- maintain your focus.
Do it with NO less enthusiasm. Do it with equal intent to extend your limits, do it with your whole self, do it blindly with no ears for the knockers, and do it with the knowledge that the rocks are going to fall down. They WILL. They will and they always have. But what is consistent-what I always forget, is that in order to achieve something, we need to accept a bit of imbalance, a fair bit of disappointment, a bit of pain, many, many, steps backward, and we need to take comfort in the re-building.
Maintain the focus, re-build the rocks one at a time, and you will gain knowledge, and power, and strength, and the ability to learn how to balance, and eventually success. Be patient-and Do Not be Afraid to fail.
It makes it really difficult to keep still when the Mosquitos are biting into every ounce of flesh that is exposed-and that’s a fair bit because I live in Far North Queensland, where shorts and T-shirts are a staple commodity.
They were severe this evening- a mismatch with the serenity. No breeze. Perfect temperature, a view to die for, and a world of quiet, bar the occasional bird song.
What was I doing?
Not really sure. Your guess is as good as mine. I think if I was on a game show and I had to attempt an answer, I would say that I was freezing the world around me with my camera, in aim of reminding myself that it did indeed, in a wonderous capacity, still exist-a stark contrast to societies political thorns that continue to bite my butt.
Mozzies and politics-both very irritating.
At first glance, it was boring. Nothing much to see, nothing eye catching that hadn’t already caught me a million times before. I snapped regardless. Because that’s what I came here to do- Unwind, clear the head and recharge. Opening and closing the shutter was secondary.
It is amazing what can unfold around you when you don’t give two hoots why or where you are. When you have no solid reason to be wherever you are. When expectations are low, the little things become much, much more interesting.
I found myself just off the beach, playing in the mudflats with the mudcrabs (burried in their little mudcrab holes) and spying on the seagulls-so what, I hear you say.
The tide was out. Way out. I noticed a man looking in my direction, kind of tallish, 50’s, wearing glasses and a thick head of grey. He had a strong European accent.
“Are you local?” He asked
I hesitated, wondering how he could possibly be lost on the edge of a mudflat. If he was looking for the ocean, he was in the right place.
“Can I help?”
“Well it’s just that I am very concerned you will be eaten by a crocodile any minute now”
It amused me.
“You know, I am local, and I thank you for your concern…but I’m not worried about that”
I immediately jumped as he shrieked,
“It’s behind you, over there in the bushes”
His audible shriek stopped my heart on the spot more than his words of warning, and I turned around and quickly scanned the area.
No croc. Nothing. Not even a mudcrab. Not even a bird, or a dead fish, or a microscopic amoeba. Not surprising.
…what was surprising though, was that the man, who was there right in front of me, only seconds ago, had vanished completely. No sign of him, at all.
‘I write with a pen and paper in one of those hard cover diary books you can buy in the supermarket, and I move from room to room chasing the feelings in my chest that are killing me, until I have a scrawl that’s so messed up it’s made my flipping day-masterpieces are never mess free.’
‘I need a nice pen, a smooth one that enables me to feel grand when I splash my grievances for all to see and judge’
‘I like scribbling diagonally across a blank page taking my thoughts outside the angle of the lines. It’s dramatic, it’s naughty, and who cares…’
‘Honestly, don’t use the words of others. Don’t write someone else’s story-write yours. Separate yourself from the do’s and don’ts of the English language because that will distract you from what you really want to say, what is real, what is raw. Allow a chaotic flood of wicked messed up thoughts guide you to the brilliance of sharing an honest piece of yourself with those who care to listen-those reading by the way, should consider it a privilege to be given the secret key into your world and kindly respect your vulnerable position. Do not be phased by the haters. There will always be those…oh yes there will, and the literary genius’s of the world…fear not, intimidation is a waste of valuable energy, for you have the benefit of a gift they will never own-Your story’
‘Pardon? What is freedom? …Freedom to me is breathing out and feeling comfortable to stay there for a while.
Freedom is feeling confident enough to share your raw and then indulge in a cuppa with no spiders on your back.