The Art of (Living Without) Regret

    I wanted to capture the moments--the beauty I saw all around me that appeared and faded so quickly without anyone else seeming to pause and notice.  How could I save them up and share them?  A camera seemed the perfect way and the world unfolded for me.  I spent years, more than I can remember behind a lens, never in front, trying to collect every beautiful thing. I loved the inner stillness that came from my forays into the wilderness or city streets to take photos.  My shyness was fed by hiding behind the camera to capture moments rather than be a part of them.  My nostalgia grew as I looked back upon stacks and stacks of beautiful things and special moments that for all my efforts I hadn't really saved at all.   Because, we cannot of course capture those moments and hold onto them as anything but fading memories.  It is better to be present in them, to live them and let them go.

    I heard it said that in a certain language photography is called "the art of regret."  When I read this, I didn't need to research it to see if it was true, I knew in my heart that this definition is correct.   It was time to stop forever looking back at these small cards of glossy paper that held things now turned to dust.  It was time to stop trying to preserve the moments and start living in them.  It was time to let go.  Time to forget.

    It was then, four years ago, that I turned photography into an outlet for my fashion and travel instead.  I stepped in front of the lens, started this blog, and began to open myself to this small corner of the world.  When my own world shattered two and a half years ago, I knew I could still come here and find everything sane and lovely and just as I had left it.  

    My life has changed, my heart has changed, my dreams have faded away.  I see it on my face when I look at these photos now, the before and after line drawn through my life, and again I feel regret to see the way that grief has etched its own lines that time would have tarried over.  I have to breathe.  I have to look away.  I have to understand that this was part of the process of unraveling one season and weaving another.  These lines are the scars of having fought a battle against pain, trauma and bitterness.  And I fight it still.  I continue to love the creativity of photography, but perhaps now I am ready for it to take a new path and I let go of what was and what I hoped might have been to what truly is and what could be.  I look forward to seeing where things will go and look back on what has been without regret.