A short post from me today (I hear your sighs of relief!). It’s my birthday so we’re off to stay in a mud brick house and have some quiet. Although that kind of quiet will entail two crazy boys leaping around the holiday house shrieking in excitement, because it’s my little boy’s birthday too. He was born the day before my birthday, so I woke up that morning in hospital with my new little person beside me. Just me and him, until the big(ger) boy and husband arrived with a birthday cake and presents. I’m sure the hospital was chaotic and noisy that morning, but all I remember is peace and light. I couldn’t move, which I quite enjoyed because I had an excuse to simply watch him and eat biscuits. Perfect.
Every birthday since then I’ve thought back to that day and remembered the silence and the light. It was the kind of silence that makes you feel blessed. The kind that makes you feel in the depths of your soul that you already know what is important. Isn’t this why we make our art? Whatever or however we photograph, we’re really just trying to grasp in our hands the love that makes us ache. Every day contains noise and we question ourselves in every way possible. We don’t get many chances for a blessed kind of silence, but we can take moments to look up to the sky and make pictures out of the clouds with our children, or smile at an elderly couple holding hands on a bench watching the world go by, or feel the millions of tiny grains of sand under our ten toes.
What makes you content? What do you want to be remembered for, and by whom?