There's an old 'writing' approach where you 'close by return' and come full circle to the beginning of your story, when you reach the end. Turning that concept inside-out, here I am starting again where I began in the beginning. It's not an end but a new beginning. Sort of. I think.
Years ago I started my photo manipulations with this image below, called "The Price You Pay". It's redefined itself for me over the last few years, and my recent trip to New Orleans has left me totally inspired (read about it on my "About Me" page).
I've started this new website and blog as part of my new commitment to myself to stop committing things to myself. To stop creating expectations of myself I can't necessarily keep – and to just let the art happen and create itself as it always did. I have filled 1000 journals full of promises to myself and to others...and in the end, it doesn't matter what you say you are going to do. What does matter, is what you actually do.
It's really easy to say that everything happens for a reason - and to be honest - a lot of times that reason is YOU. Or me, in this case. You put into motion something fuelled by your heart, but eventually, every gas tank runs empty and sputters to a stop.
I bought two wicked leather-bound, hand-stitched journals, full of magical blank pages full of possibility. I came across them first at Yesteryears in NOLA, and I seriously got all light-headed when I first walked in there. I have an obsession with paper and pens (I bought a Retro 1951 Tornado Wooden Rollerball, and it is all kinds of awesome). It's serious magic if you use paper and pens the right way. There's a perfect mystery that makes up paper, like a hidden story inside if you hold it right, or the most wonderful masterpiece of art if you want it to be. There's honesty and magic in an empty page.
This blog and website, my new journals, my new commitment to not-committing - they are all empty pages that I can't wait to talk to and see what secrets they feel like revealing. I used to write in a journal every single day, and I filled them with doodles and drawings and designs, words and rhymes, confessions and curiosities. I eventually left out the words and picked up a camera, I left out the doodles and sat down at a computer with all the things I used to pour onto pages, and instead, poured them into photographs. One day, I stopped, as though my pen ran out of ink, my camera out of film, my computer out of power.
So I'm not making any promises - to you, or myself, or to anything. I'm just opening a new book full of empty pages, for the first time in a long time. Time will tell what stories those pages want to tell.