#100daysofart: Good Grief! Though Not So Good ...

Day 88

Good grief was one of those antiquated terms thrown around in my childhood household.
It was exclaimed, essentially, when I was being a pain in the ass. Therefore, it seemed, grief must be akin to some sort of annoyance, inconvenience or frustration.

Not until I lost my father did I understand what grief truly meant.

One year ago today, my father was still alive.

Tomorrow, he was not.

The reality of that statement is like an algebraic equation around which I cannot quite wrap my head. 

The fact that one moment this person was here, and the next they were not is unfathomable to me. It has been 351 days and I still don't quite get it. Sure, the concept is simple enough, but the reality is a whole other ball of wax. 

It was explained to me by friend who I know it meant well that everyone dies and this was just the way my dad went out - in a tragically unexpected and painfully avoidable manner. She went on to inquire as to whether or not my parents had ever explained the concept of death to me. Only feeling mildly defensive I remained quite and contemplative.

I have been experiencing loss, in the form of death, since I was a little girl. The concept was not a new one for me. Sadness surrounding the passing of that loved one - that was old hat. That pang of missing someone when you want to call and tell them about a new movie or share a story and realizing, as you pick up the phone that you simply cant. I get that. But nothing quite prepares you for true grief. A short word, but a long process. 


Honestly, not until months and months later did the idea sink in, permeating every corner of my life and effecting my thoughts, feelings and actions. A dark pall cast over every decision, every statement. Sometimes I want to try to explain to people upon first meeting that this isn't really me, because my dad is no longer here. I want to talk to my bosses about how my performance in no way could be tip top because my mind is so constantly occupied, not thinking of anything in particular, yet everything all at once. My mind is utterly elsewhere. I want to let my partner know that I can be better, and I will be better, just as soon as they find a cure for this pesky grief. But, as any thoughtful adult knows, you simply cannot do that. Though Corky is no longer here to illustrate this point, life goes on - and so must I. 

I must face facts that I can only do the best I can with the given circumstances and, though the current ones may seem to suck ass - it is what it is. No excuses or explanations, only slowly chipping away at the crippling aspect of the aftermath and belief that things will get better and that the dark pall cast over my life will lift eventually and I will once again feel the sun on my face ... at least I hope so!

Try as you might to avoid grief, it gets you. #100 days of art was a project I took on both to feed my soul and to help me process; help me survive my grief. Below you can find the final days of my project, both random as well as fraught with meaning. Just like life.

Day 89

Day 90

Day 91

Day 92

Day 93

Day 94

Day 95

Day 96

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Day 98

Day 99

Day 100

#100daysofart: #keepwalkingkeepwinning

I chose to take on this project as a cathartic and positive way in which to focus my energy during a difficult time. At that time, 87 days ago, I did not anticipate things becoming MORE difficult, but I suppose that is just how life works out, sometimes. Below are a myriad of ways in which I have chosen to express myself, despite available resources, geographical location, or emotional state of well being. 

A wise man once hashtagged (seemingly oxymoronic, I know) #keepwalkingkeepwinning. I am putting faith in his words, his beliefs and his person and carrying on, moving forward and hopefully - winning. 

Day 68

Day 69

Day 70

Day 71

Day 72

Day 73

Day 74

Day 75

Day 76

Day 77

Day 78

Day 79

Day 80

Day 81

Day 82

Day 83

Day 85

Day 86

Day 87

#100daysofart: The Past Twenty Days

I was convinced to join Twitter several years ago when away on a press trip in Beverton, Oregon. It was begrudgingly that I succumbed to these media savvy moguls, when insisted it was necessary to have a social media presence to be a professional force. I had quit Facebook voluntarily and cold turkey many years before, immediately following a break up - a choice that was absolutely right for me and one I would recommend for anyone who finds themselves in those unfortunate circumstances. When branding myself @beheardphoto and creating my Twitter handle I declared that I refused to ever tweet out what I was having for lunch or a selfie of my makeup for the day, as I found the 15 minutes everyone so desperately needed to be rather nauseating. That being said, I saw the benefit when traffic to my website would increase with a simple handful of characters thrown out into cyberspace.

Then came Instagram with it's simple symmetry and even simpler concept I felt, as a photographer, it seemed like an obvious marriage or marketing and visuals. I would document shoots in which I was partaking, or international travel. It was all part of the 'brand.'

The #100daysofartchallenge I chose to take on 67 days ago was a journey I embarked upon because I am in a place in my life where I will do anything to be happier, more centered, and healthier. I saw this as workout regime for my creative muscles. And that it has been. 

The task of creating something everyday has been a welcome challenge and I am actually pleased with a number of the results, glad that I am determined to create, whether or not the final product comes out the way I had envisioned before putting pen to paper. What I did not bargain for was the visual vulnerability I would be putting out there in a way I have tried to avoid by and large.

For a girl who refuses to put her likeness on the internet, I will write, in my travel logs, with true honesty. There is a nakedness in my words. For some reason, when looking at my oeuvre of work in this Instagram challenge, at least to this point, the literal illustration of the emotional journey over the past 20 days makes me feel more naked than any words I have ever written.  Without those chosen words revealing my inner most thoughts, fears and turmoil and rather, a visual representation, almost by accident, it is, for lack of a better word - scary. These things I am making, often with no conscious motive in my head, makes me feel very exposed, like that nightmare where you show up at high school naked. Uncomfortable to say the least. 

Now, I cannot complain about something I am willingly partaking in, but I can say this public therapy may very well be my last foray into social media. I am well aware that it is a useful tool for work, but for me I am not so sure it is a useful tool for life. That being said, I appreciate those who look, like and discuss my work and am glad to have embarked upon this journey. And I will most certainly enjoy ending it - at least publicly. 

Only 33 to go. My exact age - coincidence?

Day 48

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Day 67