In early January I had the extreme pleasure of attending Mystic 5, a photography conference in Connecticut put on by Walter Van Dusen. I confess: it's my first photography conference ever. I enjoyed many of the speakers, took lots of notes, and had the chance to network a bit with fellow professionals.

I left energized, in awe, and humbled. It's amazing how much talent there is in the world. I should really stop being so jealous of others' talents and successes; I could waste some serious time, since there's no shortage of masterly photographers to admire.

When I packed up and left, I had filled several pages of my notebook with frenzied scribbles. I left with loads of ideas and things to try from the technical to the personal, from customer service to camera gear. It's going to take awhile to try everything on.

I also left with a little piece of Jerry Ghionis' educational product: PicPockets (the Ordinary to Extraordinary set). Perhaps not the smartest investment I could make with my limited cash flow, but purposeful nonetheless. As a busy working mom, it's tough to sit down and complete long computer tutorials, to make space in my home to experiment the way I want to, or take time to read a manual on photography.

So, I've alloted myself one card per day--one little piece of photographic inspiration--that will help to create the mental habit of looking for ways that I can manipulate the existing (less than ideal) environment to create dramatic or unusual images. Being in the practice of analyzing my environment with a photograph in mind is vital. It's the photographer's equivalent to an athlete's stretching session: warm and tone your creative muscles, and you'll get better results when the pressure is on.

I've been shooting film again.

It makes it quieter here on the blog, but also a little more peaceful inside my head. I'm using my old Nikon FM-10--an all-manual marvel of goodness that I haven't picked up in about 3 years. Working in all-manual again, with no immediate feedback, puts me in a different headspace.

What makes it different is that I think twice about taking a shot, because my resources are limited. Without the immediate feedback of a digital camera, I hedge my bets by taking multiple frames of the same shot at different exposures (known as "bracketing", for those who are curious).

That once-familiar lag time between moment taken and moment seen lends itself to a feeling of delight and disappointment. "Oh, that shot came out beautifully!" or, "Oh my, that didn't work so well." Feelings at the time of capture often don't match feelings at the time of evaluation.

In a way, I think the analog process of photography has the potential to nurture creativity more effectively. True, you can spend a great deal of time criticizing and second-guessing your subject matter, or worry about "wasting" frames on something frivolous. But by eliminating instant feedback, it also eliminates instant criticism of your own work. It creates space between creating and evaluating, which is what many artists need in order to grow.

Conversely, there's a great deal of benefit to having instantaneous feedback. When I first procured a digital SLR, I felt freed to see the photo I had just taken appear miraculously on the screen on the back of the camera. It allowed me to say, "Oh, that didn't work, let me try something else," instead of, "I sure hope that worked, let me bracket that again!" Failed experiments are more obviously failed experiments.

But because it's so easy to try on a style or technique and create frame upon frame upon frame with very little monetary consequence, it's also easy to become sloppy and unfocused in one's work. A just-plain-uninteresting photo or truly bad exposure cannot be fixed in Photoshop. I speak from experience.

Revisiting this medium has been refreshing for me. I hope to glean more lessons from it and bring them into my digital work. I also know that the many things I've learned with my digital camera will feed into what I decide to do with my film. Each medium feeds another, and this is true for film, digital, drawing, painting, sewing, cooking... any creative venture, really.

I don't get much chance to go shopping for myself. The other day, when making a donation to Goodwill, I happened upon this bag...

Which happens to be the same color/pattern idea as the suitcases I put together awhile back.

Because of this striking resemblance, I instinctively bought it. "What fun," I thought, to have my studio branding take over my everyday fashion!" Also, I happen to be on a quest for the Perfect Handbag that doesn't scream "Mom Purse."

It's a tad obnoxious, and the straps aren't quite right. I'm not sure I like it, and then the next day, I love it. Perhaps I wasted $8, but I might be that much closer to the Perfect Handbag.

I've started to notice a very strange pattern regarding the colors in my life. A year or so ago, I started surrounding myself with clothing, accessories, fabrics, and more that fell into the red, orange, and brown categories. I love these colors; they are warm, rustic, passionate, and sensuous. Here's a photo of all the previous acquisitions that I'm talking about:

But lately, everything I buy comes out some shade of blue or turquoise--a much more ethereal, dreamy, and floating kind of color. It's quite uncanny, and unintentional. I first noticed it about a week ago, then gathered all the objects I had recently acquired together. See?

I don't know what my subconscious obsession is made out of, but I'm getting suspicious that something is up. Perhaps I'm gathering these colors around me for an deeply intuitive reason. I'm also highly suspicious because I know (based on color theory) that blue and turquoise are the complementary colors of red/brown/orange. I'm also a huge fan of primary colors; I gravitate to those simple starting colors very quickly.

I started to think that I needed the folks at Pantone to come and analyze me. Then, I looked at their website and did a double-take. The Pantone color of the year is TURQUOISE. NOT KIDDING.

Somebody pinch me.

Wonder what it is? Good, I'm not telling.

I love the color on this shed; it stood out so wonderfully in the pure white landscape.

There's no one playing on the fields today.

This bell rings whenever services take place on campus at Holy Cross Orthodox Seminary. I laid down underneath the bell and shot upwards in the snow.

I wonder what the bird thinks of this real estate. Too much traffic, I'd say.

The story is this: Molly (a friend of mine) had a fabulous dress that inspired me to put together this inspiration board (you can see her in the dress on the lower right):

I then dragged Leah from SmittenXOXO, and makeup artist Jennifer LaVanaway into the project. Even my mom donated a few of her props--a random set of teacups, linens, and other objects that didn't make it into the final project, but served as inspiration nonetheless.

Leah sent me hairpieces that went with the feel and colors of Molly's dress, and Jennifer worked with gold leaf on Molly's face, to emulate the style of the teacups. Quite lovely!

It does help that Molly is so romantically beautiful, too!

More excerpts from the shoot coming on Wednesday!

Remember Molly beautiful?

It turns out that Molly likes to collect vintage dresses, on top of being rather dazzling. This number was actually her mother's prom dress. How wonderful that she can not only wear it, but really work it!

Of course, I like to collect a few random things myself--old lace tablecloths, antique cameras, fans, umbrellas, parasols, and other such junky items that take up space in my closet, but turn out to be really useful when putting a photo shoot together!

The fan was a gift from my mother years ago, and the teacup is on loan from her massive collection.

More from this photo shoot coming soon!

Molly Sibley, model / Jennifer LaVanaway, makeup / SmittenXOXO, hairpieces

I'm reading through The Artist's Way again. A year or so ago, it was a gift to me from a dear friend of mine, and proved to be very useful in motivating me to keep up with making creative time for myself, as well as taking time to reflect and learn.

I have a habit of writing in the margins of my books, and did so all throughout college. When revisiting a book, it means that I get to see another side of myself, and what resonated with me in the past. Usually, something different resonates with me the second time around, but sometimes I find myself wanting to write the same things over and over again in the margins; occasionally I underline what I've already written.

Awhile back, as directed by the book, I started an inspiration jar, made from an old mason jar whose lid I lost somewhere. I hated to let the jar go to waste, or even be recycled, since a jar can be such a useful thing, even without its lid.

I started dropping little do-dads into it last August, while I was waiting for Lucas to be born. I remember feeling anxious about the birth, as well as creatively restless; I was saving my energy to bring a child into the world. The physical demands of late pregnancy, combined with a self-enforced leave of absence from any paid photo work, meant that I felt a tad useless too.

The jar has an Orthodox icon on it, featuring the Resurrection--a symbol of hope and triumph over death. Inside the jar was a scrap of velvety wrapping paper I liked, a few of my favorite wedding images, scraps of paper on which I wrote my anxieties, the foil lid of a wine I really liked (Irony Cabernet Savignon 2005--get a bottle while you can!). Other things--like a found friendship bracelet, the paper crane bottle cap, and blue jay feather--were things that reminded me of my childhood.

We'll see what more ends up in the jar later on; it's nowhere near full yet!

I couldn't resist posting this collage of Stella in her funky outfit.

The secret? Well, I found a bunch of clothes at the thrift store the very day I were going to photograph her. The skirt and sweater I found at GoodWill, and she borrowed my boots to match. Who knew she'd happen to have a beautiful yellow coat to match? Fun!

After the big snow awhile back, I started to notice how all the salt and melting made the parking lots around campus look quite different.

Each red square had its own pattern of wear and tear.

There is beauty in micro-worlds.

Sometimes I don't have much of a chance to get out of the house.

But I make photographs anyway.

It's a big, big world. We can only understand so much of it.