Storage Unit

An invitation to the ridiculous and the sublime.

I had not ventured out with the purpose of taking random photos for a very long time, but I knew I was very much in need of a moment of solitude.

I left my boy at the party of 8 year olds to play sports and eat cake and make merry. This was his first non-parent party (as in, parents could drop off their kids and return to gather them at the end of the allotted time.) I had never really left him at a party before, only on play dates, but I knew he was with his school friends. I knew there were enough grown ups. And I knew that he was safe inside the kid’s recreational complex. I sat in my chair just outside the fence of the training area as I watched him run off to play without hesitation. I recognized that we could both could use an afternoon of freedom; a time for him to play and for me to think. I walked over to the basketball courts, kissed him on the forehead, and handed him my cell phone number which he pocketed hurriedly. I exited the space feeling a slight twinge of his growing up, but I left with little hesitation.

Just outside the building was an old industrial complex. It was Sunday afternoon which meant most of the area was dead, closed, and quiet. I drove down roads with names like: Progress Court and Determination Street and other plays on motivating words. Around the time I found the corner of Progress and Progress, I saw a man sorting out his possessions behind large green garage doors and tiny numbers. When my tires crackled on pavement of the parking lot entering the storage facility, he looked up accusingly. I felt I interrupted his methodical ritual of compartmentalizing things, so I drove down to a different row of doors. I parked and began to storage, compartmentalize, and document myself on my tiny cell phone camera.

The space reminded me of the town where I grew up. I thought of some of my favorite photo partners as I walked and my heels clicked through the rain. I wanted to photograph my friends in stylish coats against the green doored backdrops. I wanted them to hold my hands as they roller skated  all over the lot in their striped knee socks and old fashioned skates. I wanted them to carry brightly colored umbrellas as they weaved in and around the buildings. My thoughts of them inspired me to the next few moments. I stared at my boots and jumped into the body of 1940s screen siren Chloe Parker who was at that very moment of space and time completely trapped in her own angsty web of intrigue. I was starring in my own version of bad French cinema which would later be named “Fritz Bolkestein: a Life without French Fries.” It was my few moments of play before I drove back down Progress Blvd. to interrupt his.

The corner of everything (Le coin de tout)

Chloe perdant son esprit.

The buildings reminded her of Fritz. Le Sigh.

La porte à côté d’homme continuée changer ses chemises.

Je suis Chloe.

Oh, L’amour.

Mémoire.

Où est-ce?

A photo to remember what she was about to leave behind.

Vingt-cinq

Silhouette

She wished it were wine.

Barrière

Fritz Bolkestein : une vie sans pommes frites

Summer Skies in Winter

My Reflection in the Dirty Window on the 6th Floor

I spent most of the past year and a half looking up.

My obsession with “up” was born out of another obsession (borderline paranoid neurosis) that was born out of purchasing a home. I am an excessive roof/gutter checker, i.e. I am terrified that I will awake one day to a huge hole in my box gutter, or an even bigger one in my roof. This daily practice has caused me to look more upwards more often than most people should. This habit has gradually morphed into my neck craning skyward whenever I venture outdoors. First it was to check out everyone else’s roofs and gutters and compare their maintenance/deterioration to mine. But all this measured structural analysis led my eye drift skyward on more days. I guess I didn’t realize until quite recently how striking Pennsylvania skies can be; or maybe I just don’t remember them ever being quite as dynamic as they were this year; or perhaps there was just more pollution creating more cloud covers and wacky weather patterns; or maybe I was just paying closer attention than ever before; or maybe I just chose to look up more often.

Clouds Over my House.

Looking up into the sky reminds me of my summers working as a sweeperette at Kennywood Park. Back in those days, I loved having the 4 p.m. shift. The late start to the work day helped me to avoid walking around the park in the wretched noon day sun. And as an added bonus, if the weather was pleasant, it gave me a chance to head to the local water park with a few of my friends who also had my same schedule. We would always dash straight towards the “Lazy River.” We spent the day talking and not talking while floating um, lazily, in oversized inner tubes on this man-made “river.” We held onto the handles of each other’s tubes in order to stay together amongst the long line of tubers. Usually we ended the day happy, sleepy, and near sun poisoned. The following hours would entail sweeping up the remnants of leftover amusement park fun while nursing our pinkish skin with aloe vera, praying for the cotton of our polo shirts to stop scratching at our blisters. Ah, the bliss of young summers.

Parking Lot Sunset.

The memory of one of those “water park days” came to mind the other night. I remembered sitting on the foot of my friend’s bed laughing, joking, and listening to music before getting ready to head out. The Bodyguard soundtrack was playing in the background. As the next track began to play, my friend stopped talking, sat down on the bed, and leaned back on her elbows. She tilted her head back, inhaled and then exhaled and said, almost in the register of a shout, “I love this song.” She belted out that tune like it was written for her. She was looking up when she first belted out her tune, and then she turned her head looked directly at me and began to sing in that jokey way only close girlfriends can. I followed suit. I remember the look on her face and sound of her voice as if it were yesterday.

That was the summer before “devastatingly” serious relationships started to rear their lovely, angst filled heads; the summer before my mother died; the time when college was just beginning, before  momentum of growing up took hold. I loved the innocence of those Kennywood summers, the simplicity of lying on a bed and singing out loud with a close friend. When living in those moments were all you were required to do. I spent most of those summers looking at the ground, sweeping. I barely opened my eyes on the “Lazy River” because the sun was usually quite bright, even on the most overcast of days. I looked for the moments I could peek through and let the sunlight in, but I was often left seeing the imprints the clouds left behind when I was forced to close my eyes again.

Driving back from the water park, the car was usually quiet and listless. Sometimes I would plop myself down in the seat and rest my head on the passenger side window. I was finally able to look up and out into the summer sky without sunny obstructions and daydream into the cloud patterns. Certain clouds would catch my eye and I would stare at them the entire drive, wondering if they would be able to hang on to our speedometer long enough and make it all the way to our destination. The screech of brake dust when we arrived in the parking lot woke me from my fixation. “Sigh. Eight more hours of work.” Summer was calling…

• • •

Excerpts from “looking up”. A few unposted skies from this past year.

Cloud that Followed Me After the Storm.

Cloud that Waited for Me After the Graduation Party.

Winter Storm 1

Winter Storm 2

Winter Storm 3

Tightrope to the Clouds.

Waiting for Batman 1.

Waiting for Batman 2.

Jack's Cloud City (reminds us of The Empire Strikes Back).

Staring into Snow Globes Makes Me Feel Like a Little Kid

The Ladies Who Lunch.

December 23rd is my favorite day of year.

In fact, the time spanning from December 20th through December 23rd are simply the most… “something…” days of the year. There is an unprecedented “something” in the air that simply can not be described. Everyone is excited. Every moment is cliché. Every emotion is extreme. Everyone is coming up romance, or regret, or worry, or melancholy. Everyone is pushing to get final projects done, or slacking from their work, or daydreaming their December away. Everyone is either making merry or bah humbugging the merry makers. And everyone outside of your immediate family is trying to get one last chance to see you before Christmas eve. Everyone is feeling “something.” And it seems as if everyone’s holiday treat has been laced with ecstasy.

I never really liked Christmas Day. It always felt like a big let down. The commercially fabricated Christmas specials, the emotionally induced high of gift giving and receiving, the spirituality, the evening parties, and all the rest of the “stuff” that was the previous month ends on that day, most likely by 10 am. In the past, I usually spent the rest of the day trying to find a way to recapture the magic 23rd.

Over the last two years, I have been gradually trying to alter my holiday perceptions. I always dreamt of hot cocoa, a holiday medley around the fire, and Vermont style inns. What I usually received was a nice holiday that never quite lived up to my unattainable Bing Crosby/Danny Kaye expectations. (My expectations often lead to excessively elaborate production numbers often involving a piano.)

This year, I have decided to try to make the best of everything that happens or does not happen. I have decided to make my holiday week a week worth remembering. I decided to fill it with fun and little expectation, and I decided to at least try to attend every extended invitation. I decided to make time for moments instead of succumbing to the pressure of the big picture.

View from the Parking Lot.

I headed to the Strip District on Tuesday to meet Sarah Wojdylak and Lisa Toboz on their lunch break. I was struck by the fact I had not really hung out in the Strip since working there many years ago. The smells, sights and sounds of that place both transports me to and makes me long for New York City. I had spent many a day eating crab cakes at Roland’s, fresh fish from Wholey’s, or devouring meatball subs while sitting on the roof of our office building watching the cars drive across the 16th street bridge. Gosh, I love the Strip.

Waiting at Sunseri's.

I saw Lisa’s plastic umbrella emerge through the crowds of holiday shoppers even before I saw the two of them walk towards me. The shape of her umbrella took me back to being a kid in the late 70s and early 80s. It’s one of those umbrellas that takes over the entire upper half of your body when you were a kid. It was always warm inside and your voice sounded modulated from the way it bounced off the clear thick walls. I imagined it as a giant snow globe and I immediately wanted to capture it “on film.” Prior to our meeting, we had briefly discussed trying to find a weird holiday display on this lunch break (maybe even dolling ourselves up in tinsel) and photographing ourselves in front of it; like some sort of weird Christmas card homage. But there were no real cheeky, technicolor-like displays in the Strip. Lisa mentioned an out-of-the-way church courtyard that may have “something” to it so we followed. I was fixated on the umbrella/snow globe. When we arrived we knew right away that we had found something wonderful. We excitedly passed around my shabby Nikon Coolpix point and shoot camera that has truly seen better days but still take great images. Our time was restricted due to their lunch schedules. I could have shot for another hour. I am grateful for these little impromptu sessions. They always reenergize me. I felt like a little kid posing and watching them inside our makeshift snow globe. It gave me that intangible, magical feeling you only get around the holidays.

Lisa's Plastic Fantastic Umbrella.

A friend of mine once described a difficult event in his life as someone “shaking up his snow globe.” This year, mine has been rattled to the point that I am still waiting for the snow to settle to reveal the fabrication inside. I am weirdly humbled and mostly thankful for all that has happened these past 12 months because it has led me to some joy filled moments happening right now, like this one: these snow globes of abstract something. I don’t know what the rest of this week will bring, but for now I leave you with this most recent set of makeshift snow globe moments (below) and I wish you all the merriest of holidays. (Photos by me, Sarah Wo and Lisa T. Thanks for the inspiration, ladies.)

SNOW GLOBES

ICONS

LEAVING

Exploring Berlin, Waiting for Others (reminder)

Compartmentalizing

***

Exploring my own “Berlin”. Wish you were here. Will call when I return.

Please Leave a Message…

***

CALL FOR ARTISTS >> OCTOBER 9, 2011

Hope to see you soon.

***

Message

Terminal

Conflict

Nightmare

Waiting

Birthday Art, part 2

I woke up with the words of a poem in my head.

It was spoken to me in my dreams by a silhouetted traveler adorning a fedora and trench coat. His outline looked like the love child of William Burroughs and Leonard Cohen. He smelled of lucky strikes. They weren’t my words (although my brain dreamt them up). I will share the poem in its entirety next time, but here is the ending:

are we always all born restless?
or is it only me…

i spent 10,000 days alone
spend 10 years getting famous
10 years getting rich
then 10 years getting forgotten (by the time i’m 66)
will i get what i need by the time i’m 66?

_____________

The words made me think. They made me make promises to myself:

• I was going to enjoy this birthday. I was going to recognize through my lens the little moments.

• I was going to wear a dress everydayof this birthday weekend. I was going to accept that side of my femininity that isn’t related to motherhood, combine it with my other selves and make it more apparent.

In the spirit of the Birthday Art Project, and as a present to myself, I was going to attempt to make some sort of statement about who I am. (However narcissistic that may or may not seem). So within the tiny quiet moments of my solace and reflection, and within my (sometimes) loud, boisterous, self-imposed attention grabbing, antics, I let myself experience moments this year, moments through myself and through others. I captured them. I documented them. Each photo took a nanosecond to take, but it painted the story I wanted to tell. This weekend was my art. It was the first birthday over I decade where I took time and experienced the moments. So here is my birthday, my weekend, my moments, my art, my dresses, party feet, other people’s feet, my feet and my birthday dancing, my laughter, my images without words.

_______

EXCERPTS: MY FRIDAY

_______

EXCERPTS: MY SATURDAY

_______

 EXCERPTS: MY SUNDAY BIRTHDAY

Birthday Art, part 1

Birthday Terrarium Chairs, by Sarah Wojdylak

I like the wisdom that comes with getting older, but not the aging process itself. Both my parents died way before their due, so I feel like I am constantly traversing through time and space on moments that are borrowed. September 4th brings me both reflection and melancholy in a way the rest of the 364 don’t. So last year on my birthday I decided to make an event (albeit a small one) on my “special” day. Using social media to connect to others, I made a public declaration (in my Facebook status) for whomever was online, right at that moment, to make homemade art by the stroke of midnight on September 4th. I was half kidding and I was not sure if anyone was awake or even around, but I put my words out there. I thought that it might be neat to see what people came up with on a moments notice and who might actually respond. I love art and have a lot of talented and creative friends and colleagues. I gave the participants little parameters, the only stipulation was a 4 minute time frame to complete the work. The person didn’t have to be an artist by trade or hobby, just passionate about absolutely anything. I wanted to see something; a simple statement on the day; a nice love letter to September 4th: A very ordinary day. I closed by asking them to post a pic of their homemade art on their FB walls (before midnight) and tag me in the post.

Last year’s experiment heeded some brilliant results — FB BIRTHDAY ART, 2010 — so I decided that this year I would make homemade, spontaneous art an annual event. I cheated a bit and made my declaration a few days prior. I wanted to make a few more folks aware of the impromptu art gallery. In doing that, I don’t think many stayed within the 4 minute parameter but some brilliant art was to be had.

Here are this year’s results — FB BIRTHDAY ART, 2011.

For your Birthday Art Installment, from Dom and me. Dom and Mom just fooling around. by Melissa Zezza

Poppies in the garden! by MaryAnn Ward Carosi

Done this past week: screen printing fast and cheap with an embroidery hoop and mod podge to create a screen... art for fun and fashion! by Pannay Burt Guigley

Thug in a hoodie (Puppy collage by Jennifer Obrosky McCalla

This is your homemade "virtual" birthday card. I did all the "drawer-ings" myself! Happy birthday! by Gab Bonesso

A lovely rhyming poem by Joel Cunningham.

Happy birthday Kim! This Picture is not original Brenna art but I thought expressive for birthday art. Hope you had a great day! by Brenna Connolly

Happy Birthday Kim! This is from Lucy. by Amy Mortensen's beautiful daughter Lucy.

Maggie's "fish bowl".... for her Aunt Kimmy... happy birthday!

Birthday Scribble Love, by Jackie.

Moving picture postcard, by Kate Hansen

eflections of Montreal -- One of three in a series, by Ken Selig

Reflections of Montreal -- Two of three in a series, by Ken Selig

Reflections of Montreal -- Three of three in a series, by Ken Selig

Birthday cupcake lollipops, by Jill Garon Harvey

Birthday Terrarium, by Sarah Wojdylak

Happy Birthday Kim! Here is my art. I call it Drunken Blur. by Jennifer Anders Reeger

photo of ceramic bert doll, taken at my pal al's house, words added with wordfoto iphone app. by Lisa Cunningham

This was the only artistic thing that happened at our place today. Che filled our mailbox with petals and leaves from our front yard. So I guess this is his Happy Birthday art to you. Happy Birthday Kim! by Christine Brocco

by Kristen Lauth Shaeffer

Shadow & light wishing you a happy birthday & many more fantastic years on this planet. by Stephanie Dennis Cooley

I tested my PX600 film in my Pronto B, and the photo was so blown out you could barely see the creepy statue. I upped the contrast in photoshop a bit so you could at least see her eyes staring back at you (he he). I hope you have a lovely birthday! xo by Lisa Toboz

I will get you a better picture of this picture. Happy birthday Kim!! Filled with real dried 4 leaf clovers. Next time the chair may fit into the room better. by Cara McDougal

Birthday art in two parts. This was made by our friend Sam Panico that's based on one of the photos from Christina McGinnis Krasman and my wedding. by Christina McGinnis Krasman and Brian Krasman

Part 2. My mother Pam Krasman made this stained glass that's based on the wedding invitation from Christina McGinnis Krasman and my wedding invitation. Sorry my photog skills aren't so good. That's not art. :--( by Christina McGinnis Krasman and Brian Krasman

Happy belated... I hope this year is filled with all the love in the world! by Avi Bonime

About this image: taken with a 60s era Canon Rangefinder lens (50 f1.2) on a NIkon D90. Flowers from the spring. by Manfred Woodall

And here are the two songs that were written in my honor:

My Birthday Song: xtmprns from George Anthony Harvey 

Silver Dollar Lady by David Rullo and Sergeant Peppermolasses

_________________________________________________________

Tomorrow I will reveal the art I created for this project. Stay tuned!!!!!!!

PREVIEW:

I danced a birthday dance.

feet were most definitely present.

Chaos Theory, Part 2: Fumbling Towards Extropy

A moment of calm.

EXTROPY: the theory that cultural and technological development will expand indefinitely and in an orderly progressive manner throughout the universe, the tendency of systems to grow more organized.

_________

I cant not focus on a single linear thought for more than a moment or two without it transforming into background noise, telephone rings, iCarly theme music, chirping birds, laundry buzzers, or my son’s interjections, “just one more thing, mom…”

I could attribute this scattered thought process to simply being a parent or being an artist, but I would be lying to myself; I have always lacked a certain sense of focus in some respect. I equate my lack of focus to that falling sensation that sneaks up on you as your body relaxes and your mind drifts asleep. The one that tricks your mind into believing you are floating in space, about to overturn and causes you to violently grip the sides of the bed. It is almost as if my thoughts can not keep up with me, or my thoughts are moving too fast for the world, and focus shocks me back into reality.

I have five Mother Blue blog entries half started as we speak. I panic and wonder if I will ever post a single one of them…

My thoughts are constantly leaping around in an almost violent fashion as I multitask between homework, dinner, schedules, play dates, and the overall well-being of my family and household. Despite my nature, I try to give routine its precedence. And despite my best efforts, focus and routine sometimes fails me. In fact, this particular post is being published later than my usually Friday deadline. The tardiness was not due to lack of focus, but more to do with the chaos surrounding my routine right now. Chaos and focus seem to go hand in hand.

Always something to do. Always something to be done.

_________

I often lament over the fact that our nighttime routine isn’t more structured despite our best efforts, but I really like chatting with my little guy and his greatest insights usually make their way to the surface when he is trying to find excuses to stay awake. My husband and I often indulge his inner and outer “intellectual” musings, especially when he really should be sleeping.

“When is going to be blue outside?” Jackie asked one night, after completing his bedtime routine.

The shade of blue that Jack is referring to is the color the sky makes right after dawn or right after sunset. It happens before twilight, before the night sky fades to black, or the color that evolves into daytime sky. It is a hard moment to catch, for you only have a very small window to capture that particular purplely blue until it merges into something else. For Jack, blue references the passage of time when the numbers on the clock still mean very little. Blue is when his friends go to bed. Blue is right before the street lights come on. Blue is when he has to wake up for school. Blue is everything.

After Jack is squarely tucked into bed, I often lie on the floor in the hallway right outside his door and let him speak about whats on his mind before he drifts to sleep. Usually it is all very kid adventure based such as what do you think would happen if (insert ninja type scenario here) or very stream of consciousness. His thoughts occasionally drift to his friends. He asks if they are asleep now and how many hours does he have left until the “blue” happens again. One night, I asked him if we could try to capture this blue on camera. He seemed to like the idea of this project.

My husband doesn’t get home from work until after 6 p.m. and we usually don’t start dinner until after the news. Dinnertime often coincides with the “blue”. All throughout the meal, we stare at the colors reflecting off the blinds of the bay window that resides in our dining room. Dave and I repeatedly ask, Is this your blue? Is this it? Is this it? “This is sort of my blue but not really.” Finally Jack gives us the go ahead and we spring into action. We run outside to the porch. Per his direction, I snap a few photos. Sigh. It still wasn’t the right blue. I could tell by his deflated tone that this blue was almost there, but not quite right. Chicken teriyaki has kept us from the “real blue”.

The almost but not quite right blue.

I had wicked insomnia this morning. I Netflixed for a while and stared at the mountain of things I needed to do today. I caught of glimpse of the bay window. The black light in the dining room was dissolving into blue. I grabbed my camera and headed for the porch. My heart swelled as I looked outside. From Jack’s late night descriptions, I knew it was indeed THE blue. I snapped as much as I could, all the while adjusting the color temp to reflect Jack’s vision and the accuracy of the setting. I found the right blue. I showed Jack the imagery on the next day. He hugged me around my neck while staring at my computer screen and whispered that I had indeed found it.

Jackie's blue.

The blue reflecting off the porch.

The blue fading into day.

The moment when blue becomes "blue."

My chaos theory is one of routines I should adhere to, of schedules I should maintain, of organizational skills that should be ingrained in me since birth. I grew up quite structured despite the chaos that surrounded me so I should be more apt. I struggle against nature every single day trying to adhere to the conventions of routine, but then late night conversations and the perfect blue remind me of the moments that only happen when you don’t plan things and simply let the organics of life take over.

Yikes, I just realized, this is my dining room table right now. My OCD is kicking in. I better go clean this up.

My dining room table.

My Gallery of “Chaos” or the things I am doing when I should be doing other things:

Two arms in one coat.

Jack asking for a hug but in reality he wanted to show me the turkey he ate for lunch.

Leftover water bottles and toys that need to be put away.

Dishwasher helper.

The towels in my hall that need to be put away.

Beach towels drying on the banister.

Fan experimentation.

Focus within the chaos.

Hide...

and seek

Leftover feet when I wasn't looking.

One more pair for good measure.

Morning coffee amongst the cupboards.

A rare moment of calm and my sleepy face.

Chaos Theory, Part 1: The Entropy of Black & Blue (Dishes)

Energy of the universe is constant. Entropy of the universe tends to a maximum. —Rudolf Clausius, German physicist, mathematician and one of the central founders of the science of thermodynamics

photo by Kim Rullo

ENTROPY: a measure of disorder in the universe or of the availability of the energy in a system to do work. The tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.

_________

I broke a dish…Well, actually, I didn’t… Really, I just opened the cupboard and the dishes came pouring out.

A loud cacophony of crashes ensued. Angrily, I looked downward and screamed inarticulately at the floor. Another direct result of my poor household organizational skills and my often disheveled nature, I thought. In that moment, I had no idea why this freak event brought me to that depressive, narcissistic anti-me sentiment, but there it was, unexpected and disruptive, like the mess laid out before me. A feeling of my mother washed over me as I stared at the broken ceramic shards. She was organized. I am not. She was neat. I am not.

As unkempt as some aspects of my mother’s life had been, everything on the surface always had its place.“What the hell?!” were all the words my thoughts could muster. Whomever said motherhood and domestication was a natural, genetically inherited trait was seriously misinformed. Fort maker — yes! Lightsaber battler — bring it on! Dish stacker — thumbs down.

My thoughts drifted to a friend whose mother had just died. We had spoke of our weird shared experiences that weren’t really shared but weren’t mutually exclusive either. Our different mothers wading in this underlying current of “mutual-ness”: mutual sentiment; mutual sadness; mutual self discovery; mutual regret. Regret is such a terrible thing.

photo by Kim Rullo

Crack! I stepped on one of the shards. My misstep didn’t really hurt, it just brought me back to the floor. It reminded me of the mess that was still there. Kneeling to the ground, I haphazardly started to pick up the taunting ceramic remains.

I got down low, laying my body close to the broken pieces.

I chuckled to myself and began to think, Isn’t this all so very cliché? So cute? So apropos?  The words “a beautiful lie” came to mind. I wasn’t sure what the lie was: my perceptions of my mother or my perceptions of myself. Even the random patterns on the floor were deceiving me in their own way. Strong and thick, yet jagged and broken. A few large segments with miniscule bits behind them, surrounding them. Food particles from last night’s dinner added to the debris that was adorning my less than pristine kitchen floor. They looked like mother, or at least mothers as I intimately knew them. I captured it with my camera. After half my life without her, it was what was left. Not really sad, just different, distant, objectified. Her’s and mine.

Debris and strength.

I began focusing on chaos. I began to miss her.

photo by Kim Rullo

continued next week: Chaos Theory, Part 2: Fumbling Towards Extropy

_________

THE ORIGINS OF MOTHER BLUE:

This post was written this past winter shortly after I heard news of the death of a friend’s mother. My crashing dishes and our multiple conversations inspired this true event and in turn this event prompted me to begin writing this blog. It is the beginnings of my entropy and my journey towards extropy.

The photos in this series are called “Black & Blue Mothers (Dishes).”

Shopping Carts and Flea Markets

My Secret Messages

My cell phone camera is, in a word, crap. Well, it is certainly not the worst but is definitely not the best. It has no zoom and the images colors are way off kilter. The pics can only be uploaded to the computer by emailing each one of them INDIVIDUALLY, one pic at a time, to myself. It is a long and arduous process, but I thought this might be a great opportunity to present myself an exercise in simplicity (albeit while using tedious technology).

So I set off to try to capture my day in a compelling way. No zoom, no flash, low resolution, a few words, a few things, a few moments, captured in utter imperfection.

Heading through tunnels

Errands

Second hand store:

Leftover Christmas

Leftover Dolly

Leftover Sitcoms

Leftover Croce

Leftover leftovers

Leftover upswing

"Al — Just to thank you for being a stout fella and a good agrivator. Wishing you a good race."

Leftover Kitsch

Leftover seating

He never stopped riding.

Leftover stain

Leftover legs

Leftover tinting

Spontaneous Husband

The clouds that followed me home

Twin Lakes

Me and Twin Lakes, photo by Jackie

A Thursday afternoon lesson in randomness, detours, and the contrasting forces of nature.

Amongst the myriad of different things I had on my “to do” list, one particular item of note was that I needed to trek from Pittsburgh to Latrobe to pick up the Isaac Rullo images that were selected and juried at Westmoreland Arts and Heritage Festival over the July 4th holiday.

Equipped with my favorite travel companion: my son, Jack, camera and liquid refreshments in tow, we headed out… and nature stepped in.

About 40 minutes into our hour-long journey to Twin Lakes Park, the weather began to change, quickly. At that moment, I had never seen clouds roll in that fast, nor had I ever seen a bolt of lightning with such force and precision so live and in person. Sparks burst and flew all over the sky and all over Route 30 (Happy 4th of July indeed). The transformer box that was attached to a utility pole on the side of the road took the shear brunt force of the bolt. It was in that particular type of slow motion that is over in an instant. It was beautiful, it was startling, and in that moment, I wished I had captured this “something” on my camera.

Visibility was becoming less and less apparent and Jack was getting more and more quiet. The road no longer seemed a safe place to be.

The massive drops of rain and wind forced us into a nearby parking lot. There were a few cars that followed my lead but not the mass exodus to safety I had expected. I guess the hearty eastbound venturers are more used to random inclement weather than this city dweller.

We sat in the parking lot listening to the rain strike the outside objects and tap feverishly on the roof of our car. I asked Jack if he was nervous. Through the rear view mirror I saw him silently mouth the word “yes”. I dug into the annals of random useless knowledge archive and explained to him the safety of being in a car during a storm as it was explained to me many years ago. Our conversation drifted from rubber tires to raindrop patterns to other wonderfully mediocre things. Those lovely “eureka” moments of saying exactly the right things to turn fear and anxiety into exploration and humor are my most precious with Jack. The clouds finally, slowly, started moving away from our little hideout.

A nervous Jack

Feeling the window temperature contrast between cold and warm, something I always loved doing since I was a child.

The leftover fireworks tent along side the car

View through the windshield.

Do we venture towards the storm, or do we head back and make this journey all over again tomorrow? We were more than half way there and it appeared the storm was drifting and dissipating in varying directions. We took a risk and ended up at our destination in a little over ten minutes.

The art was picked up and placed in my car. The sky was still fluctuating between grey matter and blue skies. I was getting ready to suggest a walk to check out the beauty of this park, but Jack had already began to run with delight towards the water. Nature did a 180, and just like that I began to run as well.

Jack running within moments after we picked up the images.

I have taken to photographing feet as of late. I guess it shows where we are, where we have gone and where we are going. Here are Jack's.

Mine on the footbridge.

The Twin Lakes Forest

Nature walk.

My reflection in the lake.

Building on Twin Lakes.

No fishing, part 1

No fishing, part 2

Boats along side the lake

Walking the bridge.

Jack

All photos by Kim Rullo (unless otherwise noted).