I don’t know how many times I’ve started and subsequently abandoned some variation of Project 365 (wherein the challenge is to take a photo every day for a year)—at least as many times as I’ve started The Brothers Karamazov. I started again on my birthday this year, and today marks the hundredth day. I didn’t blog about it from the beginning because I have an annoying (at least to me) habit of announcing these kinds of grand plans and then not following through. But here we are, and I’m still enjoying myself, so I thought I’d share some thoughts about how it’s going so far.

There have definitely been more days than I like that I don’t pick up the camera until after 10 pm. On those days I inevitably end up with some incredibly lame shot. A true low point was just a few days ago: I had neglected the camera all day, and Jason was trying to get Simon to go back to sleep, so I didn’t want to go down the creaky creakola stairs to get it. I had to resort to using the iSight on Jason’s computer. Not my best work.

I’ve also had to be flexible on the rules to avoid discouragement and/or the project becoming nothing more than a chore. (Really, there’s only one rule: take a picture every day, but it has required some interpretation nonetheless.) Once I realized after I was in bed that I had forgotten to take a photo; I had however taken a video earlier that day, so I let that count. Two (or maybe three) times I’ve used photos that were taken by others but that I had “commissioned” (i.e., said, “Hey, will you grab my camera and get a shot of x?"). More often than not I put off uploading for a few days. But so far I haven’t flat-out forgotten or failed to take a picture.

I don’t try for an artistic shot every day. Some days are just about documenting what we did. And other days’ photos are either experiments or accidents with lighting or camera settings. And I do try to shake it up a bit—I’m certain that I could take a daily picture of Simon (and/or new baby when he arrives).

I’m liking the challenge and the rhythm and discipline of doing something creative every day. And there are a few shots that (for various reasons) I really love. So although I’m certainly not proud of each individual shot, I do enjoy how the Flickr set is shaping up. I, of course, hope (and plan) to finish the next 265 days as well—as long as it keeps being fun, that is. 

I posted the recipe to Needs More Butter.

My drive home from Fremont yesterday afternoon* got me to thinking about the many, many photo ops that get away. These are the shots that I’m pretty sure would get me published in National Geographic or at least Nebraskaland if I could just get them right.

There are, of course, any number of reasons I don’t get the “perfect” shots (don’t have my camera with me at all, not the right lighting, don’t have the right lens, don’t know what setting is best to use, not tall enough to get the best angle, not fast enough and the moment has passed, etc., etc.), but I don’t mean this to be an excuse-filled musing. I take plenty of shots that I’m pretty proud of—and plenty more that are just okay. No, what I got to thinking about yesterday are the shots that either aren’t actually capturable or that do just get away.

On my drive home yesterday, I looked to my right and caught just a glimpse of what I imagine would have been a pretty amazing shot. The sun was coming through the corn at just the right angle, and it looked so beautiful. I kept looking for a place to pull over and try to catch it, but I would have had to back up to where I first saw it—never again was the corn both close enough to the road and tall enough to create just that effect. I don’t know even if I had stopped to try to get the shot if it would have turned out like I pictured it—and I guess that’s the point I’m trying to make: I have that photo in my mind but not in my camera.

Right now is actually a good example as well: I’m sitting in the green chair in Simon’s room, and he’s sprawled out on the bed deep in napland. The shadows on the wall above his bed are quite interesting (I’ve been looking at them for several minutes trying to figure out exactly what part of the curtains are making those shapes); the lighting is that of an overcast sky seeping in through thin fabric, and everything is kind of an afternoony blue. And the thing is that even if someone who knew exactly what she was doing (lighting, lens, settings, etc.) were here, I really don’t think she could get the photo just the way I am seeing it—the hubbub would wake up the Bub, for one thing, and the moment would be gone. And I’m sure that in a few hours or days I’ll forget this lovely moment too (but I’m here now!).

I always have a couple of ideas brewing as far as shots I’d like to get. My current obsession is to get a shot of the baseball field in the park across the street. But, of course, not just any shot, the shot I have in my head. I really don’t know if the light would ever hit the field in the way that I’m thinking, and who knows, if it does, it might be in December, when the quality of light is far different than a late summer evening. (And to be honest, I haven’t even ventured out at the time when I picture the light being just right, but I will eventually I’m sure.)

Memory can be a tricky thing, and sometimes it seems that the shots that get away become exaggerated in the coolness-that-might-have-been. Still, I think it is good to have a few (or several) in that the shots that get away somehow motivate me to go after the ones I might still get.

* I happen to think that Highway 77 between Lincoln and Fremont (where my parents and sister live) is one of the prettiest drives in Nebraska, especially in the summertime. I love the blues and greens of the sky and fields and often wish I could stop about every hundred yards or so to take a picture of the horizon. There’s been quite a bit of construction on the road this year, so we’ve been having to find alternate routes after Wahoo (or before Wahoo when we’re on the way home) to avoid waiting in line for the one-lane stretches. One of my favorite alternate routes involves an eleven-mile gravel road, and that’s the way I chose to come home yesterday.

Untitled
Crayon on plaster
Simon Morehead, 2009

So this morning I discovered that Simon had begun to install an uncommissioned mural. As precious as the artist is, the piece was just not what we had in mind for the dining room (thank goodness for magic erasers).

Simon was more than happy to demonstrate his technique for the camera.

He did not, however, appreciate being given an alternative canvas . . .

and banged his head in protest, claiming that Mama was trying to restrain his creative spirit.

One of the first decisions Jason and I made about “when we have kids” is that we would have a Totoro-themed nursery (his idea). Finishing the nursey was truly a collaborative effort by Simon’s grandparents, and we couldn’t be more happy with how it turned out. Grandpa Carlson painted the walls. Grandma Carlson made the curtains. Grandma Morehead made the bedding. And the wall hangings were a team effort--Grandma Carlson made the pattern, Grandpa Morehead cut the wood (and spearheaded the installation), and Grandma Morehead painted them. They each did such an amazing job, and I am so thankful to have such a special room for our little guy.

When it comes to most creative endeavors, I find that I am far more interested in the planning stages--especially if there is some sort of mock-up involved. Whether it be a laid-out quilt or a half-finished painting or a first draft of writing, a bunch of paint chips or carpet samples or homemade “blueprints,” I love all the hanging threads and rough edges, so to speak, before they are smoothed out into the finished product. My theory is that the rough draft, the concept drawing, has so much potential, and the unfinished bits are easily transformed in the mind into the ideal version. Although a finished project holds its own satisfaction, it somehow makes me a little sad when the (almost endless) possibilities have all been determined and fixed and all the loose ends have been tied up. (No fair pointing out mixed metaphors here.)

All that to say, I’m excited about where we are in the whole nursery planning process. My mom came down yesterday and helped turn our ideas for the Totoros and Catbus on the walls into paper mock-ups.

And we also bought fabric to make the bedding and stuffed it in the crib to get an idea of how it will look.

Soon my dad will come down and paint the walls, Jason’s parents will turn our paper mock-ups into wooden wall hangings, and the fabric will be transformed into crib bumpers and curtains, but for today I am loving the possibilities, the fact that we’ve finally gotten started, and the promise of how cool it might all turn out to be.