As the sun rose this morning, I walked by Karis room and spied her dancing with all her favorite stuffed animals, each in turn. I ran and got my camera to capture the moment. (I think everyone could see that coming.) I've been in a bit of a creative slump lately, and I'm ever so grateful for these beautiful, candid moments in my day.
I miss narrative writing, but I have been so busy with life lately that I often don't have the energy left by nap time or bedtime to sit down and be disciplined enough to write. No, those quiet moments are reserved for pre-recorded episodes of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, a few good books, and a dwindling bag of Ghiardelli 60% cacao chocolate chips, stashed high in my cupboard to avoid easy reach. I easily reach.
I love the relationship between photography and writing in my life. When I write, I'm inspired to photograph, and, similarly, when I take a pleasing picture, I'm often spurred on to write. So, when I'm too tired and undisciplined to sit down and create written stories, I turn to picture stories, hoping for some inspiration.
The most readily available subject these days is, of course, my child. Children are wonderfully unselfconscious and uninhibited in their actions. Karis is no different. She is a walking and breathing story, acting out what's going on in her little mind, not caring who is watching nor posing for the camera. I find it refreshing to photograph her, so I often point my camera in her direction. And usually, just like this morning, it provides just the right creative nudge needed to get me writing again.