Untitled

The camera bears witness to the light and shadows that follow the 5 of us each day. It grants me permission to mourn the passage of time—raising children is so fleeting. I am loving and hating this very season. Loving and hating this very Saturday morning. Loving and hating this voyage of motherhood. This is the paradox: I wish the banal away, yet I am preserving it, storing it up to revisit later. While I am detached in the present moment, I am still one with the camera. I pause, and observe who my children are and wonder what gifts they will carry with them into the world. Although I have carefully placed them into the frame, they have freedom to be who they are called to be. These walls, covered in crayon, show written testimony of their existence. I order and record their eccentric gestures, frenetic energies, and perhaps, childhood wonderment. I am making a book of years in monochrome. This is my love letter to our children, the ones that are here and the ones who have been lost.