photography | chatting at the sky

how to be a better storyteller

March 26, 2012

They stood on the corner of Elm and McGee, laughing over flirt-heavy secrets and the funny things of nerves or love. Or maybe both. She was dressed for a date — ballet flats, strapless dress, a smile wide enough to connect the mountains to the sea. He had on jeans but left his ball cap at home and couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

The Man and I sat in front of the shop window, content to be together after coffee and dessert. I watched as the giddy couple seemed to be deciding where to head next. It started to rain a little. I had my camera with me and twice raised it to my face, stopping only when The Man shot me an amused warning glance, one that said It’s really cute that you want to take their picture but that’s creepy so don’t. They are the reason why I like photographing weddings – the affection between bride and groom make every photo come alive.

Instead, I turned around to get a shot of the shop window behind me. They always have the most lovely displays. As I did, I caught a glimpse of her in the opposite window. I guess her date had the same idea I did – Let’s capture this girl tonight, bottle up her happiness to pull out later and remember. So as she posed silly for his iPhone, I smiled and clicked my shutter.

And so I got my picture, a moment of serendipity. I know it looks here like I’m just a creepy stalker, but she really did walk right into my frame. I wasn’t aiming for her, but there she was. And even if I got her story all wrong, even if those two weren’t in love but merely nervous or pretending, does it really matter? It may have been the wrong story, but it was still story.

There is always truth to be found in every human interaction. His touch, her response, the way they moved together. All of that was true, no matter the backstory. As a writer, I’m always looking for the story people are telling – sometimes a different one than they intend.

We can learn much when we open wide our eyes, close our fast-moving lips and tuck our hair behind our ears to listen. So when he plants a tree, there is more to the digging than just a hole. When she walks fast away, there is more behind her steps than just her speed. When they embrace on the street corner at half past seven and they don’t even stop for the rain, there is always more.

And so I see the story and it can be a strength – it compels my writing, inspires my photos, opens me up to the experience of others. It probably also makes me aloof sometimes, getting lost in my own imagination, following trails of truth off the well-worn path of the story their lives are telling. When I’m not in a good place, it can make me paranoid, seeing things that aren’t really there, hearing ghosts when it’s only the wind. I realize there all kinds of things that can come out when you open yourself to the story, beauty blending with insecurity, truth shaken up in fantasy.

Still, I’ve decided it’s worth it.

Do you learn from watching people this way? Can you think of a moment when a story came to life in your head from one simple interaction? I would love to hear.

40 Comments · Filed Under: photography, story, writing

the magic of light

February 21, 2012

We have a dog who ate the couch so now we have an empty-ish sunroom. He can’t reach the twinkle lights, so even though it’s kind of dorm room-y to nail lights to the walls and probably breaks every real-person decorating rule, I’m keeping them up because I like the way the room glows at night when they’re on. And I like how the soft light brings a little bit of magic to an otherwise empty room.

Light fills up the empty in ways perhaps nothing else can. To borrow the phrase from Christa Wells, it makes emptiness sing. I recently downloaded all 1,633 photos from my phone onto my computer. As I scrolled through every phone photo I have taken over the past year, I started to notice a pattern of light.

I chase light. I can’t not take pictures of the light. Be it a candle or a moon or a full-blown out sun, light is addictive. In the same way music inspires my writing, light inspires my photography. I think most people who enjoy taking photos would say something similar to that. It’s hard to capture light, impossible to hold it, freeze it, define it. Instead we mostly have to settle for capturing what light does. Like God, light warms and fills and lifts, even in the darkest hours. Especially in the darkest hours. It’s no wonder God is called the Father of the heavenly lights, that even the darkness is as light to Him. He named light and His name is Light.

I think of those tiny dots of light in my sunroom, and realize sometimes it’s embarrassing to talk about the things that inspire us. That’s foolish, they might say, stringing lights on your grown up walls. Who do you think you are, talking about inspiration anyway? Why do you need to be inspired? So we shy away from those little things that bring us joy and trade them in for things that are a bit more acceptable. Like a lamp.

Don’t let the judgments of the invisible people snuff out your inspiration. Beautiful things make the ugly a bit more bearable. Think of that evening you were driving home from work, weary from the dust of it. And through the trees to the left you saw the the swollen circle of an orange moon following your car like a magnet. She hung there in the sky, low and glowing, reminding you that even after that most difficult day, you are seen by the God who made you.

Think of his eyes by the light of the fire, of the candles that burned down low during dinner, of the patch of light on the living room floor that moves slow while you fold the towels. Think of the sun sliding graceful through a seasonal sky, reflecting off water and windows and snow. Embrace the small gifts that show up in your days, carrying joy in their tiny hands.

Much of the chatting at the sky that goes on here is because of the small gifts that inspire beauty. And so I’ve made a place for us where music has color, light holds magic, and words paint the world with grace. What are the little things that bring you joy and inspiration?

53 Comments · Filed Under: faith, photography, story

when you can’t see the forest for the ducks

December 8, 2011

I was trying to get a photo of the duck. See her (him?) there in the upper right? I crouched down low, my back up against the rough bark of a tree, and I tried to capture the silhouette of that duck. I took lots of photos of her but didn’t like any of them. I was too far away – even my cool zoom lens wasn’t zoomy enough. As I quickly scrolled through the shots, I nearly deleted them all. But I was on a walk and I wanted to keep going. I’ll just delete them later. Then later I forgot.

Until tonight when I uploaded them to my computer and scrolled through again. I didn’t even notice the duck. Those trees! That light! The reflection! Except for that duck, it’s like the whole world is upside down. Magic.

I’m so glad I was lazy and didn’t delete them when I thought they were useless.

Sometimes I chase ducks and miss the art. Have you been chasing any ducks lately?

The winners from Mondays giveaway of Grace for the Good Girl are Rebecca, Laura, and Christine. Email me your address at emily(at)chattingatthesky(dot)com and put “winner” in the subject line. I hope you enjoy the book! If you didn’t win this time, Sarah Markley is offering 3 more books today on her blog! And she’s got some great words to offer those of us who struggle with this try-hard life. Enter by 9pm PST tonight.

29 Comments · Filed Under: art, faith, photography

the way of grace

September 13, 2011

For when you are tired of coming up with a plan, might you be willing to simply come? I’ve thought a lot lately about this space created for souls to breathe and the true meaning behind it. To chat at the sky is to recognize that we have a Creator who sees and cares and notices. He will not come undone. He remains un-overwhelmable. So what does it look like when grace and art and worship mingle together, sweet? Here is a taste, however small.

It looks like the way of the light coming up from the bottom of an endless sea,

the way of her eyes, deep brown and dancing

the way of a sister who brings out the beauty

… and the way of a woman who knows she is loved.

“There are three things which are too wonderful for me, four which I do not understand: The way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a serpent on a rock, the way of a ship in the middle of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid.”

Proverbs 30:18-19

Would love to fill the comment box with the way of grace today. What are the things too wonderful for you, things which you do not understand — whimsy things that bring a little bit of awe and a whole lot of wonder? The way of …?

70 Comments · Filed Under: photography

the colorful mess of joy and grief

June 8, 2011

I’m sure you would expect this post to be coming next. I’m busy doing all the regular things: washing the clothes, planning the meals, counting the days ’til the last day of school. I’m also doing some not-so-regular things: caring for family members who aren’t well, preparing our guest room for a last minute visit, comforting our girl over some unexplained anxiety. All the while, there is a cloud of sadness that I can’t explain, but I understand.

And I’m learning, again, what it means to abide in Christ in the midst of the same and the not-so-same. I’m thinking of them and of us and of all the land and water in between. I’m shocked at my ability to compartmentalize. I grieve it. And yet, I question if that’s what this is. People here need me, and so I carry on. But I do not forget. This foggy sadness tells me so. Music helps a little. Prayer helps more. I wash the dishes and whisper short pleas, small longings, and lots of questions into the silence.

As I continue to process, I’m sharing with you a little piece of happy today. These photos are from the wedding I shot before I left for the Philippines. You know, the I-can’t-hold-it-together-so-I’ll-just-pray-over-the-SD-cards wedding? That one.

I look at her lovely face, at the way the light hits her just so, and I think of new beginnings, of life just starting and keeping on, of a God who offers hope and a future. I think of every good gift coming down from the Father of the Heavenly lights, and how marriage is a good gift.

I think of the posts I’ve written on art, over 40 of them by now, and I consider how pursuing our art in some ways feels extravagant when you consider the mother living from meal to meal in a one room shack.

But we don’t stop living simply because others live hard. Seeing them could shut us down if we let it. Or it could open us up. It is not for us to feel bad about where we live, what we were born into, what we have been given. But it is for us to reconsider the gifts, that perhaps they are just that: gifts. Not entitled, not owed, not earned. But gifts.

They have gifts too, ones called grace and mercy and forgiveness and love. Sometimes those of us who have much have to dig through all our provisions to find peace and contentment sitting small in the bottom of the bucket instead of holding grace with simple hands, embracing the nothing, and feasting on Jesus.

Life keeps right on, and we celebrate because there is much to celebrate. We swallow down joy in big, breathless gulps. We must. And then, we grieve when it all gets to be too much, and that is as it should be.

But if the grieving begins to linger too long, it can be good to circle around to the gifts again; to whisper thanks, to receive the blessing, and to turn ourselves outward. Grief closes us in. Gifts spin us around to thankful, and thankful opens us wide for the giving.

I have to keep coming back to that, the life raft of thankfulness. I have to believe in a God who knows things that I don’t, in a faith that is bigger than the shadows it casts, in the simple beauty of life–even when it’s hard. And I pray with open hands for the Lord to use the art of words and pictures to spin you and I back around to His goodness, ready to give however He may ask.

60 Comments · Filed Under: Compassion Philippines, lifestyle, photography

for when you can’t hold it together

May 16, 2011

We anticipate the ceremony, the cross-country move, the long trip, the last goodbye, the first hello, the final destination. We wait for it and ruminate about it and cross off calendar days with joy or fear or love or a mess of all three. And in the waiting, we stand in the bullseye center of high expectation. The weight can be knee-buckling.

The wedding engagement comes with suitcases lined up and filled with lists and planning, and soon your fuzzy someday dreams are outlined in black and white with pink hearts in the margins. The new job comes with a desk filled with papers that belong to you, and now you are being paid to make a difference. The new house has rooms filled up with hope and possibility, and you get to pick out the paint. Still, there is disappointment when you can’t afford the reception you wanted, when your boss expects the impossible, when your roof springs a leak and the grass won’t grow.

I took photos at a wedding this weekend. I’ve been anticipating it for months, and in the looking forward, I got tangled up in fear. What if my camera breaks? What if I miss the kiss? What if I forget something? What if she hates them? The morning of the wedding, I woke up a wreck. I knew I could get good photos. I just wasn’t sure I could breathe in the process. Turns out I am not cut out for the pressure.

The bride and groom are responsible for the promise. The pastor is responsible for the charge. The parents are responsible for the money and the planning, the friends are responsible for the celebration. But me? The photographer is responsible for the story. In the photos, all the planning and the money and the promise and the celebration blend together to make one beautiful, complete, almost human personality. And those tiny cards that would be hanging out in my camera all day carried within them the DNA. I desperately needed them to work.

In a moment of overwhelming worry of all the technical equipment deciding to take a day-long nap, I grabbed the photo cards I had for the wedding, placed them in the palm of my left hand and covered them over with my right. I prayed for beauty, for blessing, and for peace. I prayed for God to give me a creative eye, a heart tender to the quiet moments, a bigger picture. It may seem ridiculous to you, praying over tiny SD cards. But to me, it was freedom. Because that’s when I remembered this verse.

“He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.” Colossians 1:17

Every day is the same to Him, loving morning and faithful evening. There isn’t one that stands out heavy to Him. They all rest weightless in Him, held together safe. And so are we. Is there something you need to place in the palm of your hand and cover it over with beauty, blessing, and peace?

60 Comments · Filed Under: faith, freedom, photography

june afternoons

April 27, 2011

Beth is making art. And she is inviting you to take part. Three years ago, she lost her twin boys when she was only 19 weeks pregnant. Now, she raises money for the March of Dimes to honor them. She writes about life and love and American Idol at I Should Be Folding Laundry (beautiful blog, photography, soul, mama, the works).

A few weeks ago, Beth emailed me to ask if I wanted to be a part of an art project called June Afternoons. It is an Etsy shop in memory of her twin sons, James and Jake. She wrote the most beautiful post last week on being their mother that I have perhaps ever read.

June Afternoons is a shop filled with photos donated by bloggers and photographers. Basically, if you buy a print, a gallery wrap, or a book from the shop, Beth will have them professionally printed and sent out to you, with much love and gratitude.

“Every penny from the sale of these prints—from now until May 31—will go to the March of Dimes in honor of James and Jake Fletcher. Since 2008 Team James and Jake has raised more than $23,000 to help moms and babies receive needed care, counseling, and research that saves and sustains lives. This year, these gifted and inspired photographers from the blogging community are joining Team James and Jake by donating some of their favorite images.”

from the June Afternoons Etsy shop

So basically, just think of it as donating a bit of money to the cause, and she will send you a free print as a thank you. If you would like to browse the photos in June Afternoons, visit the shop by clicking here. And thank you to Beth for allowing me to play the tiniest part in this beautiful and redeeming cause.

· Filed Under: photography

love and faithfulness | an introduction

April 17, 2011

I wake in the dark with a head full of pain. It is good to give thanks to the Lord. It doesn’t feel good, but I know it is good, and so we rise up, we meet at our K-mart table, we join hands to sing praises to your name, O Most High. We don’t actually sing, but maybe that’s what it sounds like to Him. Who am I to say.

The kids join us in the kitchen, I lay out the clothes, make the lunch sandwiches, calm the bickering at the breakfast table, drink the coffee–hot if you’re lucky. And I catch a glimpse of the morning sun through my laundry room window and the rest of those holy words come to mind - to declare your steadfast love in the morning and your faithfulness by night.

And I consider the significance of declaring His love in the morning and His faithfulness by night. Love in the morning, to remember through the gray and yellow flurries of the day, to holdfast in the midst of the homework whine, the dinner grind, the mail and the dishes and the living.

And then in the night when the house heaves a heavy sigh of another day done, the dishwasher hums from the kitchen, and The Man and I settle into our evening routine, the words rise up from my invisible insides — and your faithfulness by night — to receive the gifts to be found in the day that has just been lived for the first and last time, to notice the ways he has provided again, and to remember to say thank you.

This week, as we approach the celebration of the resurrected Christ, I want to take some time to embrace his love in the morning and his faithfulness by night as I post a morning and an evening photo with just a few words to stand alongside. Join me if you like on your own Love & Faithfulness journey.

“It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to your name, O Most High; to declare your steadfast love in the morning and your faithfulness by night.”

Psalm 92:1-2

40 Comments · Filed Under: art, breathe, photography

how to have your picture taken

November 4, 2010

A few weeks ago, Kelly Langner Sauer came through town with her family. She is warm, delightful, and so easy to be with. She is an artist with a big heart and a beautiful vision. While here, she generously snapped as many shots as she could of The Man and I, standing in our front yard before he had to go to work.

And in seeing them, I realize how critical I am of me. I’m not so comfortable in front of the camera. I would much rather move around behind it. If these were of you, I would think they were lovely. What is wrong with these eyes of mine?

And so last night, this very man reminded me that these things we can see with our eyes and touch with our hands are temporal, transient, wasting away. But the unseen and hiding things of this inner life are being renewed day by day by day. And I considered how there is nothing else that does that, nothing else that becomes newer the older it gets.

So what is the way to have your picture taken? Allow the silly to come out even though you know how dorky you look when the silly is captured still. Let some of the life that’s inside spill over into the seen and temporal, so that those things that can’t be touched can at least be proven there. And finally, lift your eyes up with me and remember that it is not about you and your hair parted on the wrong side. Hallelujah.