In The Details

One of my favorite Christmas gifts I received this year is this little book, A Year of Mornings, taken from the amazing blog 3191.


I've written about them here several times, but if you haven't already, bookmark their new site for a year of evenings in the making.

The book is so lovely and I adore the dotted swiss part of the cover. It's a textual experience. In the forward, one of the authors, Stephanie Congdon Barnes, writes that the work helped her to perfect the art of noticing beauty and finding simplicity in her daily life.

"All that was loud—be it the cries of a child undone by his inability to tie his shoes, the storm beating at the window, the sight of the day's heavy workload, the weight of an emotional loss—was quieted by that click of the shutter.

It is my hope that our photos engender a culture of noticing, that they don't represent something lovely and out of reach to the viewer, but instead illuminate what is beautiful at her own breakfast table. People have described the connections between the photos as magic and cosmic. This, I feel, is not Maria's or my doing. The magic belongs to the viewer."

The magic in their work is the celebration of those domestic details that are there in most of our lives, in different manifestations, that go un-noticed. As Barnes writes, "the way the light was falling on the breakfast dishes, the rings of water on the counter, a drawing or toy left behind..."

Only now, I realize the enchantment of my grandparent's home was the attention to the details of the garden, the sewing, preparing food, striking piano keys, helping neighbors and taking time for private prayer. Someone was always up before the sun. Chocolate milk was heated on the stove for me in the morning. Butter was brought home for lunch that my grandfather made that morning. Grapes were grown on vines. Tomatoes were canned. Pillow cases were stitched with love. There was a romance to me about putting love into daily chores.

It makes sense to me that all places where people devote their existence to worship and meditation (Ashrams, Convents, Monasteries) suggest chores—scrubbing floors, chopping wood, carrying water. There is something spiritual about carrying out the tasks that the day requires. My mom always says that pulling weeds is great mediation time. I am actually enjoying working in my house with this in mind.

The past few months, I've felt the weight of emotional losses at the same time that I've been on the road, away from what Barnes describes as "the inexplicable calm of domestic life." I realize now that photography has been grace for me during this time, stepping stones in choppy water. It has helped me to stop, to notice and to hold on to glimmering sandcastles for a moment before they are washed away. Looking at photos from this time is bittersweet, like finding grains of sand in my shoes after a vacation I don't remember taking.


I am enjoying being with the details of my life that make me the most happy right now: my husband, my daughter, and little creative projects.

My hope is that when the holiday is over, I can continue notice more, be more present, be better.