July 2017 // New England

"But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own..." -Mary Oliver

New England, I'm coming back home.

I am offering Connecticut River Story sessions in the Salmon River, and also a brand new workshop in the expansive woods of Vermont.

I was going to wait until Spring to announce all of this, but I feel like the world needs beauty and collaboration and refreshing river waters and pine needles and friendships and campfires and creative powerhouses and H O P E now, more than ever before.

Let's gather together in the places where the wifi signal is weak, but the fierce female heart beats the hardest. Where we can quiet the noise long enough to hear the whispers of our own truths. Where we feel empowered in the company of mountaintops and maple trees, stretching toward the sky.

I have taught and mentored hundreds upon hundreds of creative women from around the world, and I believe, with all of my heart, that the most beautiful balm for our collective struggles is the combination of sisterhood and sacred space. There is something otherworldly about gathering women in nature, in the rivers, and I seriously cannot wait.

My heart is seriously doing cartwheels and just GLOWING as I share this. I can already feel the magic of it all! There are very limited spaces for each, and if any of this resonates with you, if what I am saying makes something light up in your heart too, I truly hope to see you this summer.

To learn more about the Vermont retreat, click here.  If you are ready to book a Connecticut River Story session, or a space at the retreat, please reach out, anytime. 

My heart is grateful. 

Return of the Newsletter

I have thought so much about how to realign myself, and my business, with my truest intentions. 
I sometimes feel like the speed, and assault, of social media is leaving me in the dust, dizzy.

It's not that I can't keep up. It's that I don't really want to anymore. (long exhale)

I don't have all of the answers right now, but, I know that returning to a thoughtful, intentional newsletter is a wonderful place to begin.

Years ago I had a beautiful newsletter, and even created a free, seasonal sub-magazine, but somewhere along the way I got swept up in the social media wave, carried out to sea, and, before I knew it, lost sight of land.

It feels so good to be returning home. 

I, and other featured artists and just all-around neat folks, will be interviewing interesting people, tasting different recipes, reading awesome books (online book club!), writing curious stories, sharing photography and art, taking road trips and long deep breaths...

And I mean sure, I could totally do those things alone, but, part of me thinks there might be other people who need to step outside for some fresh air, too.

I believe in the power of conscious community and non-competitive cross-pollination. I believe in making new friends from all around the world. But here's the thing: I'm also a go-to-the-library-with-a-thermos-of-hot-tea-on-a-Friday-night kind of gal, so, the giant loud mosh-pit that social media has become just isn't my jam.

I'll still be here, but make no mistake, my heart will be in this newsletter. 

If you are called, here's the link to sign up for the goodness:

http://madmimi.com/signups/72116/join

The first one, will go out soon, and I don't want you to miss it.

(Also, if you'd like to contribute to future editions, please let me know!)

Kristina + Matt // Wedding Day

These two beautiful souls were married last week and Thomas and Tania did such an incredible job capturing it all. 

I've debated creating this post, because I don't want to appear insensitive or ignorant to the bigger issues going on in the world right now. But at the same time, I believe that it is imperative for us, as human beings, to never forget the good. And this day was filled with SO much good.

I share this wedding here, not to minimize the enormity of current, or historical, suffering, but rather, to illustrate my belief that love is the most resilient gift of all. I refuse to ever give up hope. Ever. Of course I am angry and fighting the good fight, but not without a grateful heart.

Love stories must always be told, and then told again, even when, perhaps especially when, we are faced with unthinkable difficulty. 

We are so honored to have been there to celebrate Kristina and Matt's wedding and hope that maybe these few memories shared here today, will brighten your heart, too. 

Sweet Baby Georgia

I don't often photograph families, but when Katie asked me to capture baby Georgia, there is no way I could refuse. She was born premature and has quite the warrior's journey already, and it was just such a profound blessing spending time with them in their home yesterday. 

The rivers are too cold for photographs right now, and being in this cozy house with these two beautiful souls was exactly what my heart needed. And honestly what is better than capturing brand new Motherhood? Truthfully, it was a bit effortless because the love was just so true and new and powerful.  The hardest part was not putting my camera down a hundred times to snuggle sweet Georgia. Eventually I had to, though, and she fell asleep in my arms, and basically, it was the best. 

Motherhood is my favorite miracle. 

Morning Pages

I am writing a book. And it's sort of hard because I spend my days writing, and not sharing it at all. And I have always loved show and tell day at school, and so I thought I'd share a few crumbs here and there. Plus it makes me brave. It will help me get ready for the big and final publishing.  The more uncomfortable I can make myself in the face of fear, the stronger I become. What I will be sharing are just tiiiiiiny little snippets from a big book. Because that's how me and courage roll. Little by little. Slow and steady.

Here are my morning pages from today:

I wake up angry. Pissed off at the stories in my skin for not writing themselves. I’ve always been a defiant one, and so the act of sitting down to surrender to sovereign syntax feels sinful. Writing takes obedience. I’m not sure I have a salt grain of that in my skull.

I can feel this baby moving inside, I can feel her legs that will one day walk across the coals of a bitter reality stretching under my ribs, and I know I am running out of time. I keep a shoebox of my mother’s old mix tapes shoved in my trunk. They’re cassettes with things like “Summer with Jeremiah 1990” written in faded ink across peeling labels. I can’t talk to my Mother but when I play these songs I feel like I can listen to her. Like I am curled up on an old wool blanket in a backyard somewhere, hearing her reminisce about long drives to the beach, and the way her salty strands got tangled in someone else’s fingertips. Before the baby, I’d open my apartment window, sit on the sill, smoke a joint and let the music of my Mother’s memories fill my lungs with the inky smoke. When I’d fall asleep those nights, I’d swear I could feel her tucking me in.

I run to the car, the hot gravel burning the soles of my feet, and find the box. Anything to ease the pain of this last chapter. It is impossible to type and dance at the same time, a fact that proves how evil it all truly is. To sit still and solitary when there are mountains in Mongolia to climb seems to be the very definition of soul level suicide. And yet it is only when I free the words that I am ever really alive.

If only I could cut myself and let the pages pour themselves into pools on the sidewalk.

If only this wasn’t the worst kind of torture.