Shooting for Inspiration

A couple of weeks ago I decided to ignore the fact that I have no time to be creative and call my favorite photographer friend Erin Grimson. She has recently come home to our rolling Tennessee hills from a most glamorous semester in Paris.

Truly, I can't think of a lovelier lovely than Erin. She speaks French, has the best sense of humor, and is a fantastic photographer to boot. EG is one of those coveted Sartorialist looking women.

(PROOF : http://carolinesmode.com/stockholmstreetstyle/art/269999/erin/)

I love her. She has an eye.

We decided to shoot in Downtown Franklin, and for all the beauty of the town we didn't get past the parking garage.

Check out Erin's website!  http://eringrimson.com/

Thoughts On Abundance

I live in Nashville, a city that identifies as one of the few Mecca’s of artistic collaboration. Go to any local park in this region and you will discover scores of seemingly homeless-looking circa-1950’s Bob Dylan types, weaving each of their sticky guitar riff webs at the root of every live oak tree. While this behavior is generally utilized to attract attention from the opposite or same sex, the hearts of most musicians in Nashville are for excellence in their respective fields of art.

I love the drive and competition. This town pulsates with talent and original ambition, and I often find myself running outside of the lines, trying to keep up and feeling very un-athletic. (Literally and figuratively.) This rat race toward the most prophetic and influential art seems to eat away at confidence and challenge our abilities to support one another. Oftentimes, I fall into patterns of comparison and irrational judgment, simply because I feel there isn’t enough of that good juju to go around.

That’s when the lies come out to play.

You aren’t good enough. The bar is too high. He/she took this/that already and you missed out. Blahdy blahdy blegh megh.

How gross. Am I the only one? In the midst of our well-intentioned quest for beauty and truth, we get caught up in a false perception of how much ‘good stuff’ is out there and ripe for the picking. My favorite visual for this unrealistic striving was bestowed to me via blogger by one of my favorites, Glennon Melton. (http://momastery.com/blog/) She paints a picture detailing the comparative tendencies that we all have by using a typical bowling alley metaphor. The crux of the post questions the nonsensical-ness of even comparing yourself to anyone at all. You are in your own lane, and your lane has absolutely nothing to do with the strike or gutter-ball next door. WHY do we compare ourselves when the reality is that NO ONE has EVER had the same story? Your experience is different from any other human who has ever existed, so how could you possibly equate your measure of achievement to theirs?

These are the things I think about when the lies of failure creep into my bed at night. Living in a thriving city of artists should be only inspiring and never discouraging. This is because abundance is never limited, it flows out of every story that fills our days. 

24

In spite of the scrupulously saved money slipping, nay, marathon sprinting through my fingers, a birthday weekend playing in one of my favorite cities was well spent. I bellow-sang through scores of my favorite obscure musicals with the fabulous gays of the West Village, thrifted in Brooklyn, and shoveled mountains of pizza into my face. #perfect. #yesibloghashtaggedwhatofit.

Other than partying with my galfriends, my absolute favorite part of the trip was feasting upon the greatness of Jessica Chastain and Dan Stevens in The Heiress, a play currently on Broadway. (Go see it, you NY humans.) She was haunting and strangely magnificent as the awkwardly beautiful heiress to a much sought-after fortune. Seeing this from the nosebleed-I-might-plummet-to-my-death section of the balcony was entirely worth it, as I became infatuated with getting my feet wet in theater again. Chastain has really mastered her craft and obviously works very hard, inspiring me to do the same. Suggestions? What do I do with no time and a need to add just one more thing to my frightening schedule??

Oh, and I also went to the Moma for free and oogled at all the abstract expressionism//photography that I know absolutely nothing about.

I won't lie to you, dear readers, (all six of you), I missed my Nash hometown. Is anyone else as shocked as I am by the aforementioned statement?!

I suppose it's rolling green hills, mollasses accents and Yazoo Pale Ale for me. There was a lot of love waiting for me back home.

                                                                                               Sincerely, RR

Bon Voyage a Lala

Well, it's happening. My baby sister is whisking off to her favorite place (Scotland) to study her favorite things (Jane Austen and J.R.R. Tolkien). "I've already read the material for my classes, so I can't wait to learn new things," were words she used this morning while I watched her eat breakfast. I won't breeze over the aforementioned 'while I watched her eat breakfast' because I realize that it sounds a bit silly and obsessive. Yes, a trifle pathetic and sad, but I am going to miss this little Lala. We have never been separated for an entire semester, and I am genuinely weepy at her departure.

Attached much? Proudly, yes. But this isn't about me.....come on Rach pull it together. 

I love you my sweet sister. Your lighthearted and equally dark sense of humor + a hundred million other things will be missed. HAVE FUN KICK ADVENTURES IN THE FACE.

And be safe.

.............I'm coming for you in May.

                                                                          Sincerely,
                                                                                  Sissy

       (PS these pics were taken in Florida and NOT in Scotland.....dumb to clarify? Maybe.)

A Foggy Day on Fogg Street

Keeping in practice with my discipline of doing things simply to do them, I traded beer for a photographer (the smexy Stephanie Creasy) and endeavored to be cool by shooting near Third Man Records. Channeling Jack White, I tapped a barely-there dark side by awkwardly hiking my body on top of a loading platform. Here's to overcast lighting, wearing winter coats in seventy degree weather, and celebratory hot dogs with a friend.