Nature A Macro Aspect
Throughout my short time in this life, I have come to discover that each large event is brought on by a series of small ones. Three years ago, my husband and I completed the construction of our house. We built our house ourselves, in that we pulled studs from wood piles and nailed them together and almost everything after that. Over the course of the build, I found that we were working on small projects, that in the end, would add up to a house. From the studs, wiring, plumbing, roof, and then the sheetrock, each step needed our complete attention. The completion of one step ensured the ability to continue to the next. The reality of these small steps have continued to show up in other areas of my life; everything from cleaning my house to earning my college degree. I stood on the patio that my husband and I recently added to our house and looked out to the landscape of the Texas ranch that we have the pleasure of living on. I noticed that the landscape that surrounded me is much like my house, there are small moments that come to create the one I get to experience each day. These photos are a small presentation of the larger picture.
Whenever I am asked where I am from, my palms get sweaty. I can feel the redness in my cheeks come as I scan through all the places I have lived. I stammer looking for the right answer. The truth is, I do not have a concrete place to say ‘this is where I am from.’ The person asking typically looks puzzled, as they think they have asked me the simplest question. I typically pretend to laugh and answer, “my mom was a gypsy, and we moved around a lot.” Moving to different places and only settling in the smallest of towns in the states of Colorado, Texas and New Mexico, I am reminded of the baggage that is strapped to me. We ask each other where we are from so we can identify with our preconceived ideas of these places. Can we just meet each other and take into account what they are presenting us in that moment? I would rather be identified by with the person that I am without a preconceived notion about the place I am from.
I continue to struggle with where I am from and feel like I need a constant reminder. One morning I was having a tough time and found myself sitting on my back porch looking at my feet. I looked over the unusual freckles and scars from bicycle wrecks and my weird long toe and realized that this was me. That these features are small stories that have made me who I am. Stories that I have taken comfort in. I decided to pull my camera out and document these spots on my skin. I then reworked the photographs by mirroring them. Mirroring the images is an act that can be representative of me reflecting on my past. These images, along with the memories, are mine and they make up who I am. A specific place does not.