30-Day Photography Challenge Day 3: Clouds

My back yard, this morning.

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's cloud's illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all.

It seems I've known this song by Joni Mitchell all my life. I've been singing it since I was too young to really understand the lyrics. So, when I took a fresh look at them today as I was preparing to write this blog, it was a beautiful rediscovery. The layers of suggestion, the universal resonance, and the highly-personalize-able concepts sparked a bunch of memories for me. But, before I talk about those, let me tell you a little bit about this photo.

The guidelines I set for myself for this challenge were that I would take all the photos with my iPhone and would not alter or correct them in any way. So, no filters, no cropping, no exposure correction. I also remembered from the last solar eclipse we experienced that it's a very bad idea to point your iPhone directly at the sun. But, I figured I didn't run much risk of ruining the camera if I just pointed and clicked super quickly. Good news: My camera is fine. More good news, this photo is pretty cool! I couldn't see what I was shooting on account of that bright sun in my eyes, so I just held the camera up and clicked. Mostly, I was just grateful there actually were clouds in the sky today so I could meet the challenge! That wasn't the case yesterday when I was thinking about what I would do for today. I really love the flare that created that Saturn ring effect, as well as the refraction that introduces color I could not see with my eyes. And, as an artist who works in acrylic pouring a good deal of the time, I see something quite painterly in the way the blue and white play together.

Now, back to clouds. There are moments in my life that seem to live more vividly than others in my memory. I'm not talking about profound experiences or milestone accomplishments. I mean, there are moments that are kind of like Boomerang images on Instagram, little brief loops, clear and bright, that I can call up at will. There are only a handful of them, and they're not really big moments in my life, rather moment when a particular sense was deeply impressed. For example, when I was around 16, I had a bright yellow peasant dress with tiny red flowers on it. I wore it a lot. One day, I stood on top of the hill that was my grandparents' front yard and looked down at the highway below. The skirt fluttered in the breeze and the grass was particularly green that bright summer day. Nothing much was going on in that moment. I was just standing there, idling. But, all these years later, I can still see that yellow skirt fluttering against that green grass, like a gem in my memory crown. Do you have any memories like that?

The memory that relates to clouds is from much earlier. I think I was 5 or 6...7 at the most. My dad had turned half of our back yard into a pretty impressive vegetable garden. It wasn't just a little patch. It was a serious garden, well planned out, with neat rows, a cold frame, and a path down the middle that led to the woods at the back of the property. One day, right at that woodline, I sat in dad's red wheelbarrow and just laid back, my legs dangling between the handles. I remember the smell of the soil, always pleasant to my nostrils. Again, there was a gentle breeze. But, I think it was probably the first time I ever spent time just gazing at the sky and watching how the clouds changed as they moved across my field of vision. This day, I saw a giant rabbit's head in the puffy whiteness. I stared and stared, trying to fill in the areas that the cloud had forgotten. And, then, the shape that was so clearly defined a moment before distorted and began to disintegrate, so slowly I wasn't sure it was happening at first. When it was clear my bunny was going away, I felt sad for a moment. Then, a turtle floated into view and all was forgiven. I can still see those shapes and the way they changed as though I were looking at them right now. It was just a moment, but it formed an indelible mark, for some reason. I can still feel the metal under my back, and the way the rounded edge of the wheelbarrow pressed into the back of my head. There wasn't anything noteworthy about the moment that my conscious mind can discern, but whatever makes these calls felt it needed to be filed for posterity. 

I notice now that both of these moment have color in common. The blue and white of the sky, the yellow and green of the skirt in the grass. I mentioned in my last blog that color is something I'm deeply connected to. Maybe that connection is founded in those moments.

Joni's song also talks about seeing clouds from both sides. Flying in an airplane above the clouds is an experience I love. I haven't flown in many years, though. Since 9/11, flying has become much more difficult, and my husband doesn't enjoy air travel, so we've mostly driven where we want to go for the past many years. We'll fly again in September, when we visit Italy. I'll no doubt take note of the clouds. A sunset from 35,000 feet is just spectacular! The oranges and purples are uninterrupted by any land mass or tree limb. The clouds just open their arms and embrace the color, soaking it in and reflecting it back across their undulating blankets at the bottom of my field of vision. It's peaceful and breathtaking. But, the song talks about clouds' illusions we recall. There aren't, in fact, any rabbits or turtles. And, that blanket I see out of my plane's window is really no place anyone would actually want to be. You can't see how cold it is, or how un-fluffy that blanket actually is. And, that starts me thinking about the illusions we all chase in our lives; those goals we pursue that will probably never satisfy us, either because we don't ever achieve them or we find out on arrival they weren't what we expected. 

For me, I know I spent years, particularly the years after we moved from New York to Florida, trying to fit in, feel a sense of belonging, and be accepted by those around me. In my New York years, I did it mostly by setting myself apart, making myself so uniquely fascinating in some very self-destructive ways, that people just wanted to be around me. That's kind of a New York thing, or it was in my time there. In Florida, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. I'm an Italian-American, loud, New York woman wanting desperately to find a home among the drawls, the a-line dresses, and the Southern "charm," which can be treacherous if you don't watch yourself. We attached to a church (a couple of them in our time here, actually) and I paid close attention to the messages sent about what was expected of me as a Southern Christian woman, or, in one case, as a person affiliated with a specific church. I was happy to comply. I changed my hair color and style, the way I dress, the kinds of movies I watched, and even the vocabulary I used. Where intellectualism is celebrated in the North, I quickly tired of hearing people here in the South tell me they thought I was amazing, but they found me intimidating, letting that be their reason excuse for not growing a friendship. I spent years willing to make any modification I thought was called for in order to feel like a part of the crowd.

One day, after a very traumatic experience that is a story for another day, I realized I was a "cloud illusion," and I not only didn't know what else I could do to gain acceptance, but I had forgotten who I really was. I had to separate myself from almost everything and everyone I had been associated with for the previous 7 years in order to rediscover myself. When I did, I realized I like myself a lot more than I liked the person I was trying so hard (and failing) to be. So, I cherished the few friends who stuck by me through it all, let the rest go, grew out my bob and stopped coloring it, and watched any damned film I wanted to! It was my year of authenticity and it was where "CoolGray" was born. It's when I began using the YouTube channel as a way to practice my rediscovered authenticity and recover from the trauma I hinted at earlier. Today, I'm grateful for the fall, as it made way for all the good stuff that came in its wake. It is truly wonderful to be living from a "This is who I am -- take it or leave it," perspective. Fortunately, who I am is courteous and compassionate, so there's still plenty of opportunity to please those around me without feeling caught on the hamster wheel of trying to please absolutely everyone. I really don't know clouds at all. But, at least the mist has cleared.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray