Sunday, July 27, 2008

.forgotten faces.

It's amazing how a simple photo I had taken during a venture to an antique store could change how I see life through photos. A framed portrait taken of a mother and daughter possibly during the Victorian era, came across my eyes for the second time while sifting through photographs I had taken that day at the antiques mall. "Why so intrigued?" you might ask yourselves of me. Well, maybe it's because the hormones from my recent childbearing hasn't worn off completely and I find myself feeling rather “sensitive." Or perhaps, it's knowing that in my photo, I caught a glimpse of a mother and daughter whose names and faces no one alive could possibly recall. I wonder to myself, ‘Well, who were they? What were their names?’ As I stare at this photo, the thing that strikes me the most when looking upon the faces of this pair is that they have such a soft look about them. The tenderness and love between mother and child glows sweetly from beneath the glass of the frame. My eyes are drawn to the face of this little girl. Her eyes gazing so intently into the camera lens that originally captured her image; her lips gently pulled back imposing a smile. ‘Did she know her photographer? What stories would she tell?’ Then, I think back to photographs that my Grandfather and I have gone over. Old photos of family and friends that I am surprised, thankfully, he can still give names to. But there were other photos that didn't have as much luck with his rather keen memory. Truth is there are thousands of photos of people scattered across the country collecting in antique stores, or commonly stashed away in our dark attics, with not a name to place them. They are faces of those who at one time meant something to someone. Maybe they weren’t famous, but rather simply well known amongst a few many, and yet, all too soon forgotten after just a few generations.

Photography to me is no longer just about taking a picture fit for a frame. Photos now have a deeper meaning. They are images recorded in time. Stories captured in a moment. After I am gone, I'd like to think that my children's children will still be able to pull out a photo, worn and faded, of me and say, "Her name is Kathryn Evans. Some called her Kathy and some called her Kat. This is what she looked like and this is her story..." (blog originally posted in 2007 on

.almost bare.

There are less than two days left before my family and I take all our earthly possessions, our faithful dog, laundry, unopened boxes of cake mix and head off to Nashville. It has been a bittersweet last several days here in Kentucky. We've made such wonderful friends and have fallen so in love with the picturesque scenery, that I know all will be missed. But it's off to "bigger and better things". . . we hope.

There is nothing more depressing for anyone who has ever had to pick up and move than to see the bare walls of what was once called "home." The cute little house we have lived in for little over a year, in a town very much like Maybury, will be sorely missed. It was the first place to welcome our newborn home. It has been a place of refuge and reflection. Needless to say, it was when I started to strip the wall of a clock, the shelf of most of it's display contents when I realized just how empty this place was becoming. The last two items: a white cutout of the letter "K" and a mister. Nothing of great significance. Just a simple reminder of a wee house on Main Street, in a town called Wilmore that I'm going to miss.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

.urban textures.

Some times the best places to get a great shot of color and texture may be just down the road. During a recent weekend drive around the Bluegrass with the family, we came across a small town named Stanford. We pulled into the parking lot of the Stanford L&N Railroad Depot (now a musuem and park) and decided to go for a little browse around the place. What we found was an old mill that stood away from the actual depot. My memory fails me at the moment because I can't recall what kind of mill it was. The place was rundown. Pigeons having made their nests within its unoccupied structure. Weather beaten and overgrown with foliage, the mill was still able to stand out with it's unique colors. A set of doors to what looked like a storage area, was beaming with gorgeous blues, pink and reds. The mixture of peeling paint and oxidized iron made intriguing subjects for my camera!