Hopeful. Yes. I feel hopeful. As 2021 ends that’s my takeaway. Trust me, it’s not a bright-eyed, busting out hopeful. It’s more of a slow dance hopeful. Quietly buoyant; my intuition as its choreographer. 

These Covid days and years have felt endless and indistinguishable. Impossible to measure. Uncertain. Not reassuring. That said, I grew a lot. My soul. My boundaries. My resolve. My heart. My voice. 

2022? I’m nervous and still on alert for the good and the bad.  Dancing slowly, not taking anyone or any moment for granted. Trusting what I’ve always known and what I don’t know.

Nimble in my plans. Understanding it’s a dance I want. And humble it’s larger than me.

I’m hopeful. 

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Collage Images (from top left, clockwise) : ‘Roxanne’, Fairfax Ave, 2016, ‘Our Delight’, Goomoo Gokita, Blum & Poe Gallery visit, 2021, ‘Undiscovered’, Melrose Ave, 2016, ‘Head Held High’, A Tulip, 2020.

inquiries welcomed sezzsimone@iCloud.com.

Stress relief?  Surely you can find it in the challenge of a jigsaw puzzle. Unscrambling hundreds of pieces to fit back to a prearranged scene can deliver a well-earned calm.

However, I find myself on the opposite side of that coin, finding my harmony in the act of scrambling with no predetermined scene in mind. Specifically, in creating an art photography collage.

First, I simply embrace the chaos of discovery. Which of my (so-called) disparate images (from dozens and dozens of possibilities) will call out their destiny to be together? Then it’s hours of testing and tweaking and reconsidering all of my collage candidates. Finally, landing on that mighty and satisfying moment when I’m certain it’s my meant-to-be harmonious tapestry! And thankfully, as a result, I’m now in harmony too. 

My collage-making is my found way of self therapy. It’s a calming means of relaxation and distraction and I gain insights through its visual storytelling. The finish product always tells me something about myself. Sometimes even before I know, like a meditative fortune reading. 

I invite you to visit a few of my art photography collages. Get to know me a bit better and maybe find affinity with something that speaks to you. During the early days of Covid, I was stunned when images I’d previously disregarded, caught my eye.  I found harmony and comfort in making collages with these forgotten images, now so on point in capturing my feelings about distance, social and otherwise.  Other times, a collage creation night for me will bolt out of nowhere. When feelings I can’t (or don’t want to) put into words surface. Like those of love and grief.  And in those moments when I’m simply overwhelmed with the sweetness of life and humanity. 

Might you be the scrambling sort? Someone loving the discovery of finding dots that surprisingly reveal themselves to connect?  If so, I’m going to encourage you to try making a collage with your own scramble of photography images (or dip into mine). Discover what your assemblage reveals to you and how this practice makes you feel. Please let me know. I’m here to offer any guidance and encouragement you may want too.

sezzsimone@icloud.com

My first rose? I have no romantic tale to tell on that account. Maybe it was a rose in a wrist corsage or one pinned to my graduation gown? My high school grad ceremony. One thousand of us. I had been named ‘sexiest.’ Apparently without intention, I’d accessorized my gown with the wrong color shoes. Made my mother very unhappy. Even angry. Definitely embarrassed. According to her, I was the only one. I had grabbed some sporty black and white kicks, instead of the required solid black ones. Perhaps only to be comfy. Maybe just thought cute. Not necessarily wanting to disobey. More like simply not getting an apparent fashion-police rule. Mind you, I have nothing against rules. When they’re designed to play fair, like no cutting in line, and rules for general wellbeing, like eating a salad. However, the rule I consciously was not going to accept was to suffer my mom’s disapproval, or even the more damaging one — for my graduation day be about her. I believe my young self learned to detach in that moment (or maybe earlier on), to escape her experience as mine. The bad news: my feeling of being left hanging alone on my proverbial tree limb. A response still intact today.

Thankfully, there were other days. Vivi-Anne was a beauty. Perhaps from a Scottish fairy tale. Truly turquoise eyes and chiseled bones. The most singular clothing. All hand-sewn by her and her mom. I marveled at their bespoke feats. We are microbiology buddies, as we catch pathogens hiding in Petri dishes. She’s a graduate, I’m still a student. She has a path. I’m just looking for something different. She passed on the cads and chose a good man to marry. Her day took place in a modest, magical church in the Virginia woods. So pure in her white baptism-like gown, the smocking delicately hand-embroidered by her mom. Black hair even more beautiful, cut short and precise. The chapel’s front row was seated with her, her three sisters and mom, heads on each other shoulders, arms around one another. From rows back, I remember, thinking, how do you be a family like that? So peaceful. So loving. That was the first day.

The second day, I babysat her first born. On the sofa, poised with a warm bottle of milk, to feed her. I remember her sweet, big eyes, locking with mine, and how warm she was and how she fit tight on my breast. I felt a mother’s love. A deep overpowering wave. I was cognizant of the miracle. On Facebook today, Vivi-Anne and Paul look kind and good. And today, I gave a rose to a woman on a stroll. A bit stooped in her posture, breaking a rule by stepping into my landlord’s garden. She was longing to catch a whiff of Mother Nature’s miracle. And now with my assist had a pinched rose to keep on her kitchen table.

It was her day and also a great day for me. My mom would have loved it too.

Thanks for Letting Me Know….

There’s a wonderful community of fellow artists, photographers, designers, and old and new friends from around the world I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know through social media. Especially during those early chronological scrolling days of Instagram.  Those were invaluable years supporting a circle of us who were hungry to appreciate each other’s evolving apprenticeships in art photography. I’ve held on to all of your comments and want you to know how much I appreciate your support and your insightful observations about my work. 

“Who else would see the aesthetic possibilities in Norm’s diner? Beautiful shot.” @rwolff214

“Fantastic hue palette and dynamic composition. Such wonderful work.” @artist_p

“Lovely dreamy creations. Fill with the emotion of your choice. “@jsurvant

“I love how your images dissipate into abstraction. You blur better than anyone” @gatorshalom

“Like a memory fighting total recall.” @charlaleeo

“I look at your photos and always think I’d like to live in them, like a dream” @the_blackpines

“Perfect melting.” @roberthickland

“Light fairy tales.” @raru0520

“Has my imagination. Always captivating work.” @love2040