Last Saturday, I went to a small olive grove on Paros with my classmates to help with the harvest. It’s a bit early in the season, the olives on the island are still predominantly small and green and most farmers will not be picking theirs for another month. However, this particular grower likes the intensely flavored and highly prized oils that come at this time of year.
I have been blessed in the last two months to have traveled more than I ever imagined I could between my trip out west, September classes across Italy, a few days in Athens and now time once more on Paros, but I am struggling to keep up with my photo and blogging work as I move about. There is so much to be reflected upon and digested, and I know that I must care for and cultivate the thoughts and emotions that all this journeying has evoked if it is to mean anything at all. Slowly, I have been reading over my scribbled notes from the west and they remind me to continue to look with wonder at the island around me, even though it feels familiar now, like home. In new places, I think I write like a photograph. My thoughts come in little snapshots. I am so excited by the landslide of visual information that I haven’t the focus to write on any one thing for long.
After sneaking into an abandoned farm house in California, I wrote:
An Abandoned homestead on 198. We went in. Bowen said, “this was someone’s dream. Someone bought those harrows.” We saw a huge owl in a tree. Footprints of livestock in the sand of the kitchen floor.
And earlier in the trip, after a day of crossing the high desert of Utah with nothing but sagebrush to the horizon:
driving through the shadows of clouds.
I can feel a change in my art happening. Not just new ideas but a new driving force behind me. An intense need to see for others? I’m not sure yet. From now on I will be jumbling thoughts and images of Italy, the west and Greece as they inspire and come to fruition.