Archive for the ‘Photography’ Category

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Passages

Friday, May 3rd, 2013

 

In my 30’s I began to photograph in earnest. Now that was back in the ‘70’s, so picture me stepping out in a safari-like photographer’s vest and smoking brown More cigarettes. (The More bohemian and rebellious, the better.)

I set out to explore the other side of the tracks. Mind you, I was raised in San Marino, CA, bastion at that time of white privilege, the John Birch Society (sorry if some of these references are too representative of another generation) and suspicion of “others not like us.”

I feel shame as I write this, but it’s my history.

I had lived in NYC and taught public school there for three years, so I was well “over” San Marino. But now in my adult, parental state (and back in the state of CA) I had only moved four miles away, into South Pasadena. Lawns still looked green, houses gentrified, and attitudes were changing slowly. I was in the mood for a rebellion.

I went north, into the “ghetto” of Pasadena at that time, an area full of lovely old Victorians neglected because of poverty and segregation. My camera was my passport. And architecture was my proof that I was documenting unappreciated treasures. I gained entrance into a new neighborhood and a new form of education.

What was valuable about “the old architecture” in society and in my own being that had been neglected? And what needed tearing down and renovating? What was family about? What if all the races lived together and formed one? I photographed these questions.

It was a time of great opening for me. My Victorian grandmother had passed on, and so had her way of life and viewing the world, graceful as it was. My parents appeared confused: pleased to offer me two lamb chops for dinner at the mahogany dining room table, and willing to work hard for my excellent education…yet mired in the ‘50’s view of life. I was just now trying to emerge from it.

The photograph you see is just one of the many photographs I took during that period. I had a show at a hip Pasadena gallery, showcasing several years of 35mm architectural photography. I considered it a tribute to a history that was passing, evolving.

I chose to show you this photograph because I took it in a beautiful old Pasadena classic house that I admired. On the chaise, upholstered in the perfect fabric for that period, lay a book that had been seminal for me: Gail Sheehy’s Passages. After all, I was in one.

Out the window lay some other land, one that was natural and still impressionistic and undefined for me—but one that was beckoning me. So I colored it with Marshall’s Oils, to represent new life. The path ahead.

What is your ‘old world’ now that you wish to honor as it passes and evolves? What would you photograph to represent it? And how does the new one look? What will be your passageway into that new way of seeing, that new life?

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Posted in conscious evolution, Creativity, creativity and empowerment, death and new life, inner landscape, managing change, Photography, seeing oneself, self-healing, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves | 7 Comments »

The creative wellspring

Tuesday, April 23rd, 2013

 

When I was about 30, I entered therapy, thinking that what I wanted was a better marriage, but unconsciously beginning a long journey into becoming more of my real self. I wanted wholeness, the real meaning of the word “healing.”

During that same period, I bought my first 35mm camera and began taking pictures of my two adorable daughters. And then, photographing in a much more serious way. A symbolic way.

One of my photos was of a cutting from a houseplant  The photo was of slender roots emerging into the water contained in a Mason jar.

 I made a print of my photo and gave it to my therapist, explaining that it was a self-portrait. I was like that cutting now—severed from my past and growing my own tentative versions of new roots. When I finished therapy years later, I gave my therapist a tree! I had grown, and now identified as not just the tree, but also a bird whose nest was in the tree. I could fly and also had a safe home. (And, I later wrote Flying Lessons!)

All of this was expressed best by my creative self, who also took up the guitar, filled numerous journals with bad poetry, and played the piano and sang sad old standards. She (that creative self) had come out of the closet, and the observer in me wondered why the explosion of self-expression.

Along with that creativity came a flood of sexuality (I’ve always been a late bloomer) and a deep dive into spirituality. I began to ask myself, “Do creativity, sexuality and spirituality all emerge from the same wellspring?”  And, “What is their connection to my healing journey?”

I’ve had plenty of opportunities to pursue those questions as a writer, photographer and two-time breast cancer survivor. And, I’ve watched many clients now over the years. And here’s what I think:

1.     Creativity, sexuality and spirituality are all forms of the Life Force, and so they do all emerge from a deep wellspring within us, and within the Universe as a whole.

2.     Healing happens from a deeper place than the mind, which understands little of the Creation and its miracles.

3.     When we begin to heal, Life Force is released, and we can’t help wanting to express the joys and sorrows we experience when that happens.

 

4.     When we express ourselves in any creative form, the life force has a place to be seen, appreciated and anchored in our system.

5.     And so, creativity begets more healing. It’s a positive cycle

So here’s the takeaway for you:

1.     What form of creativity is YOU, right now? Remember, it doesn’t have to be art. Cooking, gardening, decorating, creating something beautiful…these are creative acts.

2.     What does it feel like in your body when the life force is moving through you? Call on that feeling and trust that it is healing you in every way.

3.  What if you trusted that just giving yourself time to create might heal all that does not feel well or whole or right within you?

Even if you’re in a period of your life where you feel cut off from your self or your past, you may be growing the roots of a great tree. See if you can trust the life force within you to show you the way.

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Posted in bringing out your gifts, creative imagination, Creativity, creativity and empowerment, healing, nourishing ourselves, Photography, self-healing, shifting how we see, Tools for seeing ourselves | 1 Comment »

A Tribute to Lives Cut Short

Wednesday, April 17th, 2013

 

Ninety-five years ago this man, James Struthers Lochhead, was born.

I took this snapshot of my Dad in the late ‘80’s when I was an adult with my own children, He was visiting us in our house, and so it seemed like the moment for a photo. I didn’t think about it much.

But today, in the turbulent wake of the Boston Marathon tragedy, I’m thinking about him.

My Dad became my Dad when I was 6 ½, having been without my biological father for 4 years. Robert Hale was a bomber pilot shot down over Germany in 1945, just before World War II ended. He left my mother bereft, saddled with a mysteriously troubled mind (many years later she was diagnosed bipolar) and unprepared for either the world of work or full time mothering.

My Daddy Jim adopted me, and my name was changed from Hale to Lochhead. He treated me as his own, equal to the son he and my mother would have together. I can’t imagine what my life and my mother’s life would have been like without him.

Dad was the rock. A classic optimist, his mantra was that we could be whatever we wanted to be. He worked hard, and provided us with a wonderful education. He barbequed the best ribs in the world, loved corny jokes, and cried at Lassie on TV. He drove old cars and saved his money, leaving me with enough to allow me to follow the work that is my calling.

After my mother died of cancer in 1990, Dad married one of her best friends. After I got over the shock, I saw them free to have fun together, to be equals, to harvest. But two months after their wedding, Dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 brain cancer. He lived for 9 months. Life was cut short at 74.

So maybe I’m thinking of Dad because of all the lives that either got cut off way too soon, or altered forever by the pressure cooker bomb at the finish line in Boston. For a sporting event, this was not fair.

I see in this photo of my Dad his open and friendly manner, his love for me, and also I see tension in his jaw and a sadness around the eyes that speaks now of the disappointments he would never have mentioned then.

I changed my name back from Lochhead to Hale because of a circle I got to complete by getting to know my biological roots. And, the word “Hale” means “whole,” “healthy” and “hardy,” encouraging words for a two-time cancer survivor.

But today I raise my imaginary glass to the legacy my Daddy Jim gave me. He always said that he wanted to live in such a way that any day would be a good day to die. I feel him still, giving me that encouraging look about my journey.

I pray today that the spirits of those lost and injured in Boston live on so strongly that when their loved ones look at their photos, they will do more than remember. I hope they will feel the spirit of their precious one and know they are not alone.

My Daddy tells me he is held in strong arms, that he flies with the stars, and that he knows his smile can still be felt, even in the midst of troubled times.

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Posted in death and new life, healing, Photography, self-healing, shifting how we see | 5 Comments »

An Audience with Ansel

Friday, April 12th, 2013

 

It was the summer of 1983, and I was soaring. Griegs’ pianto concerto was blaring in my brown VW bus, and I was heading up Highway 1 to Carmel. I had a date with Ansel Adams.

 I had taken all the photography courses my community college offered, and had moved through a “Masters’ course” at UCLA. So, feeling pretty heady, I applied for the Master’s Class Ansel Adams would give in Carmel for his last time.

It was now or never. My work wasn’t anything like his, so I doubted I would be accepted. Among the slides I submitted with my application, not one was of monumental scenery. Mine were architectural or landscape details and portraits of women,  and none of them demonstrated any of the darkroom expertise for which Ansel was famous. But I had been accepted, and was now on my way to join 59 other students and to meet four other artist/faculty members. I was thrilled.

The 60 of us were divided into four groups of 15 each. Every day for five days, each group would work with a different artist. In the morning, we would see the artist’s work and hear about their experiences, techniques and artistic influences and theories. In the afternoon, we would show our portfolios and get the artist’s critical guidance. Exciting and somewhat terrifying.

I got to eat, sleep, talk and dream photography for five days–the complete opposite of my life as a mother and part-time photographer/teacher at home. My favorite faculty member was Barbara Morgan, who was in her ’80s. Every time she looked at our work, she turned our prints upside down. “I think we should turn everything upside down,” she explained. If it didn’t work as a balanced design, it didn’t work.

On the final day, our group went to Ansel and Virginia’s house for our day with him. He held court in a gallery room with skylights above, his grand piano in the center, and his famous prints ringing the walls. (In my grainy snapshot, you can see the before and after versions of Moonlight Over Hernandez.)

In his 80’s, Ansel was getting ready to retire. Virginia was his charming hostess, showing us the house and serving refreshments. His darkroom assistant, John Sexton, now a renowned photographer/teacher, showed us the famous darkroom and shared some secrets.

Ansel, the Elvis of the photographic world back then, joked, told stories, and wasn’t that much into teaching. But as the inventor of the Zone System and the technique of pre-visualizing a finished print with just the gradations of black and white one wants, he left me a basic and enduring legacy: photography is all about chasing the light.

And that’s what I’ve been doing ever since: chasing the light. Ansel cared about light more than his “school” of photography over someone else’s. I took it as a supreme compliment when, at our student exhibition the last night, he pointed out one of my “Women in Hats,” a color print with layers of Marshall oils (not his style.)

I figure that even though I’ve taken “chasing the light” to a spiritual level, he wouldn’t judge my “school,” and might appreciate how he inspired me.

Every time I walk down the hall to my home office, I pass a framed poster of his Aspens in Northern New Mexico,which he signed for me that night. Ever the flirt, he punctuated his autograph with a wicked smile and an unmistakable wink.

If you were to look at it, you might not see the wink. But for me, the light in it is still there.

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Posted in Creativity, creativity and empowerment, Photography, shifting how we see, Tools for seeing ourselves | No Comments »

Out of the Dark Room

Wednesday, March 20th, 2013

The first photo I ever printed in a darkroom was at summer camp in the 7th grade. The photo was of a girl  pouring a bucket of water over another girl’s head. Hilarious, right? (Remember 7th grade humor?)

My career as a comedienne ceased abruptly, but I would return to photography as my passion and art form. In college I studied in France and returned with eight boxes of slides. Remember slides? Eight rolls doesn’t seem like much for six months nowadays, but they were enough to hook me for life.

In my ‘20’s when I had children, I knew I wanted to take good pictures of them. Serendipity struck when my husband bought a used Nikkormat (another historical reference) from a friend. Just at the time when I needed to learn what an f-stop was, I won a raffle at a local arts center. The prize was a photography course.

I was in love. The teacher held class at her house, which was full of pillows and padded sculptures covered in fabric that had been silk screened with black and white photos. It had never occurred to me that photography was an art.

I took every course my community college offered. I learned how to lock myself in my closet at home so I could take exposed film out of the camera and load it into a developing tank. I studied the masters, determined to become one.

I had a darkroom in each house. When the kids were little, I set an enlarger up in the garage or the laundry room at night. When we moved to a house with a basement, I could leave everything in place. The family got used to my disappearing down the stairs to do magic with only an amber light on.

Maybe what finally drove me to rent a studio was my habit of leaving bottles of developing solution on the kitchen counter next to the olive oil. It became evident that I needed some separation between my growing profession and my personal life.

In this blog I’m going to share some of the things that developed in my darkrooms and in others I set up in schools, in my studio, and in my head, where I processed images from my active imagination. Images, I found, had power. And I had power to create them. Which meant I had power to see things…through a different lens.

That was the adventure. And it still is. I want to share with you what seeing differently has meant to me and to those I’ve worked with—and how photography led me into healing work and eventually on to the shamanic path. It’s really about creativity, and how that part of us is hooked up to the Exit sign in those dark rooms we inhabit sometimes. Creativity can get us out—into the light.

Stay tuned.

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Posted in creative imagination, Creativity, creativity and empowerment, Imagination, Photography, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves | 8 Comments »

Photographing the Unseen

Tuesday, March 12th, 2013

Most people approach photography in a documentary way photographing an event, a person or an object in order to remember it, or to say, “This is how it is.” We tell a story of what we see. But another way to approach photography is through the question, “What have I not seen?”

Now we’re on a treasure hunt! And rather than thinking of “shooting” something with the camera (or phone,) we might think of opening the lens to something new. Just writing that opens my heart to the possibility of a magic moment where I might discover…anything.

Instead of “capturing” a moment, I’m willing to be more passive and let something new present itself to me. It’s the difference between a reporter covering an event and two friends of lovers having an intimate conversation. I’m open today to having a heart-to-heart with the Creation.

This kind of experience opens our inner eye. We find that what was formerly unseen was there all along, but we weren’t seeing it. Maybe we weren’t slowing down enough. Or maybe we weren’t broadening our vision. Or getting close enough. Or maybe we were being too literal and saying to ourselves, “There’s a leaf.” Instead of looking at that object as a way for us to see how light acts.

And what happens when our inner eye is opened? Well, my experience is usually gratitude. Appreciation. That wonderful expansive feeling that comes from being opened to the beauty of something or someone.

So here’s an assignment for you:

Go out for a medicine walk using your camera. The kind of camera makes no difference. Set your intention by asking the Universe to reveal to you something you haven’t seen before. It could be small–like the inside of a flower or a curve of the mountain, or the way your friend’s nose looks when she laughs. You aren’t after masterpieces; the purpose is to open your inner eye.

Share what you find–others would like to see! And tell us how your inner eye opened. That is, when you saw what you saw, what did you see about yourself, or the world, or a way you could be? You can post photos at Facebook.com/PamelaHale9.

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Posted in Creativity, creativity and empowerment, inner landscape, nature as mirror, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, spiritual practices, The Beauty Path, Tools for seeing ourselves | No Comments »

What does my wild heart desire, #3

Friday, February 22nd, 2013

Those of you who live in AZ will understand why the snow storm we just had was a major miracle. If you live in Kansas City, you might not agree this week. But for desert dwellers in the middle of a long drought, water in any form is good news.

More importantly for my wild heart, the snow created a fairyland that made me feel about six. Sitting in my home office, I could feel my wild heart sitting up to take notice. “It’s turning white!” she said, anticipating an adventure.

Sure enough, after part one of the storm my husband came home and we put on our boots and went for a walk. Crunching along, halfway around our usual loop, it started to snow again. Slowly at first, then more and more intensely. We started to laugh. Slowly at first, then more and more intensely. Our dog began to prance. We were in the middle of a full-on snow storm.

By the time it all ended, our table on the hill was uninhabitable, but my wild heart loved the scene. And here are some of the reasons:

  1. My wild heart loves surprises.
  2. My wild heart loves wildness in nature.
  3. My wild heart loves beauty.
  4. My wild heart loves transformation.
  5. My wild heart loves joy.

I got all these in one walk. There’s something to treasure, to consider, to keep.

And you?  What does your wild heart love?

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Posted in happiness, nature as mirror, Photography, shifting how we see, Tools for seeing ourselves, weather, winter | 5 Comments »

What does my wild heart desire, #2

Monday, February 4th, 2013

The second process I’ll use to explore what my wild heart desires is photography. I went on a walk in Catalina State Park, which is a treasure right next to my house. (I know, my wild heart is already grateful.) I took some photos—not thinking too much about why, except I was attracted to that scene—and now I’ll dialogue with them.

Seeing the great Catalinas, touched by the setting sun, I remember that my wild heart’s desire is always to live near beauty, with beauty surrounding me, and to be on the Beauty Path. That is, if for some reason I find myself in a place that doesn’t seem beautiful, I will find beauty there, or create it. Thank you for reminding me of how much I love beauty.

I am reminded that I am always looking for my path. That the exploration–the finding and following my path–is a lovely adventure in itself. My wild heart loves that exploration and isn’t nearly as attached to the destination or the end result as my mind and my ego. Another good reminder!

This scene reminds me that reflections–even in an ordinary rain puddle–can be lovely. The way nature is reflected is a treasure, if we just remember to look. My wild heart loves to find lovely reflections, both in nature and in my own inner landscape. She loves the process of taking time, of looking and remembering to remember. She wants me to always allow time for this.

Finally, I stop and see myself–my shadow–in the landscape. What does this show about my wild heart? The photo tells me that my mind and ego tend to think my shadow–the parts of me that aren’t visible to me in “normal life”–show up in natural ways in order to be recognized and accepted. That means the parts of me that aren’t so nice and pretty are going to show up in my outer life through my relationships, and they’ll also show up in my inner landscape. And that is a good thing. My wild heart doesn’t care if I have imperfections. She’s all about discovery, exploration, venturing into uncharted territory. She says we can all have wonderful discoveries when our shadow shows up. Sometimes these involve healing old wounds and other times they involve seeing and recognizing our gifts.

What do these four photographs say to you about your own wild heart? I invite your comments!

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Posted in bringing out your gifts, consciousness, Gaia, happiness, healing, Imagination, inner landscape, loving ourselves, nature as mirror, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, spiritual practices, The Beauty Path, Tools for seeing ourselves | 4 Comments »

Creating Beauty as a Safe Landing Space

Tuesday, October 9th, 2012

It’s so easy and delicious for me to sink onto a place of beauty in nature and feel safe in that “All Is One” feeling. Next to ocean, or stream, or wind through the pines I am reminded of the life force that courses through all things. I am in my safe landing space at those times.

And then we know there are other moments. Moments that suck. Moments that are almost intolerable. Moments when we don’t want to be here. Moments when we feel like life must be against us. These moments do not feel like safe landing spaces.

So what to do? Especially since those ‘other moments” are when we need a safe landing space the very most.

Well, I say we create beauty. We must.

I love to talk about Victor Frankl, because he is the most extreme example I can come up with of a human who could create beauty out of the most meager ingredients. A concentration camp survivor whose whole family was exterminated, he credited his survival to his decision to find meaning in every day.

If he could do that in those circumstances, surely I can do it in mine.

But how, in those moments of despair, frustration, fear, or anger do we create beauty? There is a lot of ugliness in the world, after all.

I think it’s a choice. About how to see.  Without being a Polyanna, without denying, we can choose to see beauty.

I can choose to find the beauty in an ordinary task like peeling a vegetable that God made, or even cleaning a toilet I’m lucky to have. I can choose to find beauty in weeding a garden where I’m making room for new life. I can choose to seek out the beauty that accompanies some of the worst tragedies, where in the midst of great loss there is some moment of exquisite love. I can choose to not be blind, but just to see “through a different lens.”

Maybe this is part of our work on earth. At least it makes our journey here more lovely.

Do it for you. Create beauty just to make your day better.

Do it for someone else. See if that doesn’t make your day better too.

See if when you create beauty, it doesn’t make you feel safe somehow. Safe in the fact that you are a creator. Safe in the fact that there is beauty in the first place. Safe in the fact that creating beauty is a well-worn path. A sacred one. One which has eternity in it.

Ah, now you have landed. In a beautiful place. On solid ground.

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Posted in aviation, coaching, conscious evolution, consciousness, creative imagination, creativity and empowerment, Flying, happiness, healing, Imagination, nature as mirror, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, spiritual practices, The Beauty Path, Tools for seeing ourselves | 5 Comments »

Choosing Oxytocin

Tuesday, July 10th, 2012

Last weekend I surprised myself by getting scared on a routine flight with my husband in our Cessna 182. He had purchased a new gadget to increase our safety and he needed to test it. That meant I would be the co-pilot and observer, looking for traffic while he did some maneuvers.

Truthfully, I didn’t want to go in the first place. I knew when I asked him what maneuvers he’d be doing.

“Just some stalls,” he answered.

Stalls.  The S-word.  Especially accelerated stalls, my nemesis.

To practice a stall, you fly along and raise the nose higher and higher, ignoring the stall horn, which sounds when you’re about to force the airplane to stop flying. You keep raising the nose and then you can feel it fall, feel the airplane stop having lift. It’s not very comfortable.

Accelerated stalls are more uncomfortable than power-off stalls, because you’re going faster and the plane’s reaction is faster and more intense. My terror in flight training was not recovering fast enough and entering a spin.

Now, I trust my husband Jon as a pilot with every fiber of my being. An ex-Marine F-4 pilot who flew over 230 missions, he is fully capable of all these maneuvers, probably with his eyes closed.

But. It’s been 11 years since I had to do these stalls myself, and never have I had to sit in the right seat and be the passenger while he does them. So I didn’t like it. My stomach was rising to my throat and I felt light-headed and sensed a big lump forming in my throat.

“I’m not doing well,” I said. An understatement.

“It’s just a stall. Just breathe and get into it. You’ve done these a hundred times.”

“Not as a passenger,” I retorted, probably a little too sharply. He must have looked at my face, which had no blood in it, because he stopped.

There was no talking me out of it, because the fear reaction had already cascaded through my body. Adrenalin. Tension. No resuming a confident air at this point.

I tried my litany of techniques. “I’m just feeling fear,” I told myself silently. “I am not fear; I just have fear right now. I am the witness, the one observing myself having fear.” I shooed the fear energy away, asked it to return to earth.

My body didn’t buy this at all. It wanted to go home and take a nap. It wanted relaxation. It wanted oxytocin.

Oxytocin is the chemical we love to feel when we orgasm, or when we feel any other kind of intense pleasure. We can invite oxytocin instead of adrenaline by doing what Ellie Drake of Braveheart Women calls an “oxytocin breath.”

Right now, take in a big breath and feel it all the way down into your abdomen, which should rise. Now as you let it out, sigh your exhale out loud. Feel your body “let down,” releasing tension.

This is an important notion for me as a two-time cancer survivor. I believe the story Anita Moorjani tells in her book, Dying to Be Me. Her wondrous healing from a near-death experience taught her that fear not only stops us from performing; it can cause cancer. Or at least create the environment that allows cancer.

My advanced flying lesson was probably related to what I wrote about in Lesson #7, “Give Way to the Winds.” To recover from a stall in an airplane, you do what is counter-intuitive: you release pressure on the controls, even though your impulse is to keep pulling back, since you want badly to go UP.

To recover from a stall in life, you do the same. You release pressure.

I had to risk disappointing my husband, appearing to be  wimp, or suggesting to my critical self that I no longer had any piloting skills. I chose oxytocin.

“If we’ve done enough maneuvers,” I said to Jon, I’d like to go back now.” As I breathed my oxytocin breaths and took care of the “little Pam within,” the one who had regressed to the pressure of flight training a dozen years ago, Jon suggested I cure my ills by flying us home.

Dear Jon.  Getting back on the horse is a man’s method. That would produce more adrenalin. I choose to give way to the winds. I choose oxytocin. I need the feminine way. And so, I believe, does the world.

It doesn’t mean I won’t go flying again, or that I won’t ever be the observer when he does a stall. It just means I choose to allow my body to recover now, instead of pushing.

By the way, he’s forgiven me. It took me almost an hour to return to a relaxed happy state, and I think I was a lot nicer after that.

(Want more “flying lessons?” Order the book at FlyingLessonsForLife.com)

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Posted in aviation, coaching, conscious evolution, consciousness, creativity and empowerment, Flying, healing, health, loving ourselves, nourishing ourselves, Photography, seeing oneself, self-healing, shifting paradigms, spiritual practices, Tools for seeing ourselves, women's empowerment | 12 Comments »

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