Lac Wallace Pt I


We drove for 8 hours. With every stop, every gas station, the increasing number of tall dark trees, lower lying clouds, wavering cell reception (and certainly no 3G), the small town McDonalds (with wood furnishings and those smooth brown brick tiles...yknow the ones?) - all signs we were getting closer to our final destination. The Lake. Oh the stories I'd heard of The Lake...peaceful mornings that started with pots of coffee and freshly baked bread, a summer camp down the road, the oldest of friends reunited, talking and sharing secrets until all hours of the morning, ALL the water sports, home cooked meals, family traditions and games and all that wonderful holiday togetherness that repeatedly visiting the same place over many years can bring, the stillness and beauty of the lake and the comforting chaos of a well loved cottage . That's what I'd heard and after a big week in the big apple I was so ready for this! 

Pt II to come


Photos: Shot on a Nikormat FT2 w Kodak Portra 400 by Rachel Kara (last shot by my protege, Emma Birdsall)

Bedford Stuyvesant

Bed-Stuy, the 'hood that became home for the month. I seem to remember things back to front -- that last day, a heat wave was just setting itself upon the city. It was grey around the edges and that sticky, inescapable kind of heat that really makes you sweat. One last 40 minute pilgrimage to Manhattan for one last breakfast at Buvette then back 'home' to clear the room, pack our bags, scour the house for scattered belongings, and say goodbye. Goodbye to that new home with it's new smells that had quickly became old and familiar.  A reluctant & purposefully quick goodbye with my beautiful new friend who had become family as we invaded her home. A storm set in as I called a taxi and took off alone, shutting the door behind me and trying not to acknowledge the sadness I could feel in the corner of my eyes as I remembered back to the beginning, that very first day in this unfamiliar hood I was now calling home. 


My posting here has become so infrequent I am sure that my only readers are myself and apparently people who are Googling 'abbey lee kershaw 2012' & 'janet jackson pics by ruven'.  Hello. 

I have recently returned home, as all travellers eventually do, from five weeks of summertime bliss in New York City.

I will write more about why I think it was such a damned good holiday soon but for now I just couldn't wait to share these two photos. I got my scans back yesterday and was in a frenzy of delight reliving the moments I had captured. So many were riddled with flaws - somewhere along the way my camera starting leaking light, my focus on moving objects is usually off, the light meter was broken etc - but they were just all so honest. 

If it weren't 1am, and I wasn't getting up for a flight in 4 hours, I probably wouldn't post these two photos together. They tell my heart two very different stories each which deserve their own space. 

That first man with his arms out, wide and unapologetic, he stood there for a good few minutes...just like that, standing there head flung back, greedily taking in all that he possibly could from the ocean, from the breeze, the horizon, the open space, the sun and all it's majesty. I admired how bold he was and considered joining him. He was both giving and receiving everything of the day all at once. How does that even make sense? I do not know but in that moment I couldn't help but smile as I admired this perfect picture of freedom. 

This second man, the one in the wheelchair, I didn't consider so much at the time. I was walking up the boardwalk as the sun was setting looking for interesting characters to photograph. From what I remember I just saw this scene, quickly snapped off a frame and kept on walking.
I guess that was why this photo hits me so hard when I got it back. What kind of mission was I on that I didn't stop to properly consider the person who had been before me?  
There is some kind of metaphor playing out with the birds which I don't think I need to put into words but I do know this is another story of freedom. Perhaps the desire or longing for freedom? I cringe to think that sounds presumptuous as to what that man feels, all I know is what I feel. 

Will be back at a more reasonable and less analytical hour, soon!



South Coast, NSW

Those pockets of time that you truly get lost in...where you forget about the people, jobs, things, problems, schedules, emails, expectations, to-do lists...where instead you chose to reset your soul to focus on an overriding hopefulness, are aware of beauty, in awe of the land, satisfied with small things, rested, content, warm, peaceful yet ready for all kinds of adventure. That was this weekend. The smell of fruit on the tree, a pastel pink haze hanging over the ocean at sunset, cold morning air, dirt roads that all lead upward, being at the top of the hill, cow calling and cold noses. Lounging by the fireside, finding new songs & a giddy excitement when realising how close heaven really is.  

Photos: Rachel Kara with Nikormat ft2 using Kodak Portra 160 developed and scanned by Vision Image Lab