So I went to the amazing Alt Summit in Salt Lake City, Utah a few weeks ago with my friend, Alix. We have been friends since we were about twelve. These days we go years without seeing each other or connecting, but just like it is with the bestest of your bestest, we can pick up at anytime and jump right in. So we met there because we’ve both had this sneaking suspicion, harbored this secret desire, to do blogs of our own. Only we’ve been too. . . afraid? We tell ourselves that it’s because we’ve been all tied up with the business of procreating and caring for our spawn on too little sleep and too few brain cells, it seems. This IS true.
Also true is how the days pile like pages of a book, too quickly, and before you know it you’re holding this weighty book that you hardly had the chance to read. And it’s YOUR book, YOUR life. It’s crazy. I was so moved by the women I heard from (at Alt) and where their motivation to blog comes from. They echoed what I’ve been feeling and trying to do sporatically with writing, photographs, emails to friends for the last ten years. They’re trying to save a piece of it. For themselves. For their children. For posterity. For their imaginary friends they haven’t yet met. The blogs that make my heart go pitty pat are the ones that are like little snap shots of the invisible parts of lives, though the most shimmering, alive parts that we say to ourselves in the moment, “please remember this, please remember this. . .this is the very best part. . .”
Many years ago, I met the artist, Cassandra Barney, at a show of her work at the now closed Coda Gallery in NYC. I bought a small painting of a woman with a bird in a birdcage around her neck that sits on a bookshelf in my office. Cassandra talked about one of the themes in her work being that longing to capture and keep (like little birds in cages) these fleeting moments we have. She graciously permitted me to use another one of her images (above), which visually summed up what I want to do here. Save. Remember. Keep. I know it sounds corny, but deep down, we mothers are the corniest cornballs there are. I want a placeholder, SOMEPLACE, for these moments, days, whose sweetness sometimes gets lost in the constant forgetting.