I have so much work I need to do. Overhaul the website. Organize/create an actual print shop. Organize my files. Work on marketing material. Start scheming goals and strategies for 2015. The list goes on. But it's on these days where all I should be doing is the office work associated with Aduro Images, that I want to do anything but. As summer officially draws to a close (ok, it closed up shop OFFICIALLY a while ago, but it's warmth has been hanging on to the afternoons of fall with a vengeance. It's only just now beginning to look like summer has finally retreated to wait patiently until next June when it will own the days once again.), I can't help but reflect on what I have gleaned these past few months. Aduro Images is nearly ONE WHOLE YEAR old. One more month, and we have come upon the anniversary of my, somehow, both impetuous and overly considered decision to strike out on my own and do this thing. It's been quite a year. I have felt worthless and unnecessary as an artist, and I have felt completely fulfilled and relevant as a contributor to the creative world. All of these feelings have lent themselves to alarming revelations of where I secretly allow myself to draw my value from, and realigning those in a way that is right.
Part of the reason I have always avoided the idea of a personal passion becoming a paycheck, is the fear of losing that passion the instant that economic value becomes a variable in the equation. Sure enough, through a painfully slow first year (as is to be expected), I felt that fear become a reality. I quit caring about how I see to create images. I felt frantic for easy money, rather than steady in my course to create something I was proud to call my own. At the end of the day, that sense of pride coupled with a desire to connect with people through the art of photographic story telling is why I started Aduro.
I can thank this somewhat horrifying first year of business for reminding me of this. For bringing my desire to tell the stories of peoples lives through my images back to the front of my soul. Thank you, year of struggle, for showing me a different path than I first envisioned. Thank you for all of your lessons and emotional grime you dredged up. Thank you to my friends and family who have dealt first hand with this 'emotional grime' which exhibited itself in many a rant and verbal explosion of angst. (Really. You ought to get a prize.) THANK YOU to my clients, for choosing me, sticking with me through this year, and inspiring me for the next.
Thank you to the unexpected respite of a weekend in LA with dear friends to regroup and simply be. Thank you to the group shenanigans at Cushman for the uninterrupted moments of quiet reflection and love (And whittling. So much whittling). Thank you to the summer harvest for endless moments spent weeding and working the soil, and for reminding me that hard work does indeed produce tangible good. And thank you to my Rock for never leaving me hanging. Even when my small mind swore You had (emphasis on swore).
I'm more excited then ever to start a new year. I'm more excited than ever to hold my camera in hand and do life.
If only I could transfer this zeal to file organizing. Which I cannot. Which is why you are about to experience the most nonsensical photo essay of my summer. Just think of it as the cubism of photo essays. Proverbial noses on proverbial foreheads and whatnot. Picasso would approve?