At Arm's Length

When I look at pictures of my own mother, I don't look at cellulite or hair debacles. I just see her -- her kind eyes, her open-mouthed, joyful smile, her familiar clothes. That's the mother I remember. My mother's body is the vessel that carries all the memories of my childhood. I always loved that her stomach was soft, her skin freckled, her fingers long. I didn't care that she didn't look like a model. She was my mama.

-Allison Tate, "The Mom Stays in the Picture"


Hello, 2013. I promise you no resolutions (you've heard them all before anyway, right?), but I will offer you the aspiration of betterment, and intention, and improved ways of seeing. Of seeing self,  and home, and the unremarkable detritus of our shared life. For almost five years now, this space has been devoted to our sweet Lili, and her continued growth and subsequent infant/toddler/preschool happenings. I have until May to complete the current Four to Five photo project, and do hope to post Lili-isms and reflections here more frequently in the new year (how do I *not* tell the story of the other night, when Lili was hogging the mom bed and muttered "Fuck Mama" while in a dead sleep? I mean, really. That shit is priceless. Clearly, we're still working on the swearing issue). In addition to the usual Lili fare, I've started a project of my own this year, and Lili kindly agreed to share this space for some weekly Mommy downloads. I initially began exploring self portraiture upon realizing that, like most mothers out there, I found myself primarily situated outside the frame. My family remains my favorite photography subject, and I would still prefer to be behind the lens. Turning the camera on yourself is difficult. It's too easy to focus on the flaws, the unwashed hair, the curves I wish were straighter or leaner.  But I also want proof for my daughter. Proof that I was here. Everyday. With her and without her. Proof that I mattered, not just as her mother but as an individual and as a woman. I hope she will, one day, review these images and remember how, on particularly cold days, she and I would argue over whose turn it was to wear the green fox earmuffs. The upward angle from below as I ran her evening bath. The wine glasses she helped me pick out on one of our regular thrift store runs. And how, even at 40 pounds and almost five years, one of her happiest places was buttoned up in my ratty grey sweater on a wintery Saturday morning. I hope these images will sharpen the fuzzy details of her childhood memories, and will allow her to embrace of the importance of intention, and staying in the picture.

Happy New Year, y'all. I have a good feeling about this one.