Inside the Little Log Church

be here

Little Log Church Yachats Oregon

open eyes

Piano in the Little Log Church Yachats OR

still your hands

Yachats Oregon Little Log Church

screen your thoughts

Oregon, Little Log Church in Yachats

exhale, inhale, pause


How I Move Through Life

At least these days. Life moves at the speed of my feet and for several hours every day I cover ground while seated on a local bus.

I attempt to be productive in those hours. I am a looker. I may read or write. I never make it the entire length of the southbound bus ride without getting lost in light or shadow, tempted by a color or the sway of a tree.

Life, then, is an Eggleston flipbook. Depending on the bus, riders and scenery alike can take on the tint of David or Frank…












Gathering the Bits

Stations of the Cross at The Grotto, Portland, Oregon

Stations of the Cross at The Grotto, Portland, Oregon

When I started blogging, I had hoped to push myself to put up photos. A way to keep myself on track. Another tool to see my work–because sometimes you have to look at the work in different ways for it to make sense, or for it to tell you what it needs next.

Life happened. Words squeezed in between the photos. Then they just leaked all over the place. Words came with fewer technological obstacles. I split the blog back into one for images and a new one for words. Until threats came and technology seemed the least of my worries.

While I hacked apart the two blogs, I realized the best thing to do was just relaunch as one place. The remains seemed to only amount to one part anyway–a literal symbol of my life at the time.

Since I wasn’t done with this pattern, words crept back in filling more space than images here at the blog that speaks of capturing an image. I put up a blog to announce a group show of which I was a part. This spurred the nagging little person in my head to say, “What about your own portfolio? What about the photographs? The real ones?”

Ta-da, created for the ease of making a link, a portfolio blog, which has never actually shown an image from any of my portfolios.

Over at the portfolio site, today it has gathered its wits and will show a selection of images from The Grotto, to honor a dear friend and self-proclaimed Aunt on her birthday. I took the photos for her–a gift back for the gift she gave me before I embarked on this no destination journey.

Snapshots from the Road

family land

The beginning.
Tasco, Kansas

I am a toe dipping type of tourist. The kind who will take one solitary path, one building with stainless steel words shooting into the sky, a plain stretch of water in front of me. I don’t see the need for all the trappings of REI or SkyMall magazine. I don’t need a sleeping bag that will keep me warm at zero degrees. Or an umbrella that will withstand gale force winds. Well, maybe the umbrella part, especially on this trip.

Here are some of the singular places and paths of this month long journey. A visual recap for those who wanted to join me in the journey. I edited out all the rain and this is what remains. Kidding. Sort of.

Whidbey Island

Fort Casey State Park
Whidbey Island, Washington



Olympic Sculpture Park, Seattle

Olympic Sculpture Park
Seattle, Washington




the clouds were no nearer Vancouver

The clouds looked no nearer than when lying on the ground.
Vancouver, Canada


The Grotto Portland OR

Stations of the Cross
The Grotto
Portland, Oregon







Forest Park
Lower Macleay Trail
Portland, Oregon

Lenscratch Photo

I’ve been blabbering about a photo of mine that is included in an online exhibit on Lenscratch. It’s a four part series on the theme of Hometown.

My photo is in part four of the series, fourth from last. (You’ll have to click through to see the image.)

For a delicious little trip around the globe, click through the four sections and see if anywhere looks familiar to you.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

What’s the word hometown mean to you?

Places Called Home

Back to the theme of hometown photos.

I’m not sure what they would say about someone who claims to have multiple hometowns. I know that I have regularly confused people by referring to multiple locations as home in one conversation. I may be in Kansas telling someone that I have to go home at the end of the week, after saying, “Yes, it is nice to be back home.” Does that make sense? Right.

Ok. So multiple hometowns. Plausible maybe not.

So here are a few more photos of places that I have called home over the  years.

Big gold star for anyone who can match each photo to a city.


Next week you can see a collection of hometown photos over at Lenscratch, including one from me. An image from my original hometown…Hoxie, KS.

Hometown Focus






In light of a photo of mine showing up somewhere besides this blog, and a few other websites without photo credit, I thought I would take a moment to expand on the theme of the soon-to-be-published image.





The image that will be up on Lenscratch on August 27th, was part of a portfolio from ages ago. As far as portfolios are concerned, this wasn’t much of one. More of a themed group of images that I couldn’t quite let go of, so I labeled it a portfolio and off I flew to Portland Maine, for an interview with SCAD.

I made it into their Master’s degree program. Was granted a scholarship on the spot.

The group of images however did not get much attention from various jurors and galleries that came later.

Later, after I chose to not go to SCAD and put off my MFA.

Sometimes the lessons don’t stick the first go around. 

Sometimes a theme doesn’t let go.

These images are from my hometown and have been filed in my photo-a-day folder. They speak to me about many things but they have yet to construct a coherent paragraph. So they end up here.

Watch this space for a few more images leading up to the posting at the end of the month over here.


Dried Up

Sometimes what is on the outside has to wither.

Dry up until it is the wisp of nothing left that shakes loose at the shush of a breeze.

Only then can the tendrils unfurl.


Praying for gentle breeze to sweep away the chaff on the day that we sit still and listen to the wishes of cells yearning to stretch long into tomorrow.