23 February, 2012

|as long as we keep our spirit inspired|

|inspire| verb
to animate, as an influence, feeling, thought, or the like

|inspired| adjective
aroused, animated, or imbued with the spirit to do something

"You are a unique, special artist that has decided to follow her dream. You give so many people {first in line: ME} so much inspiration and a person to admire, to look up to. You are NOTHING short of extraordinary, my lovely friend."

"You leave me speechless more often than I can recall. There are a million things you leave the mind to think about yet when it comes to writing out one sentence, I have no words. You are so inspiring to me."
This was in response to my most recent blog post.
All of this talk about inspiration has left me wondering, What inspires me?







What inspires me?
reality  tragedy  heroes  emotion  truth  sunshine  palm trees  power lines  wolves  music  city streets  candor  my family

You know what does not inspire me?
Photography. Mine specifically.
I am

b

u

r

n

t

out
On the real: Quitting my job to pursue photography (full time) was not fulfilling my dream, it was selling my soul.
I have reached my tipping point.
I am
no
longer
inspired.

{this is where I walk away}
Not entirely, and likely not permanently
however,
for the 'here and now,' I am
done.

I will honor my existing commitments. I will still shoot, on a very limited basis for a select few.
I have a few upcoming projects that are very (personally) photography-based: I will tend to those as well.
It is time to focus on
myself
my family
and keeping my spirit inspired.



22 February, 2012

You ask me what it's like to have myself so figured out? I wish I knew.

I tend to think
way
too
much.
I do not have thoughts, I have obsessions; being hyper-analytical is probably one of my greatest strengths (and should certainly be considered a tragic weakness).
It is not uncommon for me to consider
evaluate
investigate and
scrutinize.
Some of my worst decisions, have been the direct result of incessant indecision.  
My mind is constantly buried within its annals, trudging through twenty-six years of missed opportunities; replaying torturous memories as a way to 'what-if' myself into a state of self-loathing psychosis.

"Monsters are real. Ghosts are real too; they live inside of us, and sometimes they win."
-Stephen King
I do not know what I want to do with my life; I am so easily apathetic.
I am terrible at preparing for the future, as I have zero interest in growing old.
 {Seriously. My epitaph should read, "Sandi spent her entire life waiting to die."}

The eventual is too abstract; too many variables... Too many things to ponder and plan.
The present is too mundane, akin to busy work even: A litany of tedious, never ending tasks.

The day-to-day monotany is .killing. me softly.

Really, what am I actually doing? (with my life)
Nothing.
I feel the need to validate my existence.
I feel that there should be .more.
.because simply being a mother, isn't enough.

18 February, 2012

| hair |


I have had long hair three, maybe four times in my entire life.
Which will be twenty-seven years next month, (for those interested)
Each time I grow it out I tell myself that this time it [it, being my hair] will be different:
it won't be so coarse
frizzy
thick
awful
somehow, the type and texture of my hair will have magically altered itself...

...and then I think, that with that change
I
will
be
beautiful

Each time I am disappointed, and so I chop it back off.
It is really that simple.
Some people are emotionally attached to their hair.
I am not one of those people.


I have noticed that I tend to hide behind my hair
big bangs
bigger sunglasses
a mouth that barely smiles
what is left to show?
However, now that I am free of the weight; the emotional baggage seeping out of every follicle, I find that I like the way I look.
With my shoulders back, I stand taller
Now that my hair is up off my shoulders and (mostly) away from my face, I look thinner
I am confidant and it shows
I am .beautiful.

11 February, 2012

| sugar does portland |

I was a featured photographer for The Sugar Art & Fashion Show, held last night at The Refuge.
This was my first time .ever. shooting at a fashion show.
I was also selected, to have some of my work hung for the show.

The show was a blast.
Hosted by: Miss Timmery 


and partnered with The Nakate Project
(a cause, that I hold very near and dear to my heart)

Here are a few (of my) favorites from the runway...













Music


I cannot wait until next time!

09 February, 2012

| wings |

Started: Winter 2004
Completed: Winter 2011

Finish my 'wings' and have them photographed



Photographer: Don Anderson
Tattoo Artist: Nate Laird



07 February, 2012

| ballet deconstruire |

Continue to have my photography published: Five new publications...
{per my 30 | 30}

This is number .one. of five:

Model: Jamie Kay

03 February, 2012

| before the worst |

I drove down the familiar roads
the ones that I avoid, often.
The sun is shining as I look out over Minto Island; (you always cherished the view) fifteen years later, and it is still my .favorite. place in all of the Willamette Valley.
Seven years later, and I can't help but remember... Would I rather forget? Never.
My mind drifts along as my hands steer aimlessly: No rhyme or reason, I have been (to) this place before.
I am aware of a song, seeping into my greater conscious
Before the Worst, by The Script
 I am struck by the coincidence. (is there such a thing?)
"It's been awhile since the two of us talked...
...knowing things would never be the same, with your empty heart and mine full of pain
So explain to me, how it came to this....
...There was a time that we'd stay up all night, best friends talking until the daylight.
Took the joys alongside the pain with not much to lose, but so much to gain..."
I feel a smile cross my lips, a gift in this blessed moment.
Thank you.


01 February, 2012

| la tigresa |

I snapped a few test shots, then shoved the camera hurriedly into my husband's hands.
Yoga pants + tank stripped; replaced with my best 'bust-enhancing' bra, favorite raglan shirt and cozy American Apparel thigh-highs.
Two smokey eyes + one bed.head.hair later, I was .ready.
.shoot.
(awful)
Direction/s given. Multiple attempts. Frustration mounts. I give up. I am .done.
My poor husband. (he never had a fair chance)
I review the images: Thank God for digital. I delete all but .two.
I walk away.
I have a mini, emotional meltdown.
My feeble attempt at sexy is swiftly abandoned.
Hello (awkward and avoided) elephant, welcome to The Lovegrove Household.

Monday gave way to Tuesday.

It is truly magical, what clarity a sense of 'calm' can bring about.


The fault was not with Matt's artistic vision, technical talent (or lack thereof) ...
The problem, is my self-image (or lack thereof)
I exercise nearly every day.
I try to manage what I eat.
My weight is in the desired range... 

.however.
I look at myself lying there; I know how desperately I was sucking-in my stomach and yet,
it
is
still
there
I am almost 30.
I have birthed three children.
(as my husband never fails to remind me, women would kill for my body)*
*For the record, I find that hard to believe.
I should be thrilled that I look the 'way I do.'
I am not. (thrilled) 
I loathe my "Momma Belly" pooch as much as I detest the stretch marks that rake across my ass.

Oh...
 and please
do not give me some stupid euphemism about being a tiger, or other such nonsense.

Seriously.

Then, as if to add insult-to-injury, Jaiden happens to catch a glance at the (above) image:
"Was that today?"
No.
"Was that when you were pregnant?"
No. (it was yesterday)
"Well, you look like you're pregnant. Your stomach is really big.... isn't it?"

If you ever want an honest opinion, (albeit unsolicited) simply consult a four year-old.
Sigh.

I need to face reality. I need to accept myself as I am. I need to (learn to) love my body.



It is the only one I have.