Determining your style is the hardest part of being an artist. There's too much to be influenced by in this world.  Is your style interesting? Will it sell? Will it mean anything to your audience? Influence, or rather, fear of too much influence, has left me not wanting to study photography at University. Photography is mine. I want to learn everything by myself. I want to photograph for myself. I don't want to listen to someone tell me what photography is. 

It's my passion, for me to discover.

I went to the woods today and all I could hear was water dripping from the branches onto the ground. I didn't take a self portrait because I didn't feel like my body had a story to tell. So I just listened, and captured. 

black tea, long walks, and deep thoughts

The thriving, burning passion to leave my footprints in as much of this earth as possible, has never left my side. The beauty of changes in nature astonishes me; the cycle of life and death has the potential to teach our world how to live. Not exist. Live. I sat in the woods, in the midst of twigs, mud, insects, and brisk wind, feeling like a bird in a nest, unusually snug and at peace. I felt the sharp twigs tear their way into my skin. The feeling was equivalent to that of heart break, but physical. I placed a leaf in my palm and enclosed it with my fingers, one by one. Winter killed the leaves; the crunching under my fingers echoed in the silence of the woods. The web of branches surrounding me mimicked the dying rage and pain I felt. I stared out into the depths of these branches from my spot in the mesh of dirt and leaves, and wondered if I'd ever find my way out. The branches seemed to grow thicker as if asking me to stay for a little longer. My toes were already buried deep in the soil. The cold and dampness no longer bothered me. Life brewed in such a seemingly barren place, and I wondered why. Maybe what kept my home alive, in the depths of bitterness, is the knowledge that it was preparing for life. My eyes began to water then sting, and my vision became blurred. I slid my eyes up and down, left and right, and realised that this cloud of fury, hope, love, life, has escaped my lips. My lips.

 http://www.flickr.com/photos/49121203@N08/11609494174/lightbox/

working on book covers ☆

Rustling leaves and sand paper ~

Life is about friction. The friction of impact between yourself and an obstacle; overcome the obstacle. The friction of two passionate people intertwining. The friction of touch down after experiencing the delight and wonder of dreams. Slow down and feel the friction.

My facebook page ~ https://www.facebook.com/CarolineGosPhotography

 

~ thoughts ~

Here I am trying to paste together my life. Pieces seem to have evaporated into thin air and now I'm left to build new ones. Pieces that never before existed. Pieces that will allow me to rediscover who I am and give me the courage to face my fears. It's hard when you want to be perfect. When you're not perfect at the thing you love most. When you want to tie in with prestige yet deep inside you know there is prestige in you. When you forget about all you have to offer just because people seem to be getting the fast track in life.

I've found a new piece of me. It's telling me that other people getting the fast track in life does not mean I am going at a slow pace. What people do does not determine what I do or who I am. I am my own person and although I'm on a rocky road whilst others are cruising the highway, I have just as much of a chance to make my dreams reality.