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It’s the yearly creative cycle. Or the cycle of these past few years anyway. Winter brings creative hibernation, and then as the ground wakes up… so do I. Around this time last year, I got quite a lot of collage done – the only real good chunk I’ve done since getting pregnant – and then dropped off when some health issues sapped my small amount of extra energy. And so, what with the health issues and the move and then WINTER… nothing. Calling myself an “artist” has felt like oh such a lie.

One real downside of having a very small apartment is not being able to work on collage projects. It’s not that I don’t have space to work – I can do that at my dining table, no problem. It’s that I have no storage space whatsoever for anything in-progress. There’s just no way. I have a small space for art supplies in a closet, but I can really only store finished work – there’s no way to keep anything out of reach that’s not quite literally glued down.

And so it dawns on me that I have a real camera and that hey, I used to take pictures with it. And I could do that again. Somewhere along the line I got the idea that I’m not a photographer and I don’t know what’s with that. I totally could be a photographer – but y’know, I have to take pictures to do that. I’m not going to be a photographer by having a camera in my closet.

I know this isn’t the most exciting image to start with, but I love it. This is what motherhood is to me. Crazy tilt-shift and all. It’s the rose in the cup rising above the wreckage of breakfast, lunch, and cups of tea. It’s choosing to focus on the beautiful and not the constant mess. I love the mundanity the best. Maybe it’s because I waited so long and gave up so much to be a mother – it’s the little things that touch me the deepest. I love seeing a little toothbrush next to mine. I love sippy cups in the dishwasher. I love that this life that I dreamt of is mine and it’s real, banana peels and all.