broken imagery translated into words

Some photos to share...

2011-10-11T16:45:00.000-04:00

hello. i have been getting some very kind emails about wondering what i am up to these days! many thanks for all the checkin's and thinking of me. i started school last month, currently "filed" as a fine arts major, but who knows where i'll end up going! here is a short lil video i made about a month ago- thought i'd share some of the photos with y'all! much love,pamela...

"I'm that untouched casserole dish..."

2011-10-06T01:20:00.001-04:00

It's been a few months since I have stopped in to spit out some sort of formation of words...
Seeing that it is late, and I am pretty tired, this will not be much- sorry to disappoint.

Life, is a baffling, funny, difficult, and an unknown journey of all things previously stated and then some. Much to what you would find at a summer Church picnic and a questionable casserole that has only been slightly picked away at- a few folks taking a spoon full here and there merely out of sympathy for the mysterious one who prepared it...no one wants to be the person at the church potluck who walks away with a full pyrex dish of what you thought would be a big hit.

To say the least, I'm that untouched casserole dish...except the saran wrap is still stretched over the top of me- barely visible due to the steam that caused condensation on the ceiling of my home, it looks and feels like a hot and humid struck day in the South, and I'd know because I once lived in a small city called Atlanta.

Morning will arrive soon enough, singing horrible digitalized harmonies titled "fairy land" on my cellphone- time to get up, start my french press, turn on the morning news, make sure I've got all my pens and pencils in my pouch...the right books in my backpack for class. I've already put out my outfit for tomorrow, much like I did before my first day of school when I was a kid...except my clothes are far from new, and there's no new shoe smell lingering around. The routine will carry me in her arms one more time for the week, and then it is me, left with me alone. I exhale a deep breath and realize that what I might be saying makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but another "Sorry to disappoint", I don't get it either.

Perhaps I'll end with this: I used to be someone I knew. Now I'm figuring out what really laid beneath all those layers and walls that built up so high. Welcome to my journey. Whether it be through the lens of a camera, pen & paper, or whatever comes to fruition from this screen and keyboard that my fingertips dance on, well, it's my sanity and hope. For my ability to express the "blahness" of life through my creating is the only way I can make it through without retreating back to those old walls...

2011-10-05T01:39:00.000-04:00

The Sound of the plexiglass is extra 'staticky' today...
maybe it's because I chose the last cart on the train in the hopes of it being less occupied-
two stops down the line and now I have fellow backseat dwellers who display the same message that I currently wear around my neck, "leave me alone."

Bits and pieces of the Friday morning rush hour still linger around the seats and floor of my swaying caboose. Sticky and dried up puddles of sugar and cream that probably had a few dollops of coffee mixed in at one point now shines in the reflection of the sun like a frozen lake in the middle of a winter dressed forrest somewhere in the middle of Michigan.

Shreds of the Daily Metro headlines chopped and torn up-
pointless news in the form of contaminated confetti.

I gnaw nervously on the edge of my dried and cracked lip...my thoughts carry a serious tone upstairs as i inform myself, "I'm dehydrated. I should probably increase my water intake and cut out the other fluids that seem to have taken its place. Ya, I should do that."

A tweaked out boy that's dressed in a mans body is pacing back and forth in a fashion that makes my own leg begin a tap dance. Our train is obviously tired as it's sitting still with the doors open allowing a nice breeze from the JFK/UMASS loading dock to ease its way into my little caboose. Tweaker is obviously upset by this, "Yo, I'll be there in like seven minutes Man. I've got the fucking shit!" He's overly loud on his cellphone, his words sloppy and misconstrued in a thick 'Southie' dialect. It's apparent that 'Boy Dressed in Mans Body' has a deal he needs to make at Downtown Crossing...I'll be sad to see him go. Actually, no I won't.

My train is back in motion and has slithered its way underground...I hate the tunnels. The sound of this heavy machinery has no where to travel to other than it bouncing off the hundred year old walls that are covered in soot- caveman like markings in the bright orange x's and blue squares...our construction cavemen are always busy at work with new projects scattered throughout this entire city. Job Security. "Me mark X on tunnel C3. Me Build stronger rails." Construction caveman then throws a clinched fist on the muscle of his chest.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection on the clear window with the in motion polluted wall running behind it. Serious tone goes back on, "You look like shit. Messy girl, with messy hair. Obviously I'm wearing another message around my neck- 'I don't care what I look like.' Well done, you certainly don't."

My eyes dance to the current stop- Park Street. The trains doors open, first the ones to the inside dock. Suddenly, as expected, a damn of human beings has broken- they flow in, now it's crowded and smells even less pleasant than it did just moments ago. Two more stops, then everyone looks at me like I'm the asshole. I'll make my way to the door that will have even more humans fighting to get on, and I, along with other robots on automatic "get off now" will try to fight our way off. Lil' Red (my bike) will be on my left side, my hand guiding her as it rests on the top part of her head where the handle bars bridge out like a bulls horns curled over and ready to take charge at a red flag in the distance..."Excuse me...coming through. 'Cuse me-"

And here comes my stop...

"Excuse me...yup, hi. Like to get off please...comin' through..ya. How ya doin'? Great, I'd like to get by you now. Helllllo- thanks."

Deep breath- pick up bike. Walk up 37 steps, get on bike, go.

dear oregon...

2011-02-15T10:57:00.001-05:00

suddenly i crave the smell of rain leaving its mark on the doug firs that dress the towns, mountains, rivers, and cities in my beloved oregon. standing next to the metolius river, and hearing the roar of its passion, and the scent that can only be the ponderosa pines...the aroma of local coffee houses brewing and serving up their fresh pots...the familiarity of faces that walk past you on the sidewalk...

the daily hugs that you someday realize you take for granted...the sound of your nieces and nephews when they see you on a visit- because you're the aunt that they hardly ever see...eyes to look into that know you so well that you don't have to speak a word and they get it...
to the sky that remains forever the same, that no matter where your feet take you, you can look up and see what you see, where ever it is that you go...

i haven't slept in my own bed for two nights now, and suddenly now that i am home, i am realizing how much i miss the one that holds a chunk of my heart across the country...to oregon, and all the beautiful, lovely, individuals that it holds close and warm in this (lucky for you, spring like) winter of yours, i miss your faces. i miss even the most dysfunctional of love. like they always say, "No matter where you go, there you are." there's comfort in this old saying, but to be honest it takes time to get there and to be able to accept it. however, it's going somewhere new, and you just can't suffice off that old trick...your left alone, once again, to figure out how it all can come back together...how you can get back on top of that building where you belong- back home.

Recent Flick...

2011-02-09T19:55:00.000-05:00

Recently watched, "Annie Leibovitz: Life Through a Lens" was quite pleased with it. Netflix it, or go to your nearest library to see if you can check it out. I think it's a must for any artist, or person really.
Two Thumbs up from me, but then again Anni Leibovitz will forever get two thumbs up that has her in it, or that is inspired by her.

first post of twenty-elevn.

2011-01-09T17:40:00.000-05:00

i want to do the best i know i am capable of. time, endurance, patience, self-love, and being okay with reality. let twenty-eleven be the year that i find the depth of my artistic outlet that is hiding deep within me...my words, my photos, my heart.

be patient, i need to be, with myself- and hopefully those in my life will recognize this.

late night chit chat.

2010-12-15T01:57:00.001-05:00

It's amazing what time away does for your mind, heart, and soul. I find myself horribly anxious upon my return to the North West in a matter of a few hours. My brain spinning webs a hundred miles per hour. My heart blasting out shouts of joy, happy memories, and something I have let go, but at the same time I'll never forget. How can I? A softness in someones eyes that looked right past you- past your fronts and walls...slowly, gently, and quickly walking the tower I had built in front of my heart. No, I keep that. I smile at even the thought of it. It's good to remember the good, that's what we need to hold onto in this life.

My time in the NW will fly as quickly as the past 11 months have...a complete whirlspin, chaos, bravery in walking out of a home that I felt imprisoned in, to a world that offered such amazing warmth and love to my damaged being- just a splinter of time really. Things happen, things that you want to fix but you can't and our roads split in life and off we go to our individual journeys. Some times you walk side by side in certain times, and others you venture alone, or with those that have been on your road for many years.

©brokenimagery

Boston was a long road out of nowhere. Shortly before I departed, I had lunch with a friend, and she said, "You might not come back.." I disagreed. For some reason I made it a rule for myself to give it one more year in Portland...because that's what I do, I give myself a year in a new place to see if I can make it work. Something I am just coming to figure out, is that sometimes it takes more than a year. And more importantly, something I've been scared to death to do, but am slowly stepping out on the ledge; be me. Live my life. Create. Write. Love. Don't be fearful of the things that are gifts to me because I am scared I'll fail- or even more succeed. I can't wait to wave off this 2010 to the past...

2011 is going to be a good one...and I take all the lessons learned, good and bad, and the smiles from those I cherish into the new year that is quickly approaching.

"There's so much more strength under all these layers..."

2010-12-11T22:39:00.002-05:00

Here I am. Home. It's been months since I've really posted anything...although there wasn't that much of a pause on the writing end. Rather than letting my fingers dance along my keypad, I've clung tightly to paper, or anything remotely close.

It's been six months since my feet sluggishly stumbled onto the ground of Logan International Airport here in Boston. I wish I could sum up the journey and lessons that I've had thus far, however I don't believe it's really possible. Although, for my eyes, and my hands to grasp onto I still have all those papers that stayed in a pocket with a leaky pen, or a journal that was my date on the T to a coffee shop for the day. Allow me to say this; Without a doubt my path was unknowingly leading me back to the East Coast once again. I don't believe I would have been able to see that through a dark haze filled with drinks from here to eternity, mornings spent trying to quiet that blasting sound in my head, and most importantly trying to not focus on the fool I most likely acted like the night before.

"stripped."
©brokenimagery

Four years I called Portland, Oregon home. And in the Six Months that I've been here I have heard from four people. Rumors spread fast, even from Portland- they made sure the words that were spoken of me from a former home dweller would eventually land its ugly lies and deceit into my ears. Did it suck knowing that someone whom you helped out, and genuinely cared for as a good friend would make it their mission for anyone that new me in Portland to know that I was "Crazy" or, "Stay away from her.." The first time I was informed about this I was livid...vexed to no belief. However, as the days began to pass, and the time the sun spent out was starting to fade more and more, so did my caring about what someone else had to say about me. Do I fly back to Portland and scramble to make sure that my side is spoken of? No...I rest with my character and the Woman I am. I'm satisfied to occasionally hear from that little handful of folks...like today, discussing art and the beauty and knowledge that's with in it with someone who I care to hear from, and an individual I don't fill like I have to prove anything to. The friends, the ones that stick around, through the good times, the occasional break, and somehow surviving this thing we all differently live; life.

In three days I will go back to Logan International Airport, and this time I have a round trip ticket. So without a doubt, after my travels to the NW, and ATL, I will return to a winter wonderland here in Boston...home. Then soon after I will begin school, diving into the world of Liberal Arts with a focus on English.

I return to what some may call "Unfinished" business...gladly I do not see it that way. I look forward to those that I've know 10, 15 years, hell my whole life. And I go stripped away of everything that covers me...everything that tries to put this "I'm tough" front on...for I embrace and expect one of my sisters to withdrawal from any family event because I will be there. However, I have me, my other family members, and those people that have always had my back.

There's so much more strength under all these layers...and I'm glad I'm finally free of them (well quite a bit of them), for I can breathe for the first time in my life.

"stepping out in blind faith."

2010-10-13T22:47:00.001-04:00

©brokenimagery

My word bank has run into a dry season. So badly I crave to find the words for the jumble of thoughts and emotion that swimming around and through me. Dreams are dressing my walls at night, leaving behind traces, smeared marks on the bare white four walls. Illuminated like the guiding lights in a dark tunnel that doesn't seem to have an end. I wish I could tell you, and even more I wish that I could make sense of it to myself. Confusion lingers around like a bad cold that turned into a undiagnosed phenomena. I dilute my actions because I'm stepping out in blind faith.

Photoless Entry.

2010-10-04T18:23:00.001-04:00

The days are becoming shorter...the wind is birthing a more brisk force that leaves noses and cheeks with a cool kiss. I can't help but be reminded of the darkness that has settled within my own being...even my body, feeling numb like its been soaking in a tub full of ice.

I adventure out, for short periods of time as of lately. Pondering a plethora of things...playing the waiting game here in Boston now, 3,500 miles away from "home." There's a daily routine of the "what am I doing"s?

There's no shame in the tears that come and go on a daily basis. I expect them really, it's the one moment that I can be real with myself, and the vulnerable place I am at right now in life. There's healing to be done, and for once in my life, I'm doing the best that I can to NOT numb them...suppress them...dig them deep down in the dungeon of this heart of mine. Facing a long battle completely sober- no hiding. It's a wake up call...

Once upon a time I spoke of these "rooms" that I had stored away inside this heart of mine. Some occupied, others vacant, covered in spiderwebs, untouched and the one that used to have dwellers has vanished.

There's no photo for this posting. There's no image that I could capture in a honest way that would be able to marry these words. I suppose you could say that it's been a hot minute since I have written anything, and needed to verbally purge.

My dreams as of lately have been haunting. Faces that I don't necessarily want to forget, but need to set aside appear to me almost every night. I wake up, pull myself from a realistic dream state, and try to forget them...but not abandoning the love I have for those that I have hurt, yet still care for. Urg.

I have a good friend coming out to visit me from Portland tomorrow. This visit is so needed, and I am looking forward to a familiar face and arms that can meet my embrace. I can't wait. That is some good news..

©brokenimagery

"Bring Me down."

2010-09-27T23:41:00.001-04:00

I stood in the middle of a dark haze earlier this evening. Managing to make my way from Medford (Me-fud) to Davis Square, hesitantly making my way down the entrance to the T...just missing the Red Line inbound of course, I sat with myself, my bag, no music, and a stream of thoughts. The smell of the subway, the heat that feels like a muggy day in Atlanta- it's almost as if I could close my eyes and instantly be surrounded by my friends and made up family of the South. That moment was brief, beautiful and interrupted by the "See something Say something" PSA that has been annoyingly repeating itself here in Boston, if you ride the T, you know exactly what I mean.

My train started to make it's way through the tunnel just down the way from where I sat, I could see the lights reflection on the old wall that be its guiding path. I stood, gathering my belongings, and stepped onward to the yellow "docking pad" for our pedestrian feet. Doors opened, sluggishly so, I stepped through, and found my way to an open seat on a crowded train full of suits and sneakers.

Finally I arrived to Park Street and jumped the Green Line at dock D...I was a girl on a mission. Today I obtained my Boston Public Library Card. It's a sense of belonging here, affirming Boston as my home. You'd think that getting my drivers license conversion to be that official moment, but nope, it was the library card that pushed that button.

©brokenimagery

I stepped off the Train at Copley Square and walked up the steps to the street that blared with city lights, and the annoyance, yet beautiful sounds of a busy city. Cars honking, police officers blowing whistles to direct the mass pedestrian population making its way home, or to the plethora of bars in the area for an evening night cap.

The sky was magical. A mist covering all the tops of the buildings, leaving a mysterious longing for what was happening beyond my eyes sight. I pinched myself, for the moment was so surreal...though crowded by the heavy traffic of folks around me, tourists snapping photos in front our countries historical landmarks, and here I was, home.

I can't help but retreat back to this building that got cut off like a sentence interrupted mid way through. My life feels much like the building that stood strong before me tonight- sturdy, lit up with life, but its head not visible, lost in a world that no eyes could see.

There's no making sense of things really. We want to pretend that we can see everything that surrounds us, that we can see long into the horizon and what's headed our way. But I have to say, for me, in my life, I feel like there's this dark haze that surrounds me- nothing visible, not a single prediction.

If it doesn't subside, I say let it collapse like the final piece being pulled away from a tower of Jinga. What's the harm? It's predictable, and it brings us down from that dark haze. Bring me down I say, bring me down.

Keeping Onward.

2010-09-22T10:15:00.003-04:00

I desperately need to throw some of my "wackness" out there today.
There have been a series of mornings where an annoying alarm clock has blasted its aggravating ring at me. An abrupt wake up call- and more than just bringing me back to life from my deep slumber, but pushing a button at the core of my being, "you can't do this."

Day after day, my feet stumble at the path that is creating itself before each me. Falling, the gravel getting caught in old wounds, causing discomfort and doubt.

©brokenimagery

Success does not happen overnight. Moving 3,500 miles away from everything you know and life becoming "picture perfect" does not come along with your scattered belongings.

Facing a vulnerable and very real version of ones self in such a point of transition is incredibly overwhelming. My head has felt like it is about to spin off, dizzy, nauseous, and a tremble that won't go away. Craving a way out, and the only thing that comes to mind is running back to the familiar- but that's not always the best move.

There's this secret ability to fight, preserver, and continue on breathing when I don't want to. I don't know where it comes from, I don't know why it's there, but it is. My only outlet is writing it out like a map, so that I can remind myself of this "strength" that's embedded in my DNA.

To those that remain there, on the sidelines of my journey, I thank-you. The times that you shout out "Keep going" nourishes that very will. And the times that you are silent, I can still feel your love and support, your spirit gives me a hand up when I can't imagine taking in another breath. Through the streaks of my tears, I wipe away the dirt that covers my face, and I do the only thing I really know: keep onward.

Forgiveness...

2010-09-20T17:32:00.001-04:00

My hands, covered in filth. Empty desires, strong addictions, old thoughts inked in at the breaking of each fingertip. People, from left to right that I have hurt, let down, and shamefully disappointed...each face plays over and over like a broken record on replay.

Guilt from the manner in which I reacted and ran. Two wrongs never make a right, they just make a complicated situation that never resolves itself. I, me, have wronged many. We can sit, and point our fingers at others, and make excuses for our behavior and reactions, but what good does that do? "Let it go" is easier said than done. Today, I spent hours aimlessly walking about a foreign city that is slowly becoming familiar, and all I could think about was how I wish I could redeem a character that has been misspoken of- me, mine. However, as I sat on the Red Line, I began to think this: The guilty, the liars, will scramble and reach out to any ear that will listen so that they can make things "right."

I did this once, but not with the intentions of recovering myself from a lie, but rather trying figure out how I had gotten into a uncomfortable situation. Now, almost a world apart from all that was my life, I sit back, silently, and let those that once proclaimed friendship to me make up there own minds. I miss so many people, people I thought to be "friends" but it's funny how that can all disappear from just a few seeds of deceit.

©brokenimagery

There will be no reaching out, grasping for the affection of those that wish to have no contact with me. My question, why? Even greater, my response to the unknown, "it doesn't matter." I am the same character, flawed, loving, grateful, forgiving, strange, up and downed individual. I'll continue on with the images I capture, the words that I write, and the relationships that come and go throughout this thing called life.

Today, I had to learn the one thing that is preventing me from personal growth; self forgiveness. It hurts like hell, but so does holding on to a life that I thought was real and sincere...and it's
tearing away one layer at a time.

From the past...

2010-09-15T12:31:00.001-04:00

In the midst of organizing and archiving photos and documents on my external hard drive, I have stumbled across several things from years ago, as well as images from just this past year. Many provoking every emotion possible- thoughts flying in all directions like the elevator at Mr. Wonka's chocolate factory...

"Willy Wonka: This is the great glass Wonkavator.
Grandpa Joe: It's an elevator.
Willy Wonka: No, it's a Wonkavator. An elevator can only go up and down, but the Wonkavator can go sideways, and slantways, and longways, and backways...
Charlie Bucket: And frontways?
Willy Wonka: ...and squareways, and front ways, and any other ways that you can think of. It can take you to any room in the whole factory just by pressing one of these buttons. Any of these buttons. Just press a button and *zing*! You're off. And up until now, I've pressed them all... except one."

Recently I've pressed that last button...and my mind, heart, and soul have gone every which way possible. It's in my "virtual" thumbing through past written documents in Word that have brought back a lot of memories. Writings and poems from a young "me", so much emotion poured out...some in the form of sadness, confusion, anger, and angst.

An old entry from the year 1999 (I was fourteen):

(a small selection of collected journals.)
©brokenimagery

"the pain is progressing. my mind numb. my body dysfunctional.
i am a progressing pain maker that's slowly disintegrating into this dysfunctional body."
And later...
"the thoughts, the words. the memories- my pain, my past. my fault. your understanding, your mind. not me, and never will be."

©brokenimagery

As I read these words I felt the tremendous confusion that had birthed itself into my world at a very young age. Writing was somehow the only way to let these rapid thoughts and emotions run wild outside my head, releasing them in the hopes of freeing myself from a grave war- me against my brain. I felt so much guilt in my inability to communicate or express what was going on. Personally, I had no clue. I was eleven when it all began, and my world quickly went from being a young and an innocent child, to a corrupted mind that overtook all control.

It would be years until I could even get a glimpse at how to find an understanding to what was happening to me, my world, and my brain. Even today, I have to hold on tight at times, grasping for the ground I've gained, and determined to not slide back down that rabbit hole.

As I look back, and patch up things that went unnoticed, and untouched for years, I am tossed around in what feels like an out of control "Wonkavator".

My plea, for my recovery and sanity- place these millions of random missing puzzle pieces and place them securely next to the images that I caught later on in life...all my questions are being answered 10, 15 years later...and all of them are through a lens of a camera. So, as I realize this, I take on this challenge. Slowly I'll put the two and two together...
As Mr. Wonka said, "Time is a precious thing. Never waste it."

"attempting to get beyond that no passing sign..."

2010-09-09T23:03:00.001-04:00

You step out, a leap of faith, a hope in the unknown holding your best interest at hand.
Unexpected, birth of chaos, rest of a reassuring reality.
Deep breathes, in, out, in, and out.
Reminders draw images across your flesh-
stories told of a broken past, but images displayed in the form of survival.
Words, branding, scarred flesh, war wounds from battles fought with yourself-
a glimpse in the broken sidewalk bares its own ware and tare.

©brokenimagery

Foreign, the world and the eyes that open themselves to their surrounding.
Sterile touch, if any at all.
Replenish, stock up on the kind words that are offered in love and support.
Remember the good, absorb the moment, the now, life.
See the man sitting on the curb, can in bag, head hanging low-
he wanders aimlessly more than the shoes and eyes that appear before me.

Smiles dress the walls and the buses, some sincere-
others non existing in sincerity like a snow storm in the middle of July in Arizona's heated dry desert.
You, Me, the others.
Wake up, get dressed, go.
We go about this thing called life, following the outlines we have set before ourselves,
and even so bravely allowing nature to take its place.
A whirlwind of discomfort and security all at once.
"Danger, No Passing."
Life repeats the ideology of this road block,
it's removed, again, and again...
Tomorrow, it's all the same, but in a different way.
Put your church clothes on a Friday,
smile, even if it's fake,
say thank-you, even if you don't mean it...
For there may be someone out there that craves a face to look at them with ease,
and perhaps there's another that just wants to be acknowledged-
a kind "thank-you" could turn a invisible soul into a nourished one.
Me, I just go about...attempting to get beyond that no passing sign...
there's a way around ya know...there always is.

Sunday, August 29th, 2010

2010-08-29T18:38:00.001-04:00

Boston is beautiful today. The suns out, shining, reminding us that it is still indeed summer...despite this Month coming to a quick ending. The August moon that has clothed the sky for the past week has been mesmerizing...alluring like an attractive stranger at the other end of a crowded room.

This morning I sat outside, in the backyard, coffee in one hand, a smoke in the other...thoughts way more awake and enthusiastic than I. There's been a slight pattern as of lately with the constant streaming thoughts that are always five feet ahead of me...exhausted from trying to catch up, and overwhelmed with their inconsistent ways of torment.

My life has felt like its spinning out of control, and even if that's just an illusion, it's still a tricky thing trying to convince it otherwise. I have this constant itch under my flesh...like I can't sit still, I can't function like I want to...so, I do what I often do best- hold on. This overwhelming sense of not belonging is like a highlighted neon sign welcoming you into Las Vegas on a dark night. When this state of being starts to unravel its ugly out the door I always have the same reaction; run.

There's this small town called Eugene, it's the place I was born, grew up, lived a lifetime, and left to live another. Leaving behind parents, three older sisters, two brother-in-laws, and eight nieces and nephews; my family. I miss and love them very much. They all live there, with their busy lives, close to one another, and to other familiar faces. I wish I could be what they want...what their expectations are of me, as a sister, and a daughter.

©brokenimagery

I had just turned twenty-one when I decided to make my first big move. Atlanta called me, and I went. A little over a year, and I trailed myself back home...thinking I could live in Eugene with myself and my family...except there was one problem, I can't live with myself there. It was maybe only three months (if not less) and I was already headed up North to Portland for about four years...and it may be longer than that when I may return, even for just a visit.

I will venture to Eugene for Christmas, see my Mom and my family (hopefully all of them.) I will breathe in the fresh cool air outside Sweet Life with a cup of coffee, and maybe a familiar face sitting across from me. I will drive down Beltline, Chambers, 7th, and 5th street. I will drive down the street I grew up on, "Nantucket Ave." and go by the house I was raised in...I will not pass its threshold on this visit. For this house, this place that represents "Home" has sold- which is a beautiful and wonderful thing for my parents. I will say my own good-bye...leaving behind memories that I wish to shed, and taking back others that I want to remember.

But for now, I am here, in my new home...with a fresh start. I have the opportunity to grow in a way that I have never allowed myself to experience, and that hurts- the growing pains that be it. For I am learning that I cannot place the ultimate stock, and assurance of belonging with any single individual. That is something that will come from within me, and a personal spiritual journey that I choose to go on.

So, I keep going. I keep holding on. Reminding myself every day that I am indeed a strong individual, and as cheesy as it sounds, I really can do this thing called life, and even more, succeed...

"reaching for a branch near by..."

2010-08-25T16:50:00.005-04:00

It's kind of hard sometimes, as we all know, to get through days that are as dark as a mid December Day in the Northwests winter. A morning dressed in darkness, a peak of gray light by noon, and then a quick progression to a black late afternoon. Some can handle, others like myself, cannot.

Boston has caught the tail end of some Hurricane from down South, leaving the past couple of days dressed harshly in a darkness that my mind is trying to escape. Situations pile up, miscommunication, ignorance, and wrong doings only made these past few days feel slightly more hellish.

Life is an uncertainty that we all aspire to learn- hell even predict. The truth, there's no predicting, there's no foreseeing what's next around the corner. We must rely on the strength that we have built in the core of our individual beings. Does it suck sometimes, yup, it does.

Self destruction is something that comes clothed in many different ways...or "attires" I should say. Me, I see it, acknowledge it, and most of the time I am able to set aside these false illusions, and pull myself through what seems to be a long delayed day. As of lately, I have felt like I am waiting at the terminal, sitting in those uncomfortable seats, people watching, and occasional glances at the time. My plane is not arriving- or so it feels.

©brokenimagery

I can't neglect the handful of positive things that have occurred over the past few days- but for some reason, I am stuck in this puddle of self-doubt and shamefully so, self-pity. I try to pull myself out, reaching for a branch near by to supply me with a helpful hand up- but I keep slipping, and in return falling harder.

Life has its ups and downs...to which we all experience differently. I can't help but look back, to the fifteen years that are behind me- filled with so much emotion. It hadn't dawned on me until a week ago how long this spoken journey has followed me. I'm good at storing things away in this beautifully messed up brain of mine- but for some reason, all of the current events that have occurred sprung a leak in one of those storage units.

This Blog- this empty space that gets read here and there is a small sanctuary for my heart to pour out. Knowing that eyes graze these typed letters, and feel similarity to my own words.

Five years ago I packed up a small Ford Escort, drove over three thousand miles away from everything I knew, and lasted a little over a year. At the end of my stay there in Hotlanta, I was faced with something scary- myself. I ran, like I do best, and got the hell out of there. However, like the old saying goes, "Where ever you go, there you are" still permeates in my thick noggin'.

Fast forward five years- and here I am, in a completely foreign place, with one familiar new face- one I hadn't seen in over twenty years, yet the most significant one I've seen in a long time. I can't forget the aid that I have been given here in my short time thus far- I have to keep reminding myself this.

Portland taught me some of the most important lessons I've learned yet. It's the execution of sorting them out and properly utilizing them as life long instructions on the "what and what not to do's".

My fear, the raw truth- is that I will never overcome this hurdle that life has placed before me. Part of me wants to say "Fuck it." The other voice, that ever so quietly whispers to me from heart says that I have everything that its got to take- to make it to that faded white finish line.

Darkness, a wintered season if you will, passes by all of us. Some make it through to Spring, welcoming the rain in the brightness of of the sun- watching the droplets feed our gardens and souls. Others, hold on as tightly as they can, just to make it through one more day.

A civil war ground lies on the floor of my brain. This is no new battle, however, I must say, I have gained a strength unknowingly that enables me to continue on.

So, we, the fighters, do everything we can to keep going. You know who you are- and you know this war I speak of. Keep onward...keep breathing...and keep taking one slow, dark day at a time. I am determined to find a way to create myself out of this season I am in...determined.

August 22nd, 2010.

2010-08-22T23:08:00.000-04:00

The street I currently live on is becoming familiar, in that sense, it looks like home staring back at me. Just a few moments ago, I stood outside, hugging myself in the chill of the wind, quickly smoking away at my cigarette...trying to shed away at the urgency I felt to get my "Fall attire" sent out to me.

I spent the good part of the day alone (except for Chelsea, she's the pup, so she does count technically). Two o'clock rolled around and I gathered my hesitation and stepped out into a drizzle I am all too familiar with (very Northwest weather like today), and headed towards the North Quincy (aka QuinZy) red line stop and was Inbound towards Downtown Crossing, then I quickly proceeded to the Orange Line (Towards Oak Grove). I have a friend out here with a unique tie...I met him at "Family Camp" years ago...really it seems like a lifetime ago.

We hung out, listened to music, downloaded software onto my new fancy computer. Watched You Tube videos of the adorable Tegan and Sara...one video specifically reminded me of a friend from Portland...my mouth creased with a slight smirk at that moment. I stepped out for a smoke on the fire escape to make a call to that friend and say a quick "hello."

Boston, Quincy- MASS in general is becoming more familiar everyday...an unexpected event dressed this last Thursday- a bump in the road. I lift my heavy head and welcome tomorrows Monday. For it's another week, fresh; unknowing of what's to come.

When the rain gives up, I expect to head out into "Southey" to gather some photos...keep your eyes posted.

Sunday, August the 15th, 2010.

2010-08-15T22:21:00.003-04:00

She sits, with the anticipation of what lingers around each corner.
The sun pierces through the clouds that dress the sky, supplying warmth and acknowledgment.

Thoughts streaming like a reel left unattended on an 8mm film projector.

©brokenimagery

One after another visibly displayed for only her eyes to see...the good, bad, happy, and some just flat out dark. This darkness harbors itself deep inside, it is indeed apart of who she is.

Through shattered glass that be her renewing heart and soul, she picks herself up, baring a cross that signifies her own struggle...weight of the yesterdays, and the pains of today. Retreating back to the known is a danger that she would not make it out of alive.

So, with the sky, moon, and stars guiding her, and the sounds of music that bring a beat to her heart, she walks- ever so slowly, but steadily into the unknown. By far the most difficult thing yet that she has faced.

The mirrored image that stands before her is a stranger that she is getting to know for the first time in over twenty-six years.

With an undying passion to survive and fight, though at times despising this quality that is engraved in her bones, she prevails and makes it through another day.

unpredictable anticipations

2010-08-10T23:14:00.001-04:00

©brokenimagery

As the par recently, things have been completely unpredictable. My travels, hopping on a plane from Portland Oregon forty-three days ago, destination, Boston Massachusetts. Two weeks of mind blowing reality checks, burning eyes from the beauty that be the city of Boston, its history, the architecture- it's by far the most photogenic place I've ever been. Building a relationship that would prove to be deeply profound, and yes, needed. Family is what we make it...and how great is it when you find someone that shares your heritage- the same bloodline that flows through your very own veins.

My travels called me onward however. So, with a heavy suitcase, two carry-ons (Camera bag, and my Euro trip Backpack) I ventured down South too Atlanta, Georgia. Reality check point destination number two. She, Atlanta, taught me the lessons I had forgotten while I lived in the South. Self-love, solid relationships with unbreakable bonds. I arrived in the middle of what's been the hottest weather Atlanta has seen in years. Her heat unforgiving to those that ventured out on foot much like myself. Though a loving embrace, it was indeed disguised by a humid, sticky, painfully sweaty "welcome back." I lugged my camera around on the second day of my visit, walking through Kirkwood, heading towards Collage Ave. and then leading me straight into Decatur. I sat on a bench, tears strolling down my face. My thoughts slowed in the heat, much like my physical movements; allowing hidden emotions (and the realities tagged along with them) to surface, and make itself known in the dehydrated, salty tears that strolled down my cheeks. A gentleman slowly walking by paused and asked, "Are you alright?" to where all I could come up with was, "It's hot." Even though having a return ticket back to Portland for August 13th, I bought a ticket back to Boston that same day. Something inside me knew that I would not be returning "home."

Two weeks went by at the snap of a mans fingers playing an accordions. I saw every face that has been homed in my heart for years now- it was a wonderful, beautiful gift.

One night, after an evening of laughter, "family", food, wine, and plenty of loving affection, a much needed conversation surfaced to the coffee table that sat in front of me, centered in the living room with two other adults that joined me. Talk of home, love, family, and belonging was the topic that night. The west coast is not where I belong- in fact, it is detrimental to the individual that I am, and my very well being. And to hear that from a woman who loves me, and has nothing but wonderful intentions towards me was significant.

I already had lived a lifetime by the age of twelve- you can't escape that. Those dark days that linger behind each step I take. Reminders of the unwanted and not so distant past...how at a slip in the wrong direction I would fall so hard, and though I take pride in being a fighter, I do know I would not survive that battle again. Though the grounds, hills, rivers, and mountains of Oregon capture and hold my heart still on some of the most chaotic of days, it also paralyzes me- preventing healthy growth, life, and happiness. What good am I to those that I love there, which I must say, I do, with all of my heart...but the underlining link, that holds me together is the self-destruction that be the one and only known thing I know. It is without a doubt the foundation of my life back in the North West.

So, as some of you may know, and some may not, I have decided to settle my roots down here in Boston. It's official, as of today my belongings were packed and carried from Portland down to Eugene, where it will sit in a storage unit until what is determined a priority in the case of shipping.

However, in this life changing decision, comes a multitude of personal growth, oppertunity, and struggle. My brain resists, as I would expect anyones to, in the reorganizing that be the patterns of my life, which might I add have not been the most healthiest of ones.

Structure. Discipline. Taking care of my body. Not numbing the things I've tucked away for no one to see- including myself. Letting the demons that be my past rise from deep within and watch it crawl with hesitation from my flesh, and struggling to loosen the grip that my own hands have on this familiar, predictable life. I can feel it, my mind is tormented in this process, but I choose to go down a different path...and reminding myself everyday, sometimes through a release of tears, that I am indeed strong enough to do this. I never would have thought in a thousand years that A.) I'd end up in Boston. And B.) I would discover that my previous struggle in life was the only thing I knew, and in its dysfunction, be my security blanket.

Let's see how I do, huh? The way I view things is changing- standing in front of the mirror tonight and not recongizing the person stairring back me, feeling the odd sensation of my thoughts streaming quickly, and feeling like a stranger was intruding on my thinking.

As I change, so does my art. I embrace the term "artist", I put stock into my work, and I am attempting really hard on believing in it the way so many others do. My personal journey with my camera has not even begun yet, and to be honest with you, it may not for awhile...but that's okay. Someday, I'll look back at the images that I've captured at this point in my life, and will never forget what's behind each image- the raw, bitter sweet emotion of choosing life over death.

"...feed the weeded garden that be my soul."

2010-08-05T11:07:00.002-04:00

©brokenimagery

The wind blows through my hair, kisses my cheek, and embraces my spirit. My bruised body, and it's marks and burns absorb its healing power.

Memories start to trickle down in the thin and weak droplets of rain, just hard enough to highlight scars and stories that are permanently branded on this thing I call my body- it's kind of more like a shell.

Fragile is a word I would've used in the past to describe this outer layer that I stand in. Dreams are becoming difficult to distinguish between what's reality and what's not. It feels like the more sleep I get, the more sleep deprived I feel.

Old desires rest at the tip of every thought, as do they camp out at the dead end of my tongue- its stakes holding up the tint, forked into the thickness that be my verbal muscle...preventing the fighting chance I harbor, trapped none the less, in the core of my being.

So, rain droplets that fall so seldom, I yearn that you wash away the dirt that covers me, and the wind that kisses my cheek- that you may wisp away my self-imprisonment that has made me its home for so many years.

For this is the first time, that I hike up my boots, strap on my belt, and travel down a completely different road. Storms welcomed- may you clear my path and feed the weeded garden that be my soul.

Checklists...

2010-08-02T22:51:00.001-04:00

©brokenimagery

     Checklists- I've come to see the importance in them, especially for a scattered brain as such the one I have up there in my noggin. Today I had eight items, listed upon importance, with a dot to next the beginning of each to-do...and every single one of them not only got checked off, but with much dignity and dedication.
      Boston is officially my home. My address has been changed, I have an appointment on Thursday with the State of Massachusetts to get some much needed (and vitally important) information sorted out...and then following that I have a phone conference that is also imperative.
   I spoke with someone from Portland tonight, sorting things out, figuring out details, the beginnings of tying up loose ends and attempting to figure out a plan from over three thousand miles away.
      I sat outside for a few minutes after this conversation, the reality of my days events unfolding, clothing me after a day of resistance. There comes a point where we must relinquish the inevitable and just let go, and so I did.
     My life, being in the transitioning stage that it is, brings so much to the surface. Faces from long ago appear on the wall that stands in front of me, like an projector flashing the past- good and bad. My eyes well up with tears.
     Letting go doesn't mean forgetting- nor does it mean a discontinuation of love- it just means that this journey we call life, is a path that I am choosing to travel about, alone at times, with aid when needed at a dime by a request- I must learn to utilize that. For I am stubborn (there I said it) but must learn to trust those in my life...especially the ones that offer a safe haven and sincere love and careness with no motivation.
   My wish- remember all the parables that I left the South with. Embrace that my life is an overgrown garden full of deep rooted weeds that need tending to.
     I am scared. For I have this thing that resides at the core of my being, soul, heart, or whatever it is that you want to choose to see it as- but I need to explore that and for once in my life, not sabotage myself. Wish me luck...

My shutter has taken a pause...

2010-07-30T22:38:00.001-04:00

©brokenimagery

My feet landed softly onto the grounds of Logan International Airport here in Boston two nights ago. My bodies fuel tank low, the humid and heat of the South took most if not all energy I had available.

I can't forget to (re)mention the love that clothed me while I spent two weeks in Atlanta. She (Atlanta) is a jewel in my treasure box...something shiny, unique and precious. A genuine love hangover is intoxicating, overwhelming, and just down right beautiful. In this glorious happening, I have been slightly (or really) pensive over the direction that my life is headed in...where my art is growing into...and how we can do that together.

Boston is beautiful, it feels like home. My heart skipped a beat when I was riding back to my cousins house the night I landed...the city skyline illuminated, whispering sweet nothings into my exhausted ears...and a warm embrace of welcome home to my heart.

There are so many stories of growth, funny moments, and a good read that I have just finished that I want to share. Time...time will allow me this. But for now, I must retreat to rest, for my life is a completely different world when it has that- ya know, sleep?

I can't wait to post more images, and empty out my heart for those that follow and read my words. I have a lot of gardening to do within myself, my soul, heart, and mind. My ultimate goal- photograph it any way I can...

Goodnight...

Atlanta...

2010-07-27T22:04:00.002-04:00

My time here in Atlanta when quite spent differently than I had originally planned. I had expected to dwell in photo shoots during my time here- however, the inevitable occurred: sticking hot humid weather.

I used to live here, in the South. Atlanta, Georgia was a place I once called "home." It had been a hot "minute", as my friend Tracy would say since my last visit. It was in that minute, that much transpired in this life of mine. Too much. Three years of it drained my heart of the very person I was, and even greater, how I loved.

Atlanta will always own a chunk of my heart. The faces that grace my presence here are ones that are stowed away with me wherever it is that I venture too. And my life being where it is at the moment, that is a significant gift.

Chapter II has been mentioned plenty, so I don't really need to go into that...but I do need to remember a few things...

A.) My friends and the love I have here in the South does not disappear just because I am physically not here.

B.) I am stronger now than I ever have been in life; this will be a much utilized tool throughout this new chapter...

C.) Me. I have myself, no matter where I go. As do I carry the self love that is a profound gift that I have allowed myself to open.

D.) Life, is indeed, a beautiful thing. It is a ballroom, and the music sways me gently as I waltz through this journey. I will remember what I was told from my "Mother of the South",
"Dance Pammy- forget all the steps. You just need to Dance!"

So, as I prepare myself for sleep tonight, early, and at a decent time, I remind myself that the unknown is many things...scary, anxious, beautiful, and most importantly, a wonderful journey that will bring many of gifts, and not just to me, but the ability to give to others and share this thing that I call my life...

©brokenimagery

p.s. E.) don't forget to enjoy the ride..

pensive on a late night...

2010-07-24T02:56:00.001-04:00

©brokenimagery

Today was a much needed realization. I, Pamela, "Broken Imagery" was refreshed. I forgot what a tangible love looked/felt like.

I grew up, in the midst of extreme emotions. Already being a sensitive (yes I said it, "sensitive") individual this was not an easy journey. Confused by what loved looked and felt like, my world has gone through a whirlwind of some sorts.

About four to five years ago I landed on foreign ground; the South. Knowing one individual, and slightly her family, I was quick to be a dry sponge at the bottom of the salty sea- absorbing every bit of love that I could. Not that I was never loved before- but just not given it in the way that I needed it.

Today I realized how much the South taught me that. A large circle of friends that see me for what I am. All of me, flaws, beauty, acceptance, and the loving nature that I hold so closely. I was reminded of the courage and strength that I left the South with many years ago. This is where I belong...and by the I don't mean necessarily the South- but just away from the west coast. This is a big wake-up call.

To my "Mother of the South" I say thank-you for your continuous love, acceptance, and nurturing behavior. Sometimes I don't don't know how to accept it...fearful that I may mess up, do something that will make a barrier between you and I...this is a fear I must release. For you have been an example of what "Love" is- and more importantly, the love that I deserve, and am rightfully owed. I am sorry if I have been "standoffish", it's only out of fear that you may see the mess I am, and in the chaos that your life is in right now, not be able to spare the love that I crave. Tonight, at this late hour, I know that my insecurities are just that. Thank-you for always being there- even when you are swamped with what life dumps at your front door. You must know that you have made a distance difference in this life- me. I am a stronger woman having met you, and more importantly, being loved by you. Thank-you....