Overlooked

I started this project as a way to discover my new neighborhood. I looked for things that make the area unique, an urban landscape discovering its artistic side, making an effort to show that it is growing. As I progressed, however, it became less about the neighborhood and more about the moment. The images became less descriptive and more abstract, using angles, light, shadow, depth, color, and reflections to show the mystery in unexpected places.

There is a sense of not knowing in these images. But maybe I don’t need to know because what I’m seeing is complete within itself. Photography shows the world in a way that can’t be seen with the naked eye, frozen in time and space. Light changes from one second to the next. One fleeting moment exists because I captured it, I noticed. My photographs hint at a larger story.

As I’m moving about my world, wherever I happen to be, I am drawn to the interesting corner, the intriguing shape, how light illuminates, and how reflection redraws. I look from the inside out and the outside in. I welcome the discovery of the overlooked, giving it a voice and the chance to be seen by a new audience.

Unexpected Beauty                   

Three dead hosta leaves in my driveway marked the beginnings of this project. They were pretty, all curled and graceful so I saved them. In walks around the neighborhood, I found more leaves that had let go of their anchors and so began what has become a multi-year still life project.

My leaf collection grew to include other types of plants and new discoveries were everywhere: on walks in the woods, in fields, by ponds, at the edges of parking lots and wherever wild things grew. As I walked through the seasons, I selected new subjects based on their delicate and graceful shapes, interesting textures, and patterns of their branches.

During this time, I also photographed the changing light on the landscapes around me and used these photos as backdrops for my still life arrangement. This process transformed simple photos of botanical forms into quiet moments where a still life and a landscape dissolved into one another.

The plants preserved in my photographs make me marvel at finding beauty in nature where we least expect it. They are memories from seasons past and invite pause, stillness and reflection on nature and the passing of time. When I complete this project, I will say goodbye to my collections and return them to nature.

Urban Stutter               

Initially there were moments of reflection. I’d pick up in my camera to capture reflections upon glass or shiny surfaces, or water. Puddles, seas, raindrops. Did you know that the whole world lives upside down in a dew drop. Do you know how many dewdrops there are in the grass in the early morning? In these reflections, the cityscape was inverted, curved, managed into a multiplicity of itself. This became my notion of urban stutter. That the street environment has multiple, moving, variable points of view at any given instant. Dynamic. Irrepressible experiences that are multifaceted, fractured, , refracted, reflected, repeated over and over until the myriad voices strung together create a new meaningful whole.

The scent of wet cement, for example, and textures, and sounds, a vital gust of wind, evolved my definition and moments to capture as reflected environment. Also the notion of nature inserting herself in countless ways. And lately, as I live in wonder at the cacophony and quietude of macro to micro, it dawns on me how very many decisions have been made by individuals to concoct these environs. Stunning.

As a street photographer, primarily, I’m moving from literal to abstract visual moments as I’m documenting “exactly” what i see. One spot can bring about impressionism, surrealism, any fine art painterly modality, all inspire me. My photography is bold. Bold colors, shapes and I give a moment for things that inhabit the sidelines or act as backgrounds in our lives to inhabit the center, to be considered elegant and sublime and meaningful.

I feel like I’m stalking beauty. That the world itself, all of it, each singular component is ineffable, remarkable, a profound miracle of existence. The edges of texture, scent, the thunder of a working construction site all substantial, amorphous and impermanent. I wonder who made you? For what? And why are you so beautiful? Or ugly beautiful? I share these images with you in the hopes that you will see it too. On my very worst days, I remind myself that I get to see in color. Here for you are some of my best days.

Dislocation                   

I was raised as an only child by adoptive parents who loved me dearly, but never really understood me. I never fit the way my mother wanted me to be. I was a curious kid who spent a lot of time by myself. I loved to explore outside, finding clay and picking wild strawberries. My hair was tangled, and invariably I had dirt on my knees, despite the smocked dresses and patent leather shoes she favored for me.

The photographs in this project document spaces in the middle–between two worlds. Trails that wind along the Charles River and back onto commercial neighborhoods. City parks and urban residences. They contain unseen characters and stories. These places ask questions of me when I’m walking: Are these stories about the family I grew up with, or the one I never knew? Am I making narratives? Self-portraits?

These in-between spaces feel familiar. They inhabit two opposing identities–natural beauty and practicality, industrial spaces and beautiful light, nature and concrete. The odd character of these spaces reminds me that being a little off is okay. Often there is a human presence in an unexpected place, or a portal that calls me to come and explore. Usually, though, the portals only expose more questions. Questions about myself, little hints of who I am–but no answers.

Dare Me

‘Invisibility Syndrome’ isn’t a metaphor—it’s a lived experience. As women age, we are dismissed, overlooked, and essentially invisible. It doesn’t seem to matter how brilliant, beautiful, or accomplished we’ve been—we vanish. No one is exempt. I know—because I’m living it. And I’ve come to realize I’m far from alone.

While this is a deep and often painful truth, I was determined that this project not feel hopeless. I want to illuminate it, to name it, and to push back—loudly. No—no, we do not have to accept this erasure. We will not accept it. Dare Me is a refusal. It’s also a reclamation.

It has taken us a lifetime to arrive at this place—through pain and joy, growth and hard-won wisdom—and we deserve not just to be seen, but, dare I say, celebrated.

To bring this evolution into visual form, I found an unlikely ally: Flo, a beautifully crafted, mature doll from Poland. She became my muse for this project, embodying the vulnerability, acceptance, and defiance of aging with grace and a little humor. This work is for every woman who’s been made to feel small in the very years she’s grown into her full power.

We’ve earned the right to be seen—fully, fiercely. The dare is ours to take.

– – – –

The background for these images is a photograph of aging tulip petals that have fallen from their stems. They remind me that beauty may transform with time, but it does not disappear…

This Too Shall Pass

Imagine my surprise when I discovered emotions are not thoughts but physical sensations-chemical responses released in the brain. For years, I carried stories of joy, injustice, shame, and frustration, believing them to be my emotions. In reality, those stories were simply thoughts I had attached to fleeting feelings.

Science has shown that, with the exception of grief, emotions pass through the body in just ninety seconds-just a minute and a half. Yet, instead of allowing emotions to move through me by simply naming them and letting them go, I held onto them, replaying narratives that kept them alive far longer than necessary.

This realization has profoundly shaped my artistic practice. Through my work, This Too Shall Pass, I  explore the transient nature of emotion and the tension between momentary feeling and prolonged thought. Using images applied to mirrors, I create pieces that serve as meditations on what it means to experience, release, and transform emotional energy. I broke the plate and this feeling is embarrassment. My things were stolen and this feeling is anger. My mother is sick and this feeling is sadness. The mirror reflects the viewer back to themselves, making them an active participant in the work.

An accompanying clock further reinforces this concept, offering an immersive experience of the ninety-second arc in which emotions naturally rise and fall. This added element encourages visitors to confront their own emotional attachments and consider how they engage with their feelings-whether they let them pass or prolong them through thought.

 By embracing this perspective, my work becomes a visual and temporal representation of emotion’s impermanence. It encourages self-reflection, awareness, and perhaps even liberation from the stories we tell ourselves.

The Allure of Darkness

From childhood, we are taught to fear the dark, a primal instinct reinforced by ghost stories and the unknown. However, I have always found myself drawn to its enigmatic embrace. I am captivated by the ‘dark side’ in art, literature, and film. Even now, amidst the often difficult realities reflected in news and media, I remain pulled toward its undeniable power. Darkness is not just a landscape of danger and uncertainty, but a place of silence and contemplation, of romance and intimacy, and of unexpected beauty where the familiar fades and the unexpected blooms. It is where our instinctive fear of the unknown clashes with a deeper curiosity. We are wired to seek clarity and predictability, yet darkness offers something else: a fertile space for imagination and emotional depth.

My work explores the lyrical power of darkness not to obscure it but to transform. The images are reimagined through shadow and absence. Within this darkness, perception slows, allowing for a closer look and a new kind of engagement, one that reveals hidden truths, sparks mystery, and offers the possibility of finding unexpected warmth in its resonant atmosphere. This is an invitation to embrace the allure of darkness, to challenge the ingrained fear and to discover what lies within the velvety rich shadows.

What Lies Ahead

I ceased making photos for many years.  Familial and professional obligations were front and center.  As we say (and so often as a woman) – “life got in the way”.  Off and on for years, reengaging with photography was on my list of things to do.  I could say that I finally had an epiphany, but it was more a simple recognition that I was at a point in life where planning for the future might come with limitations. I could either focus on regrets or check off items on my list.  I decided to act.  I retraced my steps, poring over an archive of images I had made over the years.  Several recurring themes were evident. Light and shadows, often connected to paths and portals that sometimes led to clear destinations and other times were murky in terms of the endpoint.  Hints of both movement and stillness simultaneously.

As part of my “re-entry routine”, I developed a routine of local photowalks.  I found that I am still drawn to exploring passageways, noting the light and patterns that seem to beckon me. Personal circumstances have limited my travel, but not the possibility of capturing gateways and openings, both obvious and obscure, that might lead anywhere.  When we are young, possibilities seem endless. As we age, we may either dwell on the past or focus on the future.

This project focuses on paths and portals that leave us free to choose the endpoint.  In my mind, they lead to a past in which I visit with family and friends who are no longer with me, to a future centered on the growth and blossoming of grandchildren, or even to my own continuing evolution. These photos may not pull us “through the looking glass” into a  fantasy world, but we can still be challenged to decide where these paths will take us.

Graceful Moments

“Graceful Moments” is a collection of photographic images that celebrate the serene elegance of nature, inspired by my transformative trip to Japan. The country’s culture and art, particularly it’s simplicity, deeply influenced my approach to photography. In an isolated portrait-style, I often focus on Japanese objects – baskets, screens, and Japanese paper – capturing their harmony with nature. The use of intentional negative space and an unusual dip in composition, create a sense of stillness, balance, and quiet reflection. An abstract angle changes one’s perspective allowing a glimpse of the intrigue outside the space. This intimately private peek into my personal world creates a wonder of moments in time.

The project images are printed on a luminous vellum that compliments the hand gilded metal substrate creating a unique work of art. Each piece is then cold waxed and hand buffed to bring out the translucent beauty of the gold leaf.

The process of photographing, whether inside or outside, is deeply meditative for me, inviting mindfulness and an appreciation for the delicate importance of nature. It also draws parallels from transient beauty found in nature, much like the fleeting moments captured in Japanese Haiku poetry.

Moments
                Graceful petals fall,                 
With stillness in the day’s air,
Time slips through my hands.

~ Georgia McGuire

My 70th Year

In My 70th year, I feel unmoored as I navigate life in retirement, without the urgency of
family and work that was my reality for so many years. The open space is both unsettling
and exciting.

In the chaos of raising a family and building a career, I found structure and purpose. Life
was busy but also felt full and limitless. Now I have more time than ever each day, but I
have fewer years ahead of me. Life is full of contradictions—I am grateful for all I have yet
eager for more; energetic yet tired; creative yet stuck. Time is expansive and compressed,
moving slowly and quickly at once.

Conversations with my peers confirm that they too are figuring out who they are and how to
make the most of time as they age. We haven’t changed, but less is demanded of us at a
time when we have so much to give.

My 70th Year is an ongoing photographic journal. Using a documentary photography
approach, I make pictures of my daily life to better understand how I am feeling and where I
am going. Still lives reflect parts of me, and long exposures, focus, collage, and images in
series, show the way my life feels embedded in and experienced through the lens of time.