beauty + weight

sea urchin - r.kennedy

i have been living in the company of stories – not mine, but becoming a part of me. my days have been ordered by cups of tea + remembering + listening + toast with marmalade + work in the garden. the kitchen here has a stove and a full pantry and the baker in me has been unleashing. today i ate triangle egg salad sandwiches and strawberries plump from the garden, in the company of two women who have been friends for near on 60 years. we wandered through rose gardens, among towering trees that my host once planted herself by hand. every day feels full of both the future and the past. somewhere in there i have had my breath stolen by art and my heart swollen by trust. i was caught in a downpour, buried a bird, wove my first basket, and found an unearthly purple sea urchin washed up on the beach. 

all i can say is bless the day, the beauty and the weight of it.

norman + the guinea pigs

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sometimes our stories come back to find us.

 

The Museum of Perpetual Memory

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The Museum of Perpetual Memory

art + collections + installation

 

August 3 – 30th, 2015

Pastry Peddler Cafe – Millbrook, ON

 

a girl and a ‘roo.

today i hung out on the beach with a kangaroo.

a big one. a grey one. probably the biggest, greyest ‘roo i’ve ever seen.
it was a big beach. a wild beach. a pretty much empty beach.
except for me, and the ‘roo…
(and D., but he was having a nap in the shade ).

Mr. Roo was having a picnic on the grasses that lined the edge of the sand by the big rocky cliffs.
I was rambling the shoreline and scavenging for washed up treasures.
i’m pretty sure we were both in our bliss.

we hung out together for a good while. he eating. me scavenging.
sometimes i sat down in the sand and just watched him. laughed at my good fortune. a ‘roo and me taking in the last hours of light on a beach off the Tasman Sea!

i smiled at him a lot. gave a few waves for good measure. sometimes he looked up and just watched me. i watched him back.

i thought about taking a picture. even had my camera in hand. but then i turned it off. put it away. what would a picture prove?
this was happening. in real time. in my time.
the picture would only disappoint.
you’ll either believe the story i’m telling you or you won’t.

a girl and a kangaroo on the shores of the sea.
both aware of the other, both content with their company.

i walked away with a pocket full of shells and a grin even the Aussie sun can’t melt.

bless the day.
i think i might burst.

Madeleine L’Engle

“Stories make us more alive, more human, more courageous, more loving.”
Madeleine L’Engle

image credit: ken lewis

image credit: ken lewis

I wish my blood was made of words, traveling through vein-like phrases….

ways to make the cold nights warmer

Idea No 1.

remember a moment when the whole world felt alive

...

...

Idea No. 2.

listen to some music that helps settle you in your bones. when that song finishes,  listen to some more.

Idea No. 3.

find a story to take you somewhere.

“I was once telling stories to a group of seven-year-olds, and when the program was almost over one little boy hollered exultantly, “Never finish!” Perhaps this is the whispered, peek-a-boo truth of stories: life ends and stories, too; but stories end in their own good time and with as much “working around” as the teller can fashion, and even in the silence afterwards they are able to keep speaking to us. Stories let us hear the footsteps of our own transformation coming towards us on the pathway of everyday life. We learn from our stories how to dream, tell and remember beyond our own ending, and this may be as close as we can get to never finishing.”

– Dan Yashinsky, from Suddenly They Heard Footsteps

……

Tea for Two

Tea for Two: a list of losses

Tea for Two: a list of losses

an experiment in interpretation, creative discipline, and stepping out of comfort zones…

what began as paper cups, became a bittersweet remembering of a woman i loved and her scrap paper list and the sadness that comes when our bodies no longer gift us to do the things we’ve always taken for granted.

tea for two, served with gratitude.

: after wax bath :

: after wax bath :

……

the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs.

a sunday list of small things:

1.

so small and so perfect and so out of place.

so small and so perfect and so out of place.

2.

sometimes music shines when you play it in a small room, stripped down.

3.

small sanctuaries, stitched up with stories.

small sanctuaries, stitched up with stories.

4.

brave heart, small girl, waiting for a big train on a tall bridge.

brave heart, small girl, waiting for a big train on a tall bridge.

overheard.

sitting in my attic near an open window, the conversation of two strangers who passed each other in front of my house, that just wafted up from the sidewalk below:

woman stranger: i’m just standing here looking at the crocuses. they’re beautiful aren’t they?

man stranger walking by: they sure are. too bad it’s so cold out.

woman stranger: oh, the flowers don’t mind it. she always has the most beautiful gardens here, don’t you think?

man stranger as he walks away: she sure does.

woman stranger: i just love it.

(this gardener girl, up in her attic listening through the window, smiling.)

you make strangers stop and stare.

you make strangers stop and stare.

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Words + Photos + Credit

Unless otherwise noted, all original photography and text are property of Raechelle Kennedy. If you see or read something here and feel inspired to share it somehow, please be considerate and give the artist (me!) credit, or even better, drop me a note and make sure I don’t mind.
Thank you!

Here + There

Secondhand Sainthood and the gift of losing it all – Topology Magazine, December 2015

Ten Things Made – Topology Magazine, December 2015

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