by Rebecca Cornwell | Dec 2, 2012 | Sunday Blues Edit
Temporary Housings.
Rebecca: David is the kind of photographer that lures you in with a beautiful intensity and strangeness. Images like an almost lost memory, dark and familiar but stashed away in a part of your brain you haven’t accessed in a long time. I invite you to stroll through his amazing gallery this sunday. Its worth every minute. Happy sunday.
David: Cicada shells have always fascinated me. As a child I would take these tiny alien space suits and put them on the shoulders of others to see their reaction.
Recently, I’ve been taking photos of different patterns and textures to use in combination with other photos. For this picture I combined an image I took of wallpaper with the cicada photo.
For over 20 years, photography has been my passion and my greatest escape. I, like many others, look forward to seeing the work on the Sundaybluesedit tag and always enjoy Rebecca and Izzy’s features.
To view David’s other fascinating images go to @painterdave on Instagram
by Rebecca Cornwell | Nov 18, 2012 | Showcases, Sunday Blues Edit
Rebecca: Monika @_mulb is an instagrammer I have followed for as long as I can remember in my time on Instagram. Her gallery is full of raw and honest emotion mixed in dark mystery. We’ve connected over lost love, depression and sleeplessness. My friendship with @_mulb is a testimony to how mobilephotography crosses borders, language and space. Spend some time in her gallery. I promise you will not leave empty handed. She is a gift.
Monika: There is this moment and this specific mood, when I know that I have to take a pic. The following process to finish it can take hours or maybe weeks. I know from the first moment, that I will use it, some day.
I’m taking photos since many years, I’ve the diploma of a photo school and I spent days, weeks, months in my dark room. I always wanted to show more than a pic. I needed a story. Mobile art is the perfect way for me to take and edit my pics and to tell stories with them. photography is my most important instrument, but sometimes, when I’ve time, I prefer videos (you can see some on mulb.tumblr.com).
One year ago I went to a cemetery, where I was never before. I didn’t know why, but I had the feeling that I have to go there. I took this pic. 2 months later my dad died and he was buried there. I guess it was a hunch. the headless people and the watering cans are now a part of my life.
You can see Monika’s emotional gallery on Instagram at @_mulb
by Rebecca Cornwell | Nov 11, 2012 | Showcases, Sunday Blues Edit, You Are Juxt
Rebecca: As I have grown my Sunday tag, I’ve see artists grow and change. One I watch every week is @Cheatlecat. Cat is young compared to most of my sunday artists but her self awareness and expression speaks volumes about her. I love waiting to see what she will come up with next. Watch her evolve. Its going to be good!
Happy Sunday
Cat: I found Instagram just by looking through the photography section in the app store. I have always been interested in mobile photography, and was constantly looking for new things to try, and experiment with. Since discovering it, I’ve always loved being on Instagram. I would find people many different ways, and then end up seeing them already connected, already talking, already Instagram buddies. I saw how much of a loving community Instagram had, and have always wanted to be a part of such a community. I am Cat, Catherine or cheatlecat. I’ve been on Instagram since the start of my highschool life. I now, three years later seem to be thinking in Instagram, thinking in the square, thinking of new things I want to do, or try. I like looking back, down my Instagram feed, and seeing how much I have progressed, matured, and grown as an artist and person. My photos used to consist of still life, with high contrast. Where as today I would like to think of them as dreamy, moody, and mysterious. I’ve always seemed to get a large amount of my inspiration and thoughts from a variety of song lyrics, and the weather.
Self portraits have always seem to have pleased me the most. I love seeing how people think of themselves, or choose to represent and portray themselves strikes a chord with me. I seem to enjoy my own self portraits as much as I enjoy others. I enjoy the more natureiness pictures, too. But, I seemed to grow tired of those on their own, which led me to morphing and blending self portraits with nature shots. That’s mainly what I do these days, blending multiple pictures together, hoping they line up in a pleasing manner.
I often don’t enjoy having my picture taken by somebody who isn’t myself, or the occasional close friend or family member. I have refused to get my school picture taken for years. The idea, and situation of sitting still and putting on a smile is too insincere for me to want to take part in it. Knowing that that is what I don’t like, while photographing myself, or other people, I try and do the opposite. It’s a very awkward thing, to have your picture taken.
Please view Cat’s full gallery on Instagram @cheatlecat
by Rebecca Cornwell | Oct 29, 2012 | Showcases, Sunday Blues Edit
Rebecca: Jeremy is an artist I’ve watched for months. He is a dedicated bluesers who’s images always evoke a sensitive moodiness. I look forward to his images every Sunday, in fact every day. Beautifully blue and beautifully thoughtful, Jeremy’s images always delight and always inspire. Have a wonderful week.
Jeremy:Shortly after taking the leap into IG I discovered and became a huge fan of Rebecca and the amazing images she creates. When she introduced the concept of #sundaybluesedit, it spoke to me-not just the color blue but, the strong emotions and amazing work within this tag every week. I am truly honored to be featured by two of my favorite mobile artists, Rebecca and Izzy. Thank you.
I live in a quiet suburb of Chicago with my beautiful wife, who is also my best friend, and our amazing 7 year old son. I have no formal training in photography; my background is in science. However, I have always been an active observer of art in its many forms. Little did I know that my making the switch from Blackberry to the iPhone 4 would unlock a new passion for the incredible world of mobile art and photography. This new-found creative outlet has caused me to become more observant of the little details around me. I now see the world in square images and visualize how a photo might look after editing and experimenting. With each picture, I am learning to produce the image I see in the moment.
The primary source of my inspiration for photography, is my son (as evident by the majority of the pictures in my gallery). His imagination and wonderment of life and the world around him teaches me what is important. Also, I am daily awed and inspired by so many amazing artists, photographers and genuinely wonderful people on IG, each with their own style and feelings behind what they capture and create.
This photograph was taken not far from our front door. It is a little tree I see everyday, standing alone, bare this time of year, providing a place to rest for the smaller birds in the wetlands near our home. While taking a walk, I was lucky enough to capture this little bird sitting alone on a blue Sunday.
Please take some time and look at Jeremy’s beautiful images on Instagram at @jlw40
by Rebecca Cornwell | Oct 24, 2012 | Featured Articles
Not That Kind of Fairytale
As I attempt to explain to my youngest daughter why we are going to Mass today, I struggle to make sense of it myself. We’re not Catholic. We don’t really practice any religion. It’s a Sunday evening in late July. I’m hot, tired, and broken hearted. I’ve recently broken up with my long-time boyfriend and I’ve just celebrated my 44th birthday. I realize I’m not old yet, and although I am loved and relatively happy, it is my first birthday in 14 years without Rita.
For most of my adult life, my life and Rita’s have been intricately intertwined.
Our fairy tale started like this:
15 years ago I showed up at my eldest daughter’s first day of school. Just as a side note, my girls have all been Montessori educated. Montessori starts at birth, but they can start independently in the community at 14-16 months. My daughter was 22 months old on this day, and I don’t think we had ever been separated for more than a few hours at a time. To say I had mixed feelings is an understatement. I’m a huge believer in the Montessori system. I’ve seen it produce the most confident, independent, self reliant, and entrepreneurial sprints. I see it’s natural beauty everyday in my own girls. That first day I was full of first-time-mother emotions. I tell myself this is the best thing for her, but I am completely lost. It’s as if I’ve landed on the moon and don’t speak the language. The teacher helps my daughter from the car and she leaves me. This will be her first giant step away from me. I drive a block down the street, call my mother, and sob. I sob so much I’m choking trying to get words out to my mom. “Things will never be the same,” “she’s never going to need me again,” all kinds of dramatic statements are coming from my mouth, and I believe them, despite not being a dramatic person. It feels like the end of the world. Finally, I take a deep breath and gather myself. I’m to go to the new parent coffee and meet the other new parents. I’ve since learned, that as much as I love and am interested in my children and all the things they do, school functions that require me to mix and mingle are not for me. But on this day I am still naïve, luckily for me.
As the head of school speaks about whatever it is he speaks about on these occasions, I scan the room. I’m so out of my league. It’s full of powerhouse women in Chanel suits and professional stay at home moms with perfect hair and perfect lives. I want to run but I am trapped. Then I see her, a stunning yet warmly approachable redhead. She is dressed casually and wears a jade amulet around her neck. The woman fits in and yet still stands out. Like love at first sight, I know we will be friends. After the coffee, I walk to where I am to pick up my daughter. As she babbles about her morning, I see the redhead walking to her car with a tank of a little Asian girl who barrels down the walkway next to her. I scoop up my daughter and run towards her. “Excuse me,” I say, “but where do you get an Asian baby?” It just comes out and I’m wondering from where. She eyes me like maybe I am crazy. She looks me up and down and then at my tiny daughter with her enormous black eyes that swallow everyone. She smiles a little and says to me, “China, she’s from China”.
In the 14 years that follow we share more than seems possible in a whole lifetime, divorces, boyfriends, girlfriends, heartbreak, happiness, a broken neck, new babies, a wedding, a move out of state and back, paralyzing depression, and unbelievable joy. Then cancer, it is the death sentence I refused to let myself believe. Even as I watched her disappearing body lay in the bed in hospice, I am unable to fathom a life without her in it. When she left me that night last July, a piece of me left with her.
One year later, to mark the anniversary of my friend’s death, I’m standing in a beautiful Catholic church, thankful for the relief of the icy cold air conditioning. I’m trying to think of how to answer my daughter’s question about why we are here. She is 5, and I don’t know why. I guess I know, but I don’t understand. It feels unfair. Maybe fairness has nothing to do with it, but this isn’t the fairy tale I imagined that first day of school. How can I explain to her that sometimes the gifts you get when you need them most aren’t always permanent? Sometimes you move forward alone, whether you want to or not. Just then she runs off down the hallway. I’m holding my phone, as always, ready to take a picture. I have my Hipstamatic app open to this week’s Hipstaroll combo. I see her headed towards a side door and I quietly say, almost to myself, “freeze”, but she stops. I want it to be true. I want to be frozen. I don’t want this moment to end. She’s heard me, and being the artist’s daughter, she doesn’t turn around. She knows she’s the model in this moment. Freeze is a word I say when I want her to stop where she is so I can take a shot, and she knows that. I snap her. For all eternity she is frozen. Quickly I come to my senses. It’s just a moment, and I know I can’t stop time no matter how hard I try.
When I go to edit her image, I look for something to add that will represent my desire to hold onto her, to freeze time, to keep her forever in that moment where she hears me even when I barely speak. I mask an image of a Bougainvilla vine that I see growing everyday along my walking route. It is a beautiful plant with hot pink flowers and sharp thorns that protect it. I think of the vines like a mother’s arms, reaching out to protect her, reel her in, keep her safe. As the edit develops and I add another masked vine in to the image, it takes a sinister turn. The vines no longer seem protective but rather threatening and scary. They are creeping towards her; she is innocent of their danger. She is frozen and waiting. It’s then that I realize it’s not the kind of fairy tale I imagined.
