“The Story Behind the Picture” will return in a few weeks’ time because the next several Fridays are devoted to addressing some functional questions people have been asking: the “who, what, where, how” of hanging artwork at home.

A few basic rules:

1) When framing artwork, be sure to consider the art itself: a modern black-and-white print of a cityscape probably won’t look great in a rustic, pale wood frame.

2) Keep the color of your frames consistent when hanging a large, asymmetrical grouping of various sizes (as above), but varying the style of the frames will keep it interesting and looking less “matchy” and mass-produced. If you’re hanging just a few prints together (two or three, all the same dimensions), then matching frames are the best way to go.

Many people have asked where family photographs belong: on the wall? The bookshelves? Hidden in the deepest recess of their closets? Personal photographs should be in the personal rooms of your home, which means not places such as the foyer/entryway or the dining room. Think about what you like to see when you enter other people’s homes: do you enjoy encountering the entire chronological progression of every child, including their awkward middle-school portraits, on every available wall? Then don’t do it in your home. Choose one wall (the upstairs hallway, the family room, your bedroom) and hang them together in a grouping. Black and white is the most consistent and pleasing way to unify a large number of disparate images (and to hide any unfortunate color choices in clothing that you might have made over the years…)

More to come next week!

Wish (blue version)

Wish (pink version)

Creating artwork, for me, is a bit like baking without a recipe. Sometimes I end up with something that is not quite right (did I forget the salt? Too much flour?) and sometimes I stumble across something I love and want to share with everyone. So, if you all wanted know my secret recipe for “Wish,” please read below:

“Wish”

~ Begin with one photograph of dandelion taken on a beautiful spring morning at the Morris Arboretum.

~ Rummage through photo library to find the photograph of falling snow taken during one of the winter storms. Layer snow on top of dandelion and think about it for a while.

~ Decide you are missing something. Return to photo library and locate image of blank wall shot using a scratched and salty antique lens (fitted to your digital camera with electrical tape, a la MacGyver circa 1985). Layer on top of dandelion and snow.

~ Have client request this image with pinks and grays, rather than blues. Go back to original image and gently shift color balance in certain areas. End up with lavender, not pink.

~ Return to photo library and discover old image of pink wall shot digitally through the viewfinder of a Kodak Duaflex (connected to your current camera with a lightblocking box a la MacGyver circa 1988). Layer over the whole thing and blend until the lavender turns to the perfect shade of pink and gray.

~ Click “save.”

The best part about creating a collage? There’s no one perfect way to translate the image in my mind to the final artwork, and while it might take me twenty minutes or twenty hours, at least I know it will be better than anything I’ve ever baked in my oven.

While I have shared the story behind the entire “Alphabet Soup” series in the past, I never wrote specifically about “B is for Baseball.” A family outing to the Phillies game last night reminded me about this print and all the reasons why little boys (and girls!) love this game. Maybe it’s the summer night air that turns blissfully cooler as the sun sinks below the horizon, or the fact that hot dogs and water ice are handed out freely by moms and dads who, for one night, are not making their children eat vegetables and drink their milk. Maybe it’s cheering for their favorite player as loudly as they want, without their dads, uncles, and moms telling them to quiet down. Maybe it’s the hope of catching a pop fly, or having Jimmy Rollins toss an extra ball to them on his way back to the dugout, as he did last night for a little girl seated just a few rows ahead of us.

This morning, there will be many reenactments of last night’s major league games in backyards and playgrounds across the country. Teams will be chosen, announcements will be made. There will be carefully crafted pitches, powerful swings, and the joy of running through the grass to catch hold of that well-loved, well-worn baseball.

I started experimenting with collages that include photographs of paper cut-outs…working on them reminds me of making paper dolls when I was younger, carefully creating the shapes with scissors after I sketch them on paper. It also reminds me why I am not an artist that works with pens or pencils – stars are about the only thing I can draw that aren’t laughably bad.

Some people might read this as being a mournful image, but for me, “solace” isn’t simply an alleviation of one’s sorrow. “Solace” also means “to bring cheer.” We are each responsible for our own happiness – others simply cannot provide what we first must give to ourselves. There is something lovely about considering the night sky and feeling as though all that has been set in motion is meant to be, that we are gently guided by forces outside our own control.

(This print is part of the “Little Poems” 2011 calendar available here).

Sometimes, you have to break the rules.

There are quite a few rules when it comes to traditional photography (or any visual art, for that matter): don’t center your subject, don’t shoot into the sunlight, don’t crop off large portions of your image, don’t get so close that the viewer can’t tell what she or he is seeing. I could go on, but I won’t.

I broke all the rules here: every one of these photographs violates some standard of traditionally well composed work. For me, however, it’s okay…I’d rather create an interesting image than adhere to the guidelines at all times. Shooting the vintage cameras against the sun, cropping the flowers, and getting up close to the nose of a dog all gave me the chance to simply create…boundaries and rules are okay, but you need to feel free to break them.

So, this weekend, I’d like for everyone to write a poem without capitalizing any of the words, throw paint at a canvas instead of using a brush, and use the sidewalk chalk on something that is not actually a sidewalk. You’ll be glad you did.

I’m certain that some of us (if not most) have been owned by a dog. Even the dogs that actually have jobs – the ones that work in K-9 units, as therapy dogs, as sheep herders – still go home every night and boss around their humans. We are told when they desire their food, when they want to be walked, when they want to play (even if it’s 2 a.m.), and we’re grumbled at if we attempt to move them from the spot on which they’ve chosen to nap (even if they are blocking the front door and no one can exit until they finally decide to lumber out of the way).

We’re told which food is acceptable to offer. Which toys are preferred. Which direction they plan to go on walks. Which squirrel needs to be chased, even if it means dragging their “owner” across the street without warning.

Small dogs are, perhaps, the worst. My childhood dog (all ten pounds of her) would shove and rearrange items on the kitchen floor (rugs, dog bowls, any shoes that might not have been put away) until we filled her bowl to the exact specifications she required. For 15 years she demanded her food bowl always have a 1-inch layer of kibble at all times, whether or not she was actually hungry.

The next time a midnight thunder storm passes through your neighborhood and you find yourself awakened by the wet nose, hot panting breath, and sonic-level whining of your terrified dog who has managed to surreptitiously finagle all 85 pounds of herself onto the edge of your bed and you spend the next thirty minutes trying to calm her down so she will leave you alone and you can finally get some sleep, ask yourself just who is the “master” in this relationship…I think we already know the answer to that question.

Click here to pre-order your 2011 calendar featuring twelve art prints, including “Master.”

“Date/Marry” “Good or Bad?”

“Run Like a Girl”                                                    “Laces”

In addition to the Cupcake Conversation calendar, I’ve been working on another calender collection for 2011 that builds on my favorite creations of scrabble tiles and shoes. You’ll already recognize two of the pieces above (and can read the stories here and here), but I wanted to give everyone a little sneak peek at a few more new images I haven’t yet shared.

I don’t know when the quote for “Laces” popped into my head, but as soon as it did, I knew I had to use it. Shoe laces are a perfect metaphor for love…they offer security, can be re-tied any number of ways, and can be annoying if tied too tight. We all need a little space to move, yet enough support to feel secure.

“Date/Marry” is one of the photographs in which I decided to actually label the shoes, rather than having a conversation (well, I suppose it is a conversation of sorts, as it’s me suggesting that there are two kinds of men out there – the kind to date, and the kind to marry – and they can be identified by their choice of foot ware). If you don’t believe me, start paying attention the next time you’re out: the shoes definitely say it all.

There’s plenty more to come and I’ll be sharing them soon!

It was worth rising before the sun to watch the first rays slowly creeping over the tree tops. I’ve grown up on the rivers and bays of Virginia, and no matter where else in the world I’ve watched a sunrise, there is something unique about the way the mist floats above the smooth surface of the water, signaling the intense southern humidity that is certain to follow in the coming hours. A few fishing boats float quietly in the shadows of the riverbank, but otherwise the only movements come from the occasional heron skimming across the surface and from the dock, as it shifts under the weight of my feet.

The name of this river, “Occoquan,” comes from the Dogue Indian word meaning “at the end of the water.” Just out of range of my lens, my dog whines softly, hoping I’ll unclip her leash and allow her to dive into the water and hunt whatever lies just beneath the surface. I hold onto her until the inevitable morning water traffic fully comes to life and her splashing no longer seems an offense against the still-sleeping river gods. Together we watch the river change from misty green to rose pink as the sun finally raises her sleepy head and awakens the world at the end of the water.

~~ mkc photography is on vacation this week – please enjoy the story below, originally posted last summer ~~

This photograph was inspired by the Polaroid images of my childhood: the images that seemed to take ages to develop, no matter how much I waved them impatiently in the air. I loved the anticipation, the suspense, and finally, the satisfaction of seeing the picture coming fully to life.

There was something about the quality of the film that made it seem instantly aged, a faded warmth that 35mm film could never replicate, so I tried to recapture the same sense of history with “Sea, Sand, and Sky” by shooting in digital format through a vintage lens.

This is the beach on which I played, flew kites, and built sand castles as a child. I took this photograph as my own children chased seagulls and searched for hermit crabs in the early morning sunshine. I hope they have the same lovely memories when they have children of their own: memories of sea, sand, and sky on a warm summer day.

I thought it appropriate to share the “July” photograph from the upcoming Cupcake Conversation calender today as we’re all on our way to celebrate the holiday and, undoubtedly, witness some classically American behaviors. These behaviors include wearing garish amounts of red-white-and-blue clothing, drinking massive amounts of alcohol in the unbridled July heat, and wearing odd hats of patriotic persuasion. Or maybe that’s just my family. Anyway, my favorite thing to do on the 4th of July is to observe all the craziness and make snide comments. Just like my cupcakes.