The disappearing act

I've always seen myself as an empty person, lacking color and identity. maybe that was my role in the group. to be empty...an empty vessel. a colorless background. with no special defects, nothing outstanding. maybe that sort of person was necessary to the group

— Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki

Lately I feel like disappearing. Not rid myself of the Earth, per se. More like blend into mundanity, embrace obscurity.

I suppose there’s irony in that. After all, aren’t I an artist who longs to share her work and feel seen?

I’m a vessel. Does that mean creation comes from me or does it simply move through me? Am I giving parts of myself away or merely emptying myself, waiting to be filled again?

For one I’ve given up the label “photographer” and whatever that may mean. The camera is one of many mediums I choose to document my life and express myself.

I’m just a person who happens to to like making things. A normal person—not an influencer, or a “main character”—pulled to show herself and be perceived. Pulled or forced? That’s the nature of the industry these days.

Instead I long to go back where I’m unknown and untethered. Where I feel joy simply by existing: working a day job, sewing by hand, walking the dogs, movie nights, and cat cuddles.