while waiting for my jeans to dry

You ever get that feeling like someone is throwing a bucket of water on you and the cold water just keeps coming at you, splashing in your face, stinging your eyes, making you wonder, “how is this funny?” I know, it’s an odd thought but my old soul feels this way. It is almost as if someone is pushing me in a direction and I cannot stop. I’ve started, picked up speed, and cannot slow down. “If you move too fast, you’ll miss out on life that is around you,” my father’s words. They reverberate in my mind at times such as these when my thoughts move so fast that I sometimes cannot decode them. Time is fleeting me so quickly. Three months seemed but only three weeks, and three weeks but two seconds. I have a count down going for when life throws me back into the whirlpool of hectic schedules, projects, paperwork, and all that other stuff that I don’t really care too much about. This year feels different though. I feel like this year is going to be special and I’m not too sure why. I’ve been getting that feeling for a few months now. It feels like the things that used to be so difficult are now so insignificant, so easy. There is less opposition, less stress, and a clearer outlook. Time is about to fly by. I’m here waiting, sitting on my dryer waiting for my clothes to dry. Looking out at life, out at all the things before me, I can’t help but feel that there’s something so much more. There’s something greater that I’m apart of that makes me want to sing, laugh, and jump with joy. I just wish you too could see what I see and smile with the same awe and admiration.

Here’s to a better year and a better life!

Love,
Ari

The Cinnamon Challenge

Cinnamon Challenge from ariana reyes on Vimeo.

CHECK IT OUT!

Love,
Ari

Photography Is Not Quaint

It troubles me to listen to others say that photography is a dying trend. I shudder to imagine a world without pictures, without stories behind timeless moments. Removing traditional photography from society is like extracting Shakespeare from literary history. Whenever I hear people suggest that we “ride the wave of the future,” and forsake traditional photography, I feel that, by the mere utterance of each syllable, the photo world is cheapened and tainted by those who just don’t understand it. I’ve been following the works of several photojournalists lately partially for a documentary that I had to put together for a class but mainly out of shear admiration. When I was a little girl, I met this guy who traveled the world with a camera, a pen, and a mission. He was a missionary, leading spiritual crusades, and a part time journalist with press accessibility into countries at war. He made my eyes twinkle with fascination with his venturesome stories of escape, his sorrowful books of martyrdom, and his captivating photographs. I remember writing in my journal that “one day I will do the same work as him, I will reach the people and live to photograph and film it all.” After a few years of “life,” I placed the dream in my pocket and pulled it out on days when no one around me was looking. I secretly nurtured my insatiable interest in the art that most labeled as a “family gift.” After years of being just the assistant, I hid my works in the shadow of my father’s reflectors, light meters, and camera lenses. I brushed off the idea of photojournalism and carried my camera in my pocket next to all the other dreams and fantasies. It’s funny how when you are called to do something in life, God will always make a way for you to stumble upon that old love, shake the dust off the dormant dream, and rekindle a desire in your heart. This time last year, I was depressed and on my way to Oklahoma doing a double major in ministry and film. It was right before the fall semester that my dismay kept me treading in circles, causing me to abruptly call things off only to stumble into great things here at home. Now, things in life seem a whole lot clearer, and with each passing day, the plans lay themselves out for me. I simply don’t plan anymore because everything just perfectly falls into place. All this assurance has me excited but sad because the art that I love so much is almost like endangered species on the brink of extinction. It’s great to adapt to the innovations in technology that can strengthen the craft, but I was always taught not to despise the basics, the fundamentals. A graphic designer friend of mine made a remark that photography is becoming a quaint art that anyone can achieve and that can always be rectified via photoshop. He obviously does not understand it at all, which is why he’s not the photographer but a graphic designer. Still, it’s disturbing to think that a fellow artist can easily believe this way about a strong art that has painted the walls of history and galleries for decades. Although it might save you money, straying from darkroom processing is one of the grand scale mistakes that the art society could ever make.
I was also let down the other day when reading PostSecret and found a photographer admitting that he knew nothing about iso’s and f stops. I was flabbergasted and wondered how the guy actually makes it as a photographer, which was an unfortunate reminder at how “old school photography” is slowly dying in the hearts of the young. Who knows, maybe it’ll all change. I for one don’t think that photography is quaint whatsoever, and you can take that to the bank, mr. graphic designer!

What’s That Wicked Smell?!

Last week, I grabbed my lunch, grabbed my lavender water canteen, and headed out the door for an early class and work. As fast as the taps on my heels could withstand, I hastened my pace towards my car. In all my rush, I was halted by an astounding picture. It was then that I had encountered “it.” It was just laying there stiff, serene, like a sleeping child. I was mortified yet drawn to it. Regretfully, nothing could be done to aid it, and I left for work in an awkward state, wondering what had happened. It threw a wrench in my system. It was a dead kitty. What was I to do with it? Which neighbor owned this pet? After much thought, and elaborate conconctions, I settled with the idea that it had to have died from heat stroke, worms, or west nile. It couldn’t have keeled over from natural causes because the kitty looked too young.

Driving home from a weary day, I had set the morning encounter aside. After shifting into park, I got out the car and was “re-acquainted” with the kitty again. Distraught, I had my Dad bag the poor dear. Unfortunately, he forgot to tie the bag, which opened the door for the neighbor’s brutish dog to drag the carcass out the bag, munch on the stomach, and taint my entry walkway with blood. I found the kitty awaiting me on the porch the next morning. It was starting to become a horrid nightmare. (I had dreamt about the cat the night before). After properly disposing the cat, I felt relieved that my feline troubles were over. Unfortunately not. Trash pick-up wasn’t for another three days and a swarm of flies were hovering over my garbage can, greeting me with their buzzing every morning.  I’ve experienced odors so bad that you can taste it, much like this one aggressively rude student who visits us often. This odor was rank and sour. I don’t remember what a decomposing body smells like, but I’m imagining that this is close to it. Needless to say, the kitty is gone but its smell remains. It’s a lurking scent that has me questioning whether the neighbors made curry again. Still, it disgusts me and makes me lose my appetite. The smell has tainted me, and I feel as if a piece of my innocence has been stolen (not seriously I’m just overly dramatic).

On a brighter note, the summer semester is over, which means a much needed holiday for me! Hope the day goes well.

Love,

Ari

P.S. I found out last week that I owe the Library nine dollars from late fees from 2003. Wow, I guess they never do forget.

A Finished Short Film

I’ve been putting together a film on the genocide in Darfur, Sudan for the past two weeks. I stayed up late last night to add some finishing touches. This morning was my group’s thirty minute presentation, which was a great success. Making this film has opened my eyes to many things. I’ve always been an activist, but instead of fighting things alone, I have the support of my community. I love fighting for causes even if it calls for a non-violent protest. I love a good protest

ari’s darfur project from ariana reyes on Vimeo.

I heard of an Independence Day protest that will place this Friday concerning our broken government. I’m intrigued by the idea and might even support the cause if it wasn’t for my matchless bliss over the possibility of a vacation. I love peaceful demonstrations but value much needed vacations more so. I thought about driving to Odessa, TX for an exhibition featuring the works of “The Art Guys,” a local artist duo that I’ve come to enjoy. I’m equally enticed by a road trip to Austin but am just reminded that my younger brother’s birthday is this Sunday. No worries, I suppose I can hold off until then. Here’s to a wonderful day!

Love,

Ari