I just got back from an extended trip to the East Coast. It's always a pleasure to take in the gentle quality of Atlantic light after extended stretches in the blasted skies of Southern California. The trip coincided with a momentous week in history--both past and present.
Our trip started with the Supreme Court's decision to grant marriage equality across the United States, and was bookended by Independence Day celebrations in NYC and Provincetown, MA. Incredibly different celebrations, of course. Both equally fun and filled with much-needed connection to family and friends. And yet that word still echoes in my brain:
What it means. How it feels. What it costs.
It always seems to follow a declaration. And than a struggle. Or even a war. I see this in the twists and turns that finally resulted in the SCOTUS ruling, as well as the history that defines our own United States.
And I see it in myself.
I've been struggling with the word, the concept of, independence. As an artist, I'm always looking for it. Fighting for it. Declaring it silently when I point my camera one place, and not the other. The struggle how to maintain my artistic vision in the dependent laden world of material concerns like bills, rent, tuition.
I don't have a personal SCOTUS ruling. Or a formally signed declaration. I do have my dream. My hard fought practice. And my desire to do the work that fuels it. I guess it took years for the 13 colonies to break it off from mother England. And god knows the struggle for equality still isn't over.
I take comfort in that, actually. It's not a destination. It's a process.
And it costs.