ThereYouAre

We celebrated our dear friend, and fellow hostess on the Chateau Getaway, Cathy's birthday today in France. I made her three pieces:  The triptych of life. They were so fun to make, I want to do more when I get back.  Maybe start doing one of a kind pieces again and putting them out into the world.  I'd like to create and follow through on some real tactile goals this coming year.  Making small pieces of art work for others seems as good a goal as any. 

ThereYouAre, a photo by mollshot on Flickr.

LifesShort, a photo by mollshot on Flickr.

allAboard, a photo by mollshot on Flickr.

Boom, is right

We're all getting very excited to head off to the South of France to start the French General Chateau Getaway...leaving tomorrow morning and landing in Toulouse on Saturday.  I'm anxious to see my parents who've been traveling around France for the last two weeks, to hear about all the fabulous places in the Mediterranean they've visited.  I know they'll have a million stories of people they've met, addresses they've exchanged.  And we all land in a house together for the first week to catch up, drink, eat and get a whole lotta merry...  Boom (o boum) is right! (top five favorite songs of all time)

Dads, Pops, Fathers

Fathers Day is coming up...and we have some fabulous new cards in our shop that I'm so excited about.  It's so cool to have this online card shop now:  So nice to be able to finally say,
'oh, whats that? you want to know where can you get my cards? well, online, of course!'
instead of, 
'um, well, if you live in (name town I don't have an account in) I'm not sure...um...'  Soooo, there's that!

I really love our mothers day cards, too, and though that 'holiday' has passed, you can still get all our mom's cards in the shop, as well.  The great thing is, the cards are just right for sending to your mom any day of the year.  I've always been a fan of just celebrating the mom, herself, rather than yelling out 'happy mothers day'... I like sending my mom a card any ole day, just cuz she's my mom (or madre, or mutter, or maja), hence the official cry of that national holiday hasn't hit up my cards yet.

But, back to fathers day, which is what we were talking about in the first place... 

I decided to make a little photo studio to work with...

Compared to other photo shoots I've worked on over the years, this one was surprisingly easy going!  The models were a charm to work with.  And we all really believed in the cause, as well.

Don't forget to send YOUR dad a fathers day card this year!  Tell him stuff you don't tell him all year long, you know, the good stuff, the juicy stuff, the how much you love him and how he's influenced your life in all the right ways stuff.  Dads like that kind of stuff!

Bon Voyage!

One week from today, I'll be on a plane heading to meet my mom, my sister, and mogull for our annual French General Chateau Getaway.  I know it doesn't sound like it, but it's actually a job.  Sure, there's amazing juiciness to be found in every day we're there.  Really, how can it be otherwise? We're in the South of France, glimpsing a life so far removed from the ones most of live every day... well, there's going to be magic found at almost every turn if your eyes are open.

And while much of it is returning to places we've been before, or visiting artists we've visited before, for the 60 or so women that are coming along with us this year, it's all brand new.  That's where some of the real fun comes in... It's such a treat to see, some women who've never left the U.S. before, some who've only been to the city of Paris, some who've only heard about the life in France, all coming together and experiencing a live farmers market, or a tiny apartment of a weaver who's entire half of her house is taken up by a 15 foot loom, or eating lunch atop a medieval village while gazing over lavender fields.

And then there are the moments that we laugh til we're crying, or we discover we had a talent for something we didn't know was possible (we do a lot of fabulous craft classes out in the studio at the chateau), or I'm strolling the streets with my mom when she finds the perfect *thing* she loves and must have (most likely vintage linens of some kind, it's an addiction) and we squeal with happiness and make our way back through the little village we've lost ourselves in.

We meet so many incredible women from all over the world who join us for one solid week of a life-changing event.  Every year I have to pinch myself that this is my "summer job".  It's a ton of work, but the rewards are many.

I don't know many people who get to travel to Europe and even work with their family, especially their mom, but this summer we actually have two guest artists that get to do just that:  Debbie & Shea Fragoso of A Guilded Life and Wendy & Monica Addison, from Theatre of Dreams.  Mother and daughter teams, creatives, and super fun women.  We also have the artist Charlotte Lyons coming for one of the weeks, as well.  All these women, besides being incredibly talented and very funny, share very similar obsessions with me: vintage ephemera, fabric, and the juicy dig!

Forever is Way Too Long

Today
is the
perfect day

The sky
just so
clouds moving
fast

Drops of water
on leaves
of Russian sage

Dog sitting
her chin
on crossed paws

Light streams
through branches
of locust tree

I sit
just so
at the
small table

...

Everything is
perfect
just like this
you would have said


(Requiem  by Abigail Gramig)


I've wanted to write about Suzanne almost every day that I've woken up since Deceber 14th.  I can't even bring myself to use a euphemism. I can't quiet my head and allow myself to face the truth. And then I tell myself, no one actually knows the truth. No one knows what happens once you're gone from this dimension. She could still be here in someway.   Right?!

And so I've avoided writing about Suzanne, because this all sounds incredibly personal and painful and really should I be sharing this here?; well, I finally realized I can barely show up here without doing it.  I want to talk about Suzanne, I want her name said once a day, I want to think of her and be able to bring her up, something she said or did or a memory of something that happened, I just want her remembered, talked about.  But more than anything, I want to talk with her. 

It's the foreverness of it all that makes my heart constrict. That makes me never want things to be totally quiet anymore. There's a movie going. Or there's music. Or both. And yet I crave it, I think about it, I wish I could quiet things down... but that's too quiet, there's too much room there to have reality set in.

I had planned on growing old with Suzanne. I could see it with clear vision. It involved family, laughter, wrinkles, grey or still dyed hair (we were forever dying our hair) and a park bench, or a porch, somewhere in Brooklyn, because we had finally accepted what we'd all resisted for years, and RK and I eventually retired there. We're telling stories to make the other one gasp! One of us is smoking, most likely. We get a phone call from my sister, K., saying she's coming to visit...

The forever part feels crazymaking.

In December, when I went to NYC for the memorial I was delirious. The service felt surreal.  I was numb.

In February, when I went back with intent, to celebrate Suzanne's life and friendship: this time, I thought, I'll punch the city in the face, then I'll kiss it straight on the mouth, then I'll scream at it and ask how it could wrong me this way.  And then I'd forgive it.  I had to.

RK, my sister and I, as well as other good friends, traveled to the very city where we all lived some of our greatest years together with Suzanne.  We would be gathering with so many more friends over the next week and reliving memories.  I really didn't know what would happen.  I'd hoped I'd keep it together, but I was also hoping to fall apart, fall down in the streets and, fall in love again.   This was our city.

I was received, I was welcomed, I was challenged and I was rewarded.
But I missed Suzanne.

After a full night of revelry, all in the name of our friend, the next day my sister and I headed out to Suzanne's home in Brooklyn.  We turned onto her block and it started to snow.  That instant.
The flakes lightly floated onto our jackets and touched our faces and the moment we arrived at her door, I turned to face my sister and
it stopped.
As instantly as it began.

It was an amazing week, incredibly high in a non-stop movement of friends and city and talk of Suzanne.  Every glass that was raised, every toast that was made, was made in her name.  These people, these NY friends of ours, they made this happen.  I walked by the buildings we lived in and the restaurants we ate at and did the cappuccino at our local joint ino, where we always saw someone we knew.  This time it was Patti Smith.
Ha!
Suzanne would've loved that.

Monday Might Make You Move

(via) i know i cry at the drop of a hat, and the strangest things move me to tears. this is one of those things. worth hitting full screen viewing, and turning it up.

Everyone Should Take Letter Writing This Seriously

If you just can't seem to get it together to send a note to someone, 

maybe you need Melvin The Machine. 

(via)

A Most Sentimental Posting

I posted this ad on craigslist today, we'll see what happens...

A most sentimental piano must go.  This piano made it's way to SF all the way from the big apple, NYC.  It's first owner was a musician that lived upstairs from me in our old apartment building on Carmine Street.  He loved it but couldn't take it with him when he moved.  So, he sold it to his subletters for $25:  A super sweet couple with a little boy, who loved trilling those keys, eventually moved out from our old building and they knew they had to pass on the piano.  A good friend, who lived across the hall from me, and two flights down from this couple, took the piano for $25 and the job of moving it downstairs.  He was a musician and loved this piano, often rousing the building with a good tune that floated thru the stairwell.  Eventually, this neighbor and friend, filled up his little studio with a number of other life necessities and had to let the piano go.  My sister jumped at the chance to get a piano for her little girl she was sure would play it night and day.  So, my good friend and neighbor moved it onto the landing between our two apartments, to wait for the pick up.  And there it sat.  For months and months.  Not unused, no, no... the multiple talented fingers that played those keys, oh my!  Anyone that came thru the building in those days, anyone with an ounce of ability, sat down at that piano bench and played a tune.  The old boyfriend, long gone now, of an upstairs neighbor, used to spend hours out there on the landing, playing big, beautiful songs.  One holiday season, my sister was very sick, and my family came to visit, we had a big dinner in my pre-war apartment kitchen, we left my front door open and he played and played, entertaining everyone who came by.  Eventually, Joe, the super of our building, came to us and said the piano had to move.  My sister didn't think she'd get around to moving the piano, so I took it in.  My neighbor and good friend helped me move it into my apartment, I found the perfect little wall for it to lean up against and it started it's next phase of life.  I fell in love with a boy who loved to play.  I would spend dreamy afternoons watching him make up songs, knowing just a tiny bit of that tune would leak under our front door, to anyone who happened past.  He tried to teach me chopsticks.  I showed off, playing the only two songs I know.  And he kept playing and playing because he knew I loved it so.
When it came time to leave NYC and move to SF, we debated moving the heaviest thing we owned... and found we didn't want to part with it.  So, the movers came, wrapped it in a blanket, and carried it out of the only building it had known for over 15 years.  It found a new life here in SF.  New players came thru to tickle the ivories and it's been a good instrument all along.
But, it's time.  We've got to move on and so does this faithful piano. 
A perfect piece for someone that loves to play, or wants their little one to learn. 
So much history, so much love has gone into this little upright, now it belongs to you....

We wanted to ask $25 to keep up the passing of the guard, but are happy to let it go for free.  The catch is that you must figure out how to move it out.  We're up two flights of stairs and it's a heavy beast.  Do-able, but heavy.  Because it's a stand up, all the weight is in the back end.  It's definitely seen a lot of days of wear and tear, so it's a piece to be loved and cared for.  Keys are most likely out of tune, though it has been tuned since we moved here, that was a few years ago.

ACROSONIC
24.5" deep
56 3/16" wide
with original bench

MOMS day should be every day

Not only did I end up with probably the best mom in the world, but the luck continued when I got a mother-by-marriage that's really incredible to me, as well.

It started with Kick.
Kick is my mom, that's her nickname.  But it's what everyone who meets her today, calls her.  I started to think about all the incredible things I know and love about Kick and how lucky I am to have her as a mom.  And it made me wish I knew her mom better, because she loved her Bernice as much as I love my Kick.
It put me in mind of something my friend, Nancy, wrote about:  I, too, would list my mom as the number one teacher I am thankful for.  She's my best friend and makes me laugh as hard as anyone does.  We can talk til we're blue in the face and barely staying awake, we can hound a topic til it grows whiskers.   She paints and plays tennis and throws dinner parties and holds weekly mahjong sessions and she's the only one that reminds me that though she's a certain older age that remains to be unspoken, she still feels about 17.  Thank goodness she warned me, 'cuz now I know what she means.
And only my mom could give me the best gift I've ever gotten and it didn't cost a thing:  One night across the dinner table, in a room filled with people,  she said, "I feel like Molly is like my sister."  I'll never forget the way my heart soared and our eyes filled to the brim.

I don't know why I got so lucky in the parental department, but I'm awfully glad I did.

Happy Mothers Day, Moms.

And The Winner Is.....

Thanks to those who entered the drawing, let's do it again sometime soon!
Tyn, get your pen ready to write!
And, in the meantime, email me your address so I can get some 8mm ideas to you! YEA!

Of course, I didn't personally know Adam "MCA" Yauch, but when we heard of his death today, I remembered a time from years ago when my niece was very young and playing in the playground with my sister and they bumped into Adam and his young daughter. She came home and told me how incredibly nice this Beastie Boy was and suddenly we had a whole new respect for the boys. Since then, the Beastie Boys have become a huge part of my musical life, as I married a man who can recite most every song, with perfect timing. He doesn't even have to have an album on to reference line after line. These boys had a talent that really hasn't yet been met. It seems fitting someone would have combined that with the genius of Sesame Street.

Paper Lover seeks Paper Geeks To Celebrate

I'm a paper lover, with my moon in paper nerd and my rising sign in paper addict.  It's with this acknowledgement I can admit I am having a whole new love affair with 8mm ideas.

A lot of people say they only send a card at christmas, or valentine's day, or on one of the other obligatory holidays when you think 'shoot, i gotta get a card!'  But, I'm thinking about all the other days that come between those days, when people's mailboxes are stuffed with nothing but bills.  Those are the days for 'oh man, i gotta send (someone) that card.  it's sooo perfect.'  That's why we here at 8mm ideas leave our cards blank inside:  You know what you want to say, you just need the card to say it in.  We believe the love/ snark/ juicy memories/ simple sentiment you write is just the right thing with the right card. 
And that's what we're here for.

It just so happens, at this very moment, I'm so super excited about these next steps here at 8mm ideas:  We've entered the 21st Century (very, very difficult for a girl who prefers to a typewriter to a computer, and pencil & paper to any button-y thing that's put in front of me) and have arrived at the book of faces.
That's right, 8mm ideas has a facebook page.  I'm actually going to write here, right now, go to our facebook page and thumbs it up!   Come on, it's crazy! We wanna celebrate with everyone!

And we think a great way to celebrate is to keep in touch with others and tell them something/anything/x's and o's, whatever it is on every day of the year.  You know how much trouble the post office is in?!  Couldn't we do a little to keep them in business?  Over the years, come rain or snow, they've delivered letters and packages and, in our house at least they delivered coconut halves and license plates (yes, made into letters from my brothers).  Someone in your life needs a card, and that someone or someones would benefit greatly hearing from you.  So leave us a note in the comments, telling us who's day you plan to make.  Stella will pick a name out of a hat this Friday and we'll send you three 8mm ideas cards to do just that with!

Thank you for all your support, dear readers, over the years.  We couldn't do it without you!

Page A Day

I've been trying to give myself a healthy dose of work-work and creative-work.  So, with that in mind, I thought it would be good to do a 'page-a-day' type journal.  Carrying this small book back and forth with me to the studio, I had to convince myself I can do this wherever I am:  If I'm at home I use only the materials available to me and if I'm at the studio, the same thing applies.

No self-judgements, no tearing myself down if I don't like it.  In fact, no 'i like it' or 'i don't like it' comments to myself.  Just putting something down, trying to come to an open creative space.
I never do this, I always have a purpose or a conclusion that I must get to.  But, these days, my head is in so many places, trying to keep up with so many thoughts and feelings, I'd like to just plain enjoy using my hands, dipping into old paper and cutting up old photos, using materials I might not otherwise use.

I read somewhere that if you do something like this, work for yourself, imagery of your own personal use, you shouldn't necessarily show it to the public because this is where judgement comes in.  Other people comment on what you've done and then that sinks in.

But I'm interested in that part of it, too.  I'm interested in the challenge of keeping others thoughts at bay while I reach for my own goals and realize that we're not necessarily in this together, but alone in our work and our needs, wants, reaches.  I'm happy to share in the idea that we're all working towards something, but it actually feels stronger to think that we're each doing it the way we know how.  You are your own being, you must do/make/believe in the way that works for your own sanity.  Especially when it comes to something you're doing just for fun.  Gotta remember what 'just for fun' means and where it can take you.

(and then I get to tap into the fact that I've got some amazing friends who know me inside out and send me links to things on topic, mind you, on the very same day:  listen, laugh and learn.  it's the practice we take on)

mysteries of vernacular

Reading Til It Hurts

I'm back in a big reading mode.  A week or so ago, I visited a neighborhood library not in my neighborhood (the wonders of public libraries:  I can take out a book at one branch and return it to any other branch in the city! Way to make my life easier! And, I get to check out other libraries while I'm at it), and I took out five random books.  While I do carry a little notebook with me that has the dozens and dozens of titles I'm looking to read, most times, I just wander the aisles and pull out a book who's spine looks interesting or who's title has titillated me.  I read the first few pages and if it moves me, I take it.  If it doesn't, it goes back on the shelf and I'm back to wandering. 

 

The first book I took out I'd never heard of but ended up loving (always a win win with a library book) called "The Earth Hums In B Flat".  It was written by a Welsh librarian.  

I used to live in Wales. 

And, I believe I've already mentioned how much I love libraries.  

So, with those two bits of knowledge, I knew this one was coming home with me (but yes, I read the first few pages, to be sure).

The second novel I read actually came from my list of books:  It was AWFUL.  I finished it of course, I had to find out who did the deed, but I groaned the whole way through it.

The third and fourth books I happened upon have both turned out to be really enjoyable, easy reads that I didn't want to put down.

And the fifth is a biography/memoir written by a man about his father, I'm leaving that one for last.

  

All this to say, I came across this project the other day and it thrilled me to no end!  New York's alternative library, indeed!  A lending library for the masses.  And snugly tucked into an almost obsolete existence in it's own right, the phone booth.  It's a two for one!

Before There Was An Audience

Appearances are an interesting thing.
It's what makes us lie or tell the truth.  Its what makes us reach out or shut down in a given situation.  We spend an awful lot of time doing what we think others might expect or need of us.  It colors most things people do.  It doesn't necessarily have to be a negative.  Appearances are our logo, our storytelling, our product of voiced opinions.  It seeps as deep as our beliefs about protecting the environment to our opinionated take on reading People Magazine.  It can even take on a life of it's own, some call that habit.  Even writing this now, I wonder about the appearance it gives off versus the one I've intended (and is it versus? perhaps i'm giving off just the appearance i intended?)
As we get older, as we get wiser, as we get more comfortable, many of us tend to let go of appearances and yet, an appearance is something you give off every time you leave the house.

When I was younger, I honestly believe no one talked about me when I wasn't around.  If someone would use the phrase, 'oh, we were just talking about you', I thought they were being polite.  It took me until my adult life to realize everyone has something to say about everyone.  And you can't do anything about that.  A difficult concept for me because I grew up thinking, for the most part, everyone liked everyone else.  I wanted everyone to be happy all the time.  And I thought if you were nice, kind, sweet, generous, giving, that would spread and surround and generally seep into everyone around you and so on and so on and so on.  Ah, the peacefulness of naiveté.

So, while you can't exactly control your appearance to others, you can do your best to live your life truthfully.  It's difficult, but when done to it's best intention, chances are you're doing a pretty good job of it.

The Power Of Imagination

A friend I love like a sister emailed me the other day with a link to this video and in the middle of bawling my eyes out, I paused the video, dialed her number and
thanked
her
profusely.

We could all use a little influx of goodness in the world (or, as RK said: why don't they show THIS on the news?!).  If you've seen it, watch it again, it's good for you.  And, if you haven't, get your tissue box at the ready!

In the back of my mind

I was recommended this article the other day by one of the most interesting, fun people I've met recently.  The spark being, as she entered my studio and peered at the various shelves upon shelves of stuff, I may have mentioned my obsession with things and she shared obsessions of her own and was instantly reminded of the artist in the aforementioned New Yorker article that walked away from it all.  30 years of collecting stuff and he closed the door and walked away.  She and I debated the possibility of doing this as we scrolled through our memories of what it is we actually have.

Open Studios weekend went down a couple weeks ago and, once again, I thoroughly enjoyed all the various people I met who walked on through 227.  It's a trippy thing, that little studio, you get enough visitors and friends in this little 10x10 space and it can start to feel like living/working in a keebler elf house.  It can tend toward other worldly in my studio, surrounded by the collections, as if you've gone back in time when you notice the girl scout sash or the hundreds of letters standing up in a cigar box, you start to get a little lost.
And I'm just talking about how I feel.

So, it's always fun to meet people who are also deeply affected by the stuff piling up around me.  The comment  I hear most often is that 'it's very organized.'  Which I think is strange and, while I don't like to get into it (it tends to sound like I'm just grumbling), I'm really not organized.  Really, truly.  Or, am I?, but to my own strange tune. 
So, I'm flattered, I'm thrilled, and it keeps me going another day, that people not only find my studio organized, but people find it interesting.
Because I'm interested,
right along with them.



When someone points out some the randomly sprawling collection of playing cards I've acquired,  I can't help but mirror (okay, sometimes 'out-do') their level of excitement for this unusual item , as if I'm finding it for the first time.  If they want to go through old photos books with me (where do i begin? depends on the curious looker: if they're sorta into it, I pull out the baby book from the dump.  if they're really into it, i pull out the leather bound one with the blue pages from the early 1900's) or on their own, I say take a seat and get into it.



I dearly love these things.  Yet, I find I can keep my passion for them and let them go.
And, yes, some of them, i'll keep forever.  I'm the first to admit it.



But, most things I think to myself, 'i'll get to you... it'll come to me'.  They're just things living with me for now.  I'm taking care of them until the next thing calls out.



I'll get to those 50 glass jars (for globes) and the 100 feathers, hand wrapped, from an old french hat maker, and those slats of different tempered wood (ah, yes, i let those go of their own free will finally) because the stuff speaks to me.

A friend recently gave me a stack of gorgeous navy, heavy-weight paper and an image for a project came to me pretty quickly.  I wouldn't have thought so when I took the paper from him(compulsively, this is what I'm admitting here:  i was being offered PAPER, beautiful, heavy lb paper, navy friggin blue, i could not, i would not, pass it up.  paper!  i rest my case) but I'm thrilled with the concept and so excited to get my hands on that paper now.

I guess I'm not walking away from my studio anytime soon....


all photos by my dear friend danica.

smart as a dog

A guy is driving around the back woods of Montana and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: 'Talking Dog For Sale 'He rings the bell and the owner appears and tells him the dog is in the backyard.

The guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador retriever sitting there.

'You talk?' he asks.

'Yep,' the Lab replies.

After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says 'So, what's your story?'

The Lab looks up and says, 'Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young..I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA. In no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping.'

'I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running... But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible  dealings and was awarded a batch of medals.' 'I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I'm just retired.'

The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.

'Ten dollars,' the guy says.

'Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?'

'Because he's a liar. He's never been out of the yard

(thankfully, my mother knows me too well... and she gets every forwarded email that's out there)

Applaud the Sunset

Recently our friends, C&T, went to Santorini for their honeymoon. They had lots of great stories on their return, but there was one that really struck me. 

Each day, in the early evening, the story goes, people would gather in the streets.  You could hear their laughter, see their beaming smiles.  The first evening it happened, our friends wondered if someone wasn't having a party that happened to spill onto the streets.  So many people, all facing the same direction.  As the hour passed and the sun began to lower itself into the horizon, our friends could hear soft 'ooohs' and 'ahhhs' rising from the crowds.  And just as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky changed it's hue, a roar of applause rang throughout the Santorini hills, bouncing off the walls and rooftops of the homes. 
Every single evening, these people gather to applaud the sunset.
With all the things we could keep our eyes on these days, all the junk that's offered up on a daily basis from tv, movies and the internet, it seems many of us may have forgotten the very basic place to put our attention and our thanks.

You could applaud the sunset, the sunrise, the opening of a flower, the emerging of a new leaf.  The universe is already giving you a daily show, the least we can do is show our appreciation.


photos from c&t's honeymoon

Nesting

There is evidence that some dinosaurs built primitive nests on the ground and even cared for their hatchlings there. Today many creatures besides birds—from wasps to mice to alligators—shelter their young or their eggs in nests that they construct themselves. But for variety of placement and material, and for sheer complexity of design, nothing can compare with birds’ nests. Especially among smaller birds, nests are often remarkable for their inventive use of local materials to provide support, shelter, and camouflage. The nests are tiny marvels of disposable architecture.

The finest nests are crafted by smaller birds, however, and the majority are never reused, not even by their original builders. It seems all the more remarkable that birds should create these intricate structures for such ephemeral use. It seems ironic, too, that most of us are not legally allowed to possess these nests, even after they have been abandoned. But when we are lucky enough to find them in the wild, or see them revealed in works of photographic art like the ones reproduced here, we cannot avoid holding them and the birds that made them in absolute awe.

Text: Audubon Magazine Photos: Sharon Beals

(i have a nest obsession, myself)