Photography and Inspiration

Recently I ran across a review of an exhibition of the photographs of Evelyn Hofer, an American/German photographer from the mid twentieth century. I had never heard of her before, but for the twentieth century that isn't too surprising. We didn't hear about a lot of women artists or photographers in those days. I looked up her work on google and I was enchanted. Her portraits are engaging and alive, and her still life work rivals the old masters. It made me think of how much I have always loved photography and particularly since I was given my first box Brownie and began to take pictures! The photo above is a recent one of the shoes of a picker at a farm here in New Jersey. It had a kind of fairy feel to me, and I could imagine the small feet slipping out of the shoes and walking in the wet cool mud of of the rows of tomatoes that hot summer day when I took the photograph. They must have been left there for some time however because the vines had grown over them.

This photo is one of my earliest and one of the few I have left. It was taken when I was around 12 in 1957 and it shows my two grandmothers on the front lawn of the new development we had just moved into from our row home in Philadelphia. It shows so much of the times, of me (because I loved those grandmothers so much) and of these two women. The one on the far right is the German ancestry paternal Grandmother, a brisk, lively, jolly woman who lived most of her adult life in Ocean City on her own, though her brother, my Uncle Yock often moved in with her when he was on the 'outs' with his wife Alma. The one on the left is my maternal grandmother Lavinia Lyons, a withdrawn, quiet, introspective woman of Irish extraction who had known many tragedies in her life from the death early on of her mother and later of her young sister and one of her own daughters. These tragedies seemed to have drawn the vitality out of her. She was an avid cleaner and her house was totally orderly and dust free always - no clutter! My paternal Grandmother, Mabel, spent her spare time making quilts. Her apartment was a bit more cosy and although she had known many tragedies in her life as well, somehow they made her stronger. She had lost her husband early on and was left to raise her children during the first World War and the depression, and she went to Ocea City to care for her mother who had suffered a catastrophic stroke that left her permanently speechless and paralyzed. My grandmother Mabel cared for her mother scrupulously for 15 years. I have that Great grandmother's sewing machine, a 150 year old heirloom and piece of history.

I keep that photograph of my grandmothers with me at all times, presently on the piano in the living room because it helps me be brave.

Happy Easter and Happy Trails to any of you who wander the internet and may find yourself here in my cuneiform. Jo Ann wrightj45@yahoo.com