"off the edge of the map, here there be monsters."

I'm sitting in an airport now. Not the best terminal, I was warned that this one might be like a shitty bus station and it is an apt description. Still, this is starkly different than two years ago, riding the MegaBus cross country.

I'm flying to Prague, not riding cross country to a wilderness island  to pretend to be a writer again. This time, I have my camera packed, a month's worth of clothes and books, and a broken heart.

I was asked to write up an "artist's statement" for a grant I was applying for to fund my photography project that I will start in earnest January of 2016. I got caught up in the words. To me poetry and photography are the same blood, a moment, caught in time, framed just so, structure, contrast, saturation, but you still only see what the artist wants you to see. The reader may see a reflection of her own pain or joy too, but it isn't the full picture by any means. Just a postcard in a longer journey.

I don't have a social justice or a political means to my work, at least not yet. I am open to possibilities. This time? This journey? I am documenting my own grief, starting over while holding on to what is essential and vital to my own heart, finding a new way to live this messy beautiful life. I'm looking for miracles. I am looking for myth. I am hunting Athena and Persephone and hope to ask them for wisdom. I'll leave an offering for Saint Barbara and visit the Ursuline convent. I hope to find forgiveness.

I'm scared as hell. I feel shipwrecked all over again. The last time I was in this emotional landscape, I was lost and weary and met an alligator who warned me against love and loss. I took her picture and that photograph landed me in an airport, in New York City, waiting for a plane to take me back to Prague.

This new blog is to share with you what I find.