This weekend, for the second time this year, I lost my voice. It happened in February when I had a bad case of laryngitis. This time it started with getting a little sick and then BAM - I couldn't talk. To my friends it's hilarious, resulting in lots of jokes about me sounding like a squeaky 12-year-old boy. A few other people said it was very hipster of me, as if I'd planned it, only so I could sound more and more like Zooey Deschanel (after all I do already have the bangs.) And then there were some that said it was sexy, like a jazz singer who smokes cigarettes and drinks whiskey into the early hours of the morning. I on the other hand found it mostly annoying and painful. But to my surprise, each time this happens, it turns out oddly refreshing to try and not talk. It forces me to be more observant and listen. It forces me to be with my thoughts, instead of covering them up with the usual chatter. And in this case, it forced me to stay mindful behind my camera. After starting my morning with the farmers market and free breakfast, I changed into a sundress and headed downtown to hang out with some of my favorite artist friends and photograph an art CSA party for a Durango artist collective. This spontaneously lead to an evening north of town by a creek with friends, beer, my dog, and a quiet forest. It was a perfect intro to summer, and a perfect evening to not say a word if I didn't want to.
Thanks to Scott for being my willing subject, and to Durango for being so damn beautiful.