Winter Solstice

Yesterday morning, I flew into Cleveland Hopkins Airport from New York, to spend Christmas at home with my parents. It was an eventful morning - getting out of New York the Monday after a blizzard, during which many weekend flights were cancelled proved difficult, although not impossible. I'd never seen LaGuardia Airport so busy, let alone at 5 in the morning! Upon landing, I was interviewed for a story on travel delays by Cleveland's local Channel 5 News.


Cleveland's proximity to Lake Erie gives it an advantage for yielding white Christmases due to what is known as "lake effect snow," and it's been snowing gently ever since I arrived. This evening, officially the longest night of the year, I took a walk on the grounds in front of my parents' house to take in the brisk air, and reflect on this season of hibernation. The short hours of sunlight, the life of plants dried into brown, crisp carcasses, the stillness of animals hidden or sleeping or having flown south, all laying groundwork for looking deeply inward - for letting go of last year's harvest, and preparing to start fresh next year. Decay brings both sadness and, then, new life. We cannot reach the new life without the period of decay. Winter asks us to go inward, to slow down, to unravel. And, unravel, many of us do this time of year - with old family scars and triumphs revisited, with familiar patterns reignited through reminders of our youth, and with appreciation for what has unfolded in our lives, and how far we've come.


Many Christmases I've looked out these giant windows at my parents' country home, and many times I've pondered my past and my future from the presence of a winter trip here. This year, something is new for me. I have no regrets. I am just observing. I am looking at where I came from, where I went, and where I might go from here, and this year, none of it feels so dire, yet all of it feels worthy of acknowledgment. Perhaps my youthful days of pushing and fighting as if I must stake a claim on my desires and demand their fulfillment are decaying under the snow, as nutrients for a blossoming attitude of acceptance and full presence in who I am, with trust in the way things always unfold. Perhaps the right amount of self-belief and effort are developing in me as I grow older, and like the seasons, something is turning in me, as my own pure nature makes appropriately tantamount my ego. Fighting and pushing are devices of excess, and the correct effort requires far less. In this dark, quiet time, I am glimpsing what I knew when I was five years old, when I fought for nothing, but just consistently did my best; and took a stand not through taking one, really, but simply by abiding in what is right.


There are certain things we come back to every year, like the darkness of winter, and there are things that have longer seasons. If we can let ourselves sink down, past the cerebral hustle and bustle, down past the sensitive heart that takes cover behind shields of laughter and defense, deeper, to a place where the movement is nearly imperceptible, like cells dividing in preparation of a new organism, we can find the microscopic turning of our own inner seasons. It manifests signposts as drastic as the heat of summer or the cold burn of snow. Yet, deep within, it is as mild and constant as our own breath, and the earth in its revolve around the sun.

Ohio Field Trip - July 2009

Admittedly, I've taken quite a few "field trips" to my hometown (Cleveland, Ohio) and surrounding area. As I grow and change as a person, I find I get more and more out of these returns home. My relationships with each of my parents and my brother, who all live there, each become more nuanced with time. I have grown to appreciate them immensely, and the relationships are flourishing!
When I go "home" to Ohio, I like to do things I don't often make time for in my usual bustling city life. This recent trip, I baked cupcakes, and helped my mom plant new flowers and ground-covers in her garden. I always take lots of walks down the long, straight rural road on which my parents live, listening to the roosters crow, feeling the air on my skin, and watching the clouds move across the sky. It is the time when I remember most acutely to slow down, to just be.

This trip, I hosted a photo event at my parents' residence, featuring the delicious treats of Honey Hut ice cream. I also had the pleasure of photographing the senior pictures of my young friend Olivia - who I used to babysit when I was her age! And, I photographed my mother's friend Arthur, with his wife, in their home on the east side of the city. So, although I was soothed by the natural surroundings, and the somewhat slower pace, it was, indeed a working field trip this time. I got to see some of my cousins, their kids, and some of my mom's siblings. It is unusual for me to get to see so many of my relatives in a single weekend, and there was something deeply comforting about feeling part of a large family again. Not that I am ever not a part of it, but sometimes the chaotic, constant motion of city life distracts me from truly connecting with what it means to be part of my family.

Perhaps most special about this trip, was an evening visit with my Uncle David. He had twittered me (ah, modern family life!) a few months back to inquire as to when I might be home, and was sincerely interested in my life and my pursuits. David has always been a person I greatly admire - when I was young, he would tell me all about his travels to Egypt, and he is one of the smartest, most educated people I know. Not to mention, one of the kindest. It touched my heart that he had specially requested to see me at this time - you see, he is in a time of transition. He has accepted a prestigious position at a university in Austin, Texas, and will be soon relocating to a new life down south. In my experience, transitions are a time when we want to express our truths (perhaps prompted by a tangible time-frame in the otherwise never-ending-ness of "someday I will..."), and I could feel that David was recognizing the we way share a zest and curiosity for life. It felt wonderful to have someone point it out to me.


It was hard to leave the beautiful, long summer days in Ohio, where it doesn't get dark until close to 10 p.m. in early July. My parents nurtured me with their constant loving support, helping with my shoot, and doing everything they could to make sure I was comfortable and happy. It dawned on me, they have always done this. I am deeply loved.

I wonder if everything that happened had to happen for me to have this sink in. If I had to go off to college, to move to New York City, to start my own business, to travel, to see the world, to study, to explore spiritual practices, to read about psychotherapy - and keep checking back in with what was truly my "home," the place I came from, the people who believed in me the most - in order to finally arrive at the place where I could feel the love that has been there from the very start.

I just want to say thanks to my family, the whole, big lot of them, for being the wonderful, kind, loving souls that they are, and for supporting me, even when you thought I was crazy.

To view photos from some of the portrait sessions in Ohio (as well as other recent shoots), please visit my online proofing gallery at http://pa.photoshelter.com/c/sloboda/gallery-list.

Summer in the City

I just stepped in off the fire escape, where I was watching the twilight fade to black in its barely-perceptible, summery way. From the third floor, I could see all around the courtyard of this block of brownstones, of which my home is a part.

The building next door has been vacant for awhile, as the tenants moved out, and the building was sold to new owners. The small yard behind it is a jungle of green - trees and weeds, and big-leafed plants that have sprung up effortlessly. At the back of the yard is a fence, and set of low-hanging wires. Climbing the fence and sprawling over the wires, is a honeysuckle plant, and tonight from my metal cage of a perch, I got the slightest hint of the flowery fragrance dancing on the breeze, which was utterly subtle.

The soft feel of the air on my skin, and the fading pink light (at precisely what moment, I wonder, does it turn to purple-y blue?) reminded me of my childhood in Cleveland, Ohio, knowing that that change of light is the indication that I'm pushing my limits on how late I should be out roller-skating, bike-riding, turning cartwheels on people's lawns, as I try to squeeze every last morsel of fun out of the evening as it becomes night.

In the summer (and in general, actually, as I got older), my parents were lax about a bedtime, and so I knew it would get locked inside, apart from the neighborhood kids, and into some kind of night-time adventure with my siblings in the basement my father had finished for us, and turned into a playroom. Perhaps we would record one of our infamous "radio shows" into the cassette recorder, or make up choreography to Madonna videos we had taped off the TV.

Summer evenings feel this way to me - like I want to stay outside for that one last moment, to see if I can squeeze a little more delight into the day before I turn inside to dinner, a book, a movie, whatever entertainment I can find - which will hold all that much more pleasure if I know I used every last moment of the day as best I could. Tonight, I breathed in the distant, gentle scent of honeysuckle, which also grew on a fence near a parking lot where I used to ride my bike as I child, and was comforted. I wondered if this moment was unique, or if I am always carrying this desire inside to return to my childhood.

Cleveland Steel Plant

On a recent trip to Cleveland, I visited a steel plant, not too far from downtown. Well, I didn't exactly visit, but rather parked my car illegally across the street to get some photos. I thought it was amazing to see these huge relics of the American Industrial Revolution, and I am fascinated by Cleveland. Actually, I have also started a tourist blog about all the fun and quirky things to do in Cleveland called, "Cleveland Hipster." (Click on the link to check it out!)


(Artistic note: All of the black and white images were shot on a plastic, automatic panoramic camera that I found at a yard sale in the Berkshires for $1.00. Below is a design I mocked up for a new Cleveland Hipster logo. Soon, I will convert it into a t-shirt design, as well. In the meantime, you can see how it looks as the branding on Cleveland Hipster's facebook page.)



One of the things I love most about Cleveland is the way the old industrial artifacts surface here and there around the city, but its modern-day aesthetic is very green and lush. In fact, there is a famously large strand of city parks that form a circle around the Greater Cleveland area called, "The Emerald Necklace."

Standing on the side of the road in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, looking in one direction, I saw this freshly paved road leading towards the aforementioned steel plant (right). And in the other direction, a field leading down to a brand-new shopping center - a field of wildflowers slanting steeply downwards from the road, waving in the summer in breeze (below).


Cleveland is full of these little pockets of nature, making it a such a beautiful city by "green-consciousness" standards. And there is something very grounding about the American history present in a place where a lot of immigrants once came to find work when "green" was not the big thing - back then it was "steel," or "industry." Pretty far from green, in fact! It is fascinating to be in a place where you can all at once witness how much times have really changed in a hundred years and see a lovely community thriving in present times.

Cleveland Field Trip

I grew up in Cleveland, so it was really a homecoming more than a field trip for me, but I got the chance to show Kyle around. It reminded me so much of all of the wonderful things I had grown up with, and that Cleveland really is a wonderful little city.

Downtown, we visited the old Arcade - once a glorious "shopping mall," circa 19th century - it is now a gorgeous hotel. Near the House of Blues, we saw lots of old shop fronts being converted into new shops and galleries.


Of course, we went to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, which was awesome. They are exhibiting the making of the Beatles film Help!, and they have all kinds of old advertisements and memorabilia from shooting. Kyle loved seeing all the old stage costumes preserved in the museum's permanent collection. My favorite was a set of giant mechanical wings that David Bowie wore.

On the way out of downtown Cleveland, we made our way to the Flats for a beer at Shooters on the Water. The Flats are rows of bars and clubs lining the Cuyahoga River at the mouth of Lake Erie. Most of the clubs have ample parking lots behind, and docks for your boat in front. It was too cold to see any boats there this time of year, but we did see trains going by on nearby drawbridges. An old drawbridge relic stands intact, pointed high into the air right next to Shooters.

The next day, we made our way to Huntington Beach near the suburb of Westlake. Kyle was very impressed at the size - he kept saying, "This is a real beach!" (He thought they only existed adjacent to oceans. But I reminded him that Lake Erie is a Great Lake.) I also promised him we'd come back in the summer for Honey Hut ice cream, and a visit to NASA.