Having just spent an entire morning processing photographs, reworking copy and sending out work for final approval, I'm feeling very mindful of the many stages we go through as creatives. Whether it's styling props for a beautiful product shot or pondering the difference between the word 'nest' vs 'homely', I'm always in a drafting process. The part I find the hardest is walking away and admitting that something is truly done for the day.
That's why I sat down hard when this beautiful image showed up in our #wipsandblooms hashtag on Instagram recently.
The image was created by Catherine Frawley, a professional photographer and food stylist. You can see the cake recipe and many, many beautiful shots that were part of the Pistachio and Rose Cake process here. Catherine makes things look beautiful for a living. When she documents a journey, I want to lose myself in it.
It's always hard picking just a few inspirational shots to share here for #wipsandblooms as I'm torn between ones that truly document the feeling of a creative journey and those that make me want to pause, reflect and notice exquisite details. Catherine's image is in itself a finished product and one that has been carefully considered, styled and edited. This wasn't hastily snapped with a camera phone and icy sticky fingers but lovingly documented, carefully. The image itself is a project as much as the cake (this is, after all what Catherine does for a living). How we capture these moments is something that fascinates me about this hashtag whenever I drop in to see what people have been creating.
Over the years, one of my favourite process pictures was the simplest and elegantly demonstrates the important details that speak to us as makers and crafters. A few months ago, Clara Parkes shared an image on Instagram with a caption that I still think of today when I'm pondering process.
"I love it when yarn is reluctant to let go."- Clara Parkes
As a knitter I smiled at the image, and looked closer in order to examine the yarn's energy. Clara's words evoked a strong response where I found myself rubbing the tips of my fingers together as I tried to imagine how that particular yarn must have felt both on the needles and once it has been ripped off again. Clara had spoken the language of knitting.
There's so much beauty in capturing imperfection that I find incomplete projects as satisfying to view as those that are finished and being shown in all their unblemished glory. Still, even with those finished items I find that I long to handle and turn them, run my hands across their surface and learn the frustrations and joys that led to their completion. It is, after all, the process that we capture when we make with our hands.