From the Hip.
I’m a visual writer. I’ve always been a visual writer who sees the world in technicolor dreams and attempts to capture it on the page and in photos, too. And before there was Instagram with filters, which I loved, there was Lomo.
I got my camera in the late 90s when my job was entirely on screens, but my life wasn’t, at least, not yet. I played analog keyboards and organs in bands, and while I had a digital camera, I was lured to Lomography by the promise of real film full of rich, saturated colors. When the package arrived, I remember ripping open the box to find a soft, black camera case with the Lomo inside – and an action figure. She was this tall, adorable girl in a red coat and scarf with a mini camera hanging around her neck. I can’t find any information about her, but she’s been on my desk forever with her bright eyes and hand outstretched as if to say let’s make something! Let’s play! Let’s shoot from the hip! Because that’s how you use a Lomo.
Lomography began in the early nineties when a group of Viennese students found a Lomo Kompact Automat in a thrift shop. It was a small, inexpensive camera, that, as it turned out, was easy to use and produced weirdly beautiful images. The shadows! The color! Soon, Lomos became a thing on the internet, and everyone wanted one, including me. In 1994, the Lomographic Society was founded, a website was launched, and a tiny camera trend began along with the Golden Rules of Lomography. And one of these rules? Shoot from the hip.
Forget planning and looking through a viewfinder, Lomography was about having fun! Don’t think, just shoot. As with Lomo, as in life. The idea was that, with fewer rules and less control, taking photos could be easier and more fun. Tuck it in your pocket. Take it everywhere. Play, and you’d get strange, whimsical, gorgeous shots that captured moments in ways you could never have imagined. That’s what you get with spontaneity.
The last three years took away some of my spontaneity, which was probably true for most of us. The pandemic required it, but losing Petey Sellers took some of it, too. And now I wanted it back. I was still drawing, writing, and learning French, but it was time to do something else, and not just something physical, but something artistic to shake me up.
“There’s still serendipity,” Petey whispered in my ear in late November. “There’s still magic!” Right after that, I saw a hilarious meme on Instagram featuring dogs. It said “When you miss the signs your spirit sends you” and featured a dog looking quizzically at the signs, which were rainbows, thunder, and “I Love You” in skywriting. Ha! Petey sent me signs all the time. I just had to pay attention.
That morning, after thinking about Petey and drawing a few heart spirals for the Gratitude Drawing Week with
, I opened Wordle. I answered it on the second try, because a word popped into my head, a word I rarely thought about: tawny. Petey Sellers! It was like his coat, yellowish brown and golden. Petey’s fur always sparkled in the summer sunshine and glimmered in the strong winter sun. Out of nowhere, with a word, there was also a memory as real as a moment. Magic.
For me, 2023 has been a year marked profoundly by loss and letting go. But it’s also been about stepping back into life and the world. After finally getting Covid, I recovered and continued to move ahead in ways big and small. I moved through challenges with as much grace as possible; bet on myself and my writing; and created space when one thing fell away to make room for another one to come in. I also saw the beauty in the blurs, mistakes, and imperfections.
That’s the thing about Lomography – it’s far from perfect. You can take an entire roll of film and, if you’re me, shooting from the hip, maybe only one photo turns out. But that one pic is always a surprise, glorious in a new way. A bright spot. And all of those other photos? The ones that were out of focus or just swaths of light? They were wonderful, too. They helped me see things differently. That’s the thing about risk – it shifts perspectives. And after so many years of being careful and not taking risks, this past season has been full of them. Some big and some small, which will grow over time. Leaps in the making.
I had a tarot reading as a birthday gift a few weeks ago. The reader was a friend of a friend, generous and kind, and her reading felt more like a reflection of myself and the answers I already knew. That’s the great part about readings for me – they usually confirm, remind, and gently nudge me into challenging spaces. Petey Sellers made an appearance too, of course, chasing his tail, wagging, and waving. “More play!” he said. “You need a puppy!” I laughed and told the reader that he kept sending me puppies, usually on Fridays. I’m not ready yet, thanks to injuries and other concerns, and I miss Petey terribly, but I needed this time. Also, I know that something is coming.
It’s all about moments. Sometimes capturing them, because memories are powerful, but always creating them. From the hip, with courage and love, from the hip, with resilience and peace, from the hip, for life. Thank you, 2023. Thank you, friends and readers. Thanks, little Lomo! I’m excited about a new year, a new day, and a new way of seeing things. Like shooting from the hip, anything is possible. Everything is magical! And there’s nothing more hopeful than that.
Happy (almost) New Year! I raise my kombucha to you! This last day of this year, have a Petey Sellers. He’s good cheer for any time! Thank you so much for reading/subscribing/being with me in 2023. Here’s to new things here in 2024, including a shift, and new things in this space. But there’s no rush. Let’s make some moments along the way, shall we?
xoxo,
Kari
This is beautiful and inspiring, Kari. Happy new year!