Cautiously Optimistic, Ceil Drucker.

Cautiously Optimistic.
Ceil Drucker.
Photograph.

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about this piece.

I was cleaning the slip-cover on the sofa the other day and found a blue snappie, one of those diaper holder things- it made me think about all those beautiful diapers I so excitedly purchased last spring awaiting Kai's arrival, and how they were stored in a cardboard box in a dark room now. I thought "I should do a pregnancy test" and so I did- getting a positive result. I still don't really believe it, but 7 tests later, I guess its real for now. I keep the tests on my altar right now and feel cautiously optimistic. - Ceil

about the artist.
Ceil is among other things, a writer who seldom writes and now a mother who doesn't get to mother. She is riding the waves after the loss of her son Kai on his due date, in mid June.

Ceil's last submission to still life 365 was Trying Again, so sl365 wishes her a cautiously optimistic congratulations.

Trying Again, Ceil

Trying Again.
Ceil.
Photography.

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about the photograph.
We are just beginning to "try again". No small feat of optimism and bravery 6 months after loss, 3 months after turning 43 with no other children. I was lying in bed the other day in a hopefully conception boosting shoulder stand when I noticed the way the light coming through the window seemed to be a ball of light, almost of energy, right between my legs (the center of the body is home to the "conception vessel" in Chinese medical energy pathways) and I snapped a photo. "Signs" like that help me feel like I'm on the right path. -Ceil

about the artist.
Ceil is among other things, a writer who seldom writes and now a mother who doesn't get to mother. She is riding the waves after the loss of her son Kai on his due date, in mid June.

Thanksgiving, Ceil

Thanksgiving
by Ceil


A year ago thanks giving was easy,
the pulse of new life strong in my body.
My sense of connection to divine mystery
more tangible by the day.
The November moon seemed to mirror my fullness.
I felt my glow reflected back, silver and shimmering.
It was warm. I couldn’t remember ever seeing butterflies
so late in the season,
their every wingbeat
perfectly timed with my soaring heart.

A year later that same November moon
mocks me in her radiance and I gaze on her
voluptuous form with envy and sorrow.
My own body deflated and hollow now,
quiet as a tomb.
It is warm still and the butterflies have returned.
They flutter and circle where I sit in the courtyard sun.
I long for them to slow and land on my open palm and stay,
spreading their dazzling wings to the sky.
I watch them in their ceaseless dance and I am thankful still
for their beauty and their grace,
even knowing that they are too delicate
and their time here too short
to stay with me.

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about the piece.
Last year, Thanksgiving was the day we told everyone that we were pregnant. We had just passed the "magical" 3 month mark and were so excited to be in the "safe zone". It's one of the happiest days I can remember. This year I may decide to fast and stay under the covers. There is so very much I am grateful for- but sometimes I have a hard time experiencing it over the roar of my grief. -Ceil

about the artist.
Ceil is among other things, a writer who seldom writes and now a mother who doesn't get to mother. She is riding the waves after the loss of her son Kai on his due date, in mid June.



Wishing you all a peaceful day and a gentle Thanksgiving. I, for one, am grateful for all the amazing work shared in this space. Love to all of you. -Angie

Photo Sunday, Shadows

Shadows.

Jessica.

Walks With Frost

about the photo.
One night my daughter Hadley was blowing bubbles on our back deck.  I took photos.  As I watched her, and looked at the images coming up, I liked the shadowy effect.  It looked like she was putting on an old-fashioned shadow puppet show for me.  I feel like I have always looked into the shadows of things because they hold secrets.  I began to think that every time one of Hadley's bubbles popped it was her little brother, Frost's hands reaching out from the shadows to play.  He was helping us to see the secrets of where he had gone.  -Jessica.

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Untitled.
Amy McCarter.
Surviving the Day EveryDay.

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Shadow Belly.
Ceil.

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Shadow Steps.
Julie Cozens.

about the photo
I participated in the Walk to Remember in Melbourne last weekend. For me, this picture tells the story of the walk. Literally it is a picture of one footstep, it's my foot and my shadow. Figuratively it tells my grief story. I carry the shadow of Thomas' death, its connected to me and I carry it everywhere I go, even on the days it's not visible. I did the walk alone, in a crowd of a thousand, sadly this picture also tells the story of my loneliness in grief. -Julie

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Shadow.
Holly.
Momentum.


about the photo.

Just enough strength to stay afloat
I await my turn to find a glimmer of light
A momentary escape from the shadows
Which hold my soul captive.
-Holly


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Naked and Alone.
Audrey.
Glutton Button.

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Shadow.
Kieran.
Radar of Chance (Kieran's wife Louise)  

about this photo.
I am Laura's Dad. I considered writing something about Laura's shadow over our lives or such, but that's not what this image is about. I take photographs for all sorts of reasons; but mostly because image-making is how I define myself. I continue to make images, even after Laura, because I don't know how not to. This shadow lives near my house and only comes out at night. -Kieran

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Thank you to everyone who participated in still life 365's Photo Sunday. Photo Sunday is a regular monthly feature of still life 365. On the second Sunday of each month, we will showcase photographs taken around the monthly theme. Monthly themes are announced and explored in various weekly creative challenges. See the sidebar to explore more of November's challenges. The goal of Photo Sunday is to highlight the art of photography and help explore different aspects of grief through the camera lens.

Next Sunday is Mid-Month Challenge in which you can choose any medium, including photography, to explore the theme of Shadows. Also, next Sunday (November 21st) is the deadline for submitting a piece for the still life 365 printed journal. Please see this post for more information.

Shadow, Ceil

Shadow
Ceil.
Photography.

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about the piece.

This is a self-portrait that I took a couple of weeks before Kai's birth/death on his due date. We were staying at a friend's ranch in the hill country and I was busy listening to my hypnobabies affirmations to reassure me. Everyone was driving me crazy with comments about how big I was (unexplained excess fluid and a 10 pound baby) and I was still very much in love with my life-filled body. When I look at this photo I see the shadow that holds me carried over into my expression- a shadow of doubt that I was able to positively affirm away for the most part. -Ceil


about the artist.
Ceil is among other things, a writer who seldom writes and now a mother who doesn't get to mother. She is riding the waves after the loss of her son Kai on his due date, in mid June.


Ceil submitted this piece for Photo Sunday. This month, contributors were asked to explore shadows through photography.  Join still life 365 tomorrow as photographers explore the shadows of grief through photography for Photo Sunday.

Shell, Ceil Drucker

Shell
by Ceil Drucker

You are a dream I once had
floating in this soft, green sea.
Your features waver in my memory
like the flash of
silver as a fish darts by;
your skin soft and cool, like wet sand underfoot.
Your eyes are forever closed like anemones in a tide pool,
but still I search my imagination for their color-
coming up as empty as hands that long
to carry seawater
from the shore.
The summer days linger on,
measured in waves and saltwater.
The sun makes a lazy arc
across the wide sky
and I stand here at the oceans edge,
outstretched arms as achingly empty
as a shell resting on the beach......
waiting to find
the pocket of a smiling child.

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about the piece.
Ceil talks about this poem, "I spent last summer by the sea working on fertility issues with acupuncture and healing work and hoping to become pregnant. When we lost Kai (Hawaiian for ocean) in June after a wonderful winter pregnancy in the desert, we returned to the shore to work on grief and loss with acupuncture and healing work, hoping to just survive. Every day I try to let the ocean remind me that ebb and flow is the way of the world."


about the poet.
Ceil Drucker is among other things, a writer who seldom writes and now a mother who doesn't get to mother. She is riding the waves after the loss of her son Kai on his due date, in mid June.