This piece of the Georgetown Waterfront, but it’s also a sweet personal moment.
These are the colors of my family laying on a picnic blanket on at the Waterfront, right near the Potomac River. My oldest son had just turned two. On this day, my youngest was officially ZERO – this was his due date. He had been born premature six weeks earlier. He was out of the NICU now, laying on the blanket next to dad, but still attached to a lung monitor, which we carried around like a second diaper bag.
It was a lovely, breezy day. The birds where chirping. And of course, a jet flew by overhead. Georgetown was as it should be, even if my family was still adjusting to an unexpected normal. I scribbled down the colors of these sounds to catch the sweetness of the moment, determined to do a larger piece “when I had time.”
Three years later, I found myself covering my table with Georgetown-inspired pieces and I remembered that scribble. The foresty, hunter green of the wind off the river. The sharp teal of the intermittent birds. The rude orange of the jet engine. This pieces is a moment, as heavy with questions as it is with color. Every time I see it, I’m grateful for the answer to every question of that day: no problems – he’s fine. We have a robust little boy with no ramifications of having been born early. I look at it and feel relief and gratitude wash over me every time. The story could have ended so differently.
Photography is amazing. The written word is amazing. But my work captures and communicates emotion in a way utterly like and utterly unlike either of those mediums – in an instant, like catching a whiff of a smell that takes you back into something beautiful in your mind.
This piece is to me what I hope all my work is to all my clients: transportive, sentimental, and intensely meaningful.