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JUNE 

Every dollar counts in a small business, so we were shocked to receive such a huge blessing from a total stranger. We were given somewhere in the range of 75 sheets of glass, a grinder, kiln, soldering iron, and more. All because a former stained glass maker, Denise was downsizing after a flood. These supplies will go such a long way for us! 

The lady we received the glass from said she found us from a facebook ad??? We don’t have facebook ads so basically it’s a miracle. & feels like confirmation that we should be doing this. 

I was most excited to see the grinder in the pile of donations. Having two grinders means that in the future we can offer some sort of sips & strokes type of class. For me, more than making the actual art-- I love the idea of bringing others in to explore new mediums of creativity. 

Whatever that looks like in the future--we hope to pay it forward one day.

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It is crazy to us how much has changed in the last three months. 

We MOVED out of our tiny space, into Martha Ellens old spot & she moved up to the front. We are sad to see Dreamers Supply Co go but we know this is the right move for them. Kaitlin & Martha Ellen trail-blazed the small business world for us so they have saved us from mistakes & supported us from day one. We are grateful that Martha Ellen is still just a curtain pull away. 

My sweet little brother Kyle helped us move into our new space & put two bookshelves together for us! We are really excited to have more space to work together on bigger pieces. 

We got to partner with Trim Tab on a giveaway featuring Aloha Now their new beer release. And we made our biggest custom piece to date, The Tree of Life for my cousin Jenny. 

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Open doors at the 825

So after 5 weeks of classes, AC & I wanted a space to make a mess and keep playing with our new skills. It seemed like the door swung open for us when her sister Martha Ellen’s back portion of her alteration space freed up that week. We had no idea what would grow out of taking that first leap. At that point we didn’t have the tools we needed to make things well, but we had the tools to make it work. Heres a pic from the old days before we had our real tools when the Dremmel (AC’s grinder for her dogs nails) came in clutch.

In order to get all the supplies we needed, we told our family only to get us stuff we needed for Sway for Christmas. This made our overhead really low, so we could hit the ground running. 

You can actually try this at home.

Here’s a list of tools we used to make Christmas presents & links to find them!

Colored Glass, copper foil, graph paper, glass cuter, running pliers, a Dremmel(or other grinder), flux, solder, and a soldering iron are the basics you’ll need to get started! 

I wouldn’t recommend a Dremmel if you’re going to make multiple or big glass projects but its great if you just wanna try it out. 

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As an amazon associate I get a small percentage of affiliate sales. 

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Why stained glass

Last year I said goodbye to Hawaii, moved home, and spent 6+ months recovering from a shoulder surgery. I had just been diagnosed (after 17 years) with Narcolepsy. Beyond that I had just gone through a rough breakup and watching family deal with a gross legal battle. It was a hard time. Good books kept my perspective hopeful, I’ll post links below. I journaled a lot about what I want in the future. I basically had to re-imagine my life since a traditional job is just not possible for me. In this re-imagining process I went to Mexico for photography, watched a thousand youtube videos, & attended a tiny house conference. The realization that came from all of this was that I want to live simply. Water and sunshine give me energy, so I wanted to capitalize on that through a houseboat. I set my heart on San Diego because theres plenty of beach volleyball, and it is the point in between Oahu and Alabama. It’s sunny all year round and it has so much hispanic influence which I love. 

Taking steps to houseboat living made me think about stretching money as far as it will go by doing things myself. When I drew the houseboat out, the focal point, stained glass windows, seem expensive. I looked up the cost of stained glass classes vs. buying stained glass windows which convinced me classes were the way to go. Next, I had to convince AC to get on board. 

Here are our first finished pieces. I’m not sure why AC’s is so zoomed in on.. Woops.

LINK TO BOOKs

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As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases :)

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I get stuck on the things I haven’t written about. So I’m going to just start writing where I’m at and come back to all of those experiences (below) when I’m in a better rhythm.

Today, I co-own Sway Design Studio with my sister in-law AC making stained glass. We’ve been having a good time trying to figure out what we are doing. I’ll probably be sharing a lot about that as I go.

I want to make photo journaling a habit. I have a sleep disorder that basically causes my memory storage to glitch. Pictures bring back so much for me, I love them. This photo was from one of my happiest days last year when Ellen Kirkpatrick & I road tripped the Pacific Coast Highway from San Diego to San Francisco.

I love that one picture can bring you right back to that moment. Gravel shifting under my feet, watching for cars over my shoulder- I don’t even think I took a picture here. I just wanted to breathe mountain air and soak in the golden light warm on my skin.

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It’s been a long time since I took these photos. It’s hard to know where to start in sharing about them. 

Theres nothing sweeter to watch than when a guarded kid feels safe enough to be a child. Going home with my college roommate for Christmas break meant getting to see her reunion with these little buds. 

They see her-- they know they are safe, loved, and cared for. They trust her. She will feed them, protect them and play with them. It just takes them a few minutes to remember that. A few minutes and a happy meal. 

Home for her is on the Yakima Indian Reservation. I’m embarrassed to admit that I growing up I thought Native Americans were extinct, or at least that the land and culture was gone. When history is told by oppressors I guess that is what happens. The museums I went to and the things I saw in media only shared native culture as what was happening in the 1400s around a table at thanksgiving or some version of Pocahontas. There was no explanation of what happened to them or where they are now. 

It wasn’t until I saw the Aaron Huey’s publication on the Pine Ridge Reservation that I began to learn about the real history of Native America, of their resilience and of all they have suffered to continue living here.  

His photos are stunning and hard to see. It would be easiest to judge the parents, or grandparents for the state of their nation. Suspend your judgement for enough time to learn what these people have gone through to get to this point. 

https://www.helloprototype.com/projects-pineridge

We have a lot more to learn and a long way to go as a nation.

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Let’s talk about Toxic Masculinity...

Don’t hear me saying being masculinity is bad. But our culture has made it largely toxic. It starts with how our culture says to raise boys. All you have to do is watch toddler boys in playtime. In sociology we call this the socialization process. 

Kids have a way of making everything transparent. I lived with a family recently; their three year old is pretty sheltered. He very rarely watches tv. He reads a ton of books, usually the classics like Dr. Seuss and Peter Rabbit. He had a water gun that he found and was playing with. When I grabbed it to put the toys away, he came up to me an said “careful! Those are not for ladies!!!” I was so baffled that this idea was so strong in a boy who hardly gets exposed to mainstream media. 

Don’t just hear it from me. Here’s a documentary with plenty of professionals opinions and data on the subject. 

This is just the trailer- I HIGHLY recommend spending the three dollars on youtube to watch the full film.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErOHoTHBf7Q

This documentary sparked my interest in the topic which turned into a 60 page senior thesis on the subject. My title Trapped in Masculinity: Minority Men Meet Barriers to Breadwinner tells you mostly what it was about. I concentrated on how toxic masculinity combined with discrimination creates a social poverty trap. People get stuck in the cycle of deviant behavior if they are not able to attain power like they are told they need to in order to be a man. 

Anyways...I could talk about toxic masculinity a long time. I’ll just leave this here. Let me know if you want to read or talk more on the subject. You can reach me through capturenarrative@gmail.com  

Happy to pass on more resources!

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Nothing is easy about this new life. And everything is new. The Nepali family that lived in the apartment next to me had two girls probably in 3rd and 4th grade. They came over to my apartment fascinated by everything in sight. They explored the keys on my laptop and the keys to my car. They ate my edamame and asked me about the “dots on top.” I explained, “its just salt and pepper.” They looked puzzled. I talked them through it and tried to help them remember it. Clearly they never had it before. I remember thinking, if salt and pepper are unknown territory–how are you surviving? I’m not sure if they don’t know of it because it is unfamiliar- they just don’t use it in Nepal or because its a luxury. Either way, you get the picture. It’s all new.

One time at my apartment, I received a list of notices about $50 fees that the landlord was about to implement for new things he declared were housing violations.These were for things like clothes drying on bushes and kids wearing clothes that weren’t bathing suits in the pool. It was only in English. I am pretty sure less than 10 people in our entire complex could read English. Families can’t afford the bathing suits to go in these pools, but don’t know they need to wear them to not get fined. These are everyday obstacles they face. They lost everything that they have ever known as normal. Not by choice. Sometimes there is a supportive community awaiting them in resettlement. Other times families are separated and they don’t have anyone from their culture in their new town.

Have you seen The Good Lie?! 

Please, just watch it. One of my boys from camp is in the film, also Reese Witherspoon! Families I know say that it is an accurate depiction of what many of their people have gone through. 

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Wild times in K Woods

Please excuse the low quality on this set, they were taken with an old iphone. I wish I had taken my camera everywhere I went and that it would have always been socially acceptable to take pictures. It much easier to share a picture than to try to explain.

The night before I took the window shot, I woke up to what sounded like eire weeping and chants from the apartment below me. I tried to block it out. Fortunately, I can fall asleep in just about every scenario, so I slept through it. I got up the next morning and noticed that family had set up chairs in the parking lot projecting a eulogy slideshow on our building. Three hundred pairs of slippers in the hallway blocked the stairs to my apartment. My neighbor explained it was a Burmese funeral, but failed to mention that it would go on for the next three days. The next night I fell asleep to the sounds of foreign accents singing karaoke and electric guitar blasting from the parking lot. I really didn’t mind; it was all so interesting.

At least 200 people were there to grieve together. No matter what other obligations their friends and family had, they let it all go to be with each other for three days. I would imagine this effects ones ability to retain employment. Maybe they just used their sick days. Even so, I would have a hard time deciding to spend my sick day soaking in Georgia heat and grief. It shows their devotion to one another. It is such a contrast to American culture where people expect funerals to be brief and people to grieve in private. Losing a job for these families would be devastating on a different level than for the typical American family. Even facing greater risk these families were willing to be there for one another. 

One day, I had to go to the housing office to talk to them about my mailbox. Mailboxes are a joke at Khristopher Woods. The boxes barely lock, but the real challenge is figuring out whose box is whose. The boxes either have nothing on them or multiple sets of numbers from previous owners. There is no clear system so mostly you just remember which one the landlord points to when you move in. I forgot. 

Maybe the other families didn’t need a numerical system to know which was theirs, maybe it was less confusing that way for them. What I don’t understand is how the mailman puts up with it, and how the people of Khristopher Woods get their mail. 

Anyways... I was in the waiting room at the housing office alone. At least I thought I was alone until a 2 year old Burmese boy popped up out of no where. He was short, chubby, and adorable. I quickly realized he had no sense of a personal bubble. He climbed up on the chair next to me and poked me. Did he? He just poked me.. That was weird. He proceeded to tug on my hair and pull on my cheeks. Ah uh. What are you doing? He speaks no english, he’s two years old, this is useless. He giggled and touched all over my arms and legs. I think I was in shock. His mom came in saw my bewildered expression with his fingers still pulling my cheek from my face. She immediately started apologizing. Withholding her laughter she said, “he does this to girls like you” pointing to my white skin, “so sorry.” I realize now I am one of the only white people that boy had ever seen. He was trying to see if I was real. 

Just another day in the life of Clarkston, Georgia.

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Many kids of Clarkston have old souls. At the camp I worked at we tried to create moments of wonder to foster hopefulness. Every once in a while when they blew bubbles or rode a horse for the first time, we got the privilege of seeing the heaviness lift and their inner child come out.

The picture of the three kids sitting around smoke takes me back to one of the most bewildering moments of the summer. And there were many. I was watching five of them for about ten minutes in this open air area of camp when all of the sudden a ton of smoke started coming up from a fire pit. One of the kids had started a fire. At first I was freaking out but their calmness took me aback. Then I realized how natural each of them was interacting with the smoke and the fire. This was what they were used to. It took them back. They lived a much different life before this one. 

Clarkston kids are more resilient and independent than any other group of kids I’ve ever known. They share easily with each other and often take on the role of parent for younger siblings. I’ll try to paint a picture for you of what their resettled life looks like..

Most kids in Clarkston have at least one parent working at the chicken factory. Which is a minimum wage, back breaking job that begins for them at 4 in the morning when they take a group van to their site. Usually, the children are the English speakers in their family and no one can read English. We had home visits where we would check in with our campers families to ensure that they were all doing okay. Although furniture was sparse, you would be greeted warmly and offered any candy or water they had to give to you. It was always a sacrifice for families to greet their guests in this way but it is worth it to them. Many would cook us meals they didn’t have to spare, if we let them.

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Are these the type of images that come to mind when you think of refugee and refugee resettlement? 

For most, I bet it is not.

Regardless of your expectations, welcome to Clarkston, Georgia. It’s known as both the “most diverse square mile in America” and the “Ellis Island of the South.” Here, I found some of the most interesting and beautiful humans I’ve ever seen. While these three are from Somalia and Sudan, families represent 60 different countries in Clarkston. This creates a very interesting culture. 

Most people in Atlanta do not even know that Clarkston exists!! I believe we were made for diversity. Made to be delighted by different accents, skin tones,  flavors in food, and ways of doing things. If you only are around people just like yourself, how do you get to enjoy fullness of life? We find abundant life when we escape our bubbles and get to know people different from ourselves. Theres many reasons we stay in our bubble, a big one is anxiety. More on that later. 

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better late than never

Hi friends!

Starting this blog is something I should’ve done a long time ago.

Everyone has unique perspective shaped by their experiences. Mine has been repeatedly impacted by displacement, I am drawn to families living in transition. I’ve spent time with refugees, indigenous people groups, and homeless families. They changed the way I see things.  

The first month I lived in Clarkston, a refugee resettlement, I knew I couldn’t live there without a camera. When I take pictures, I ask questions and process my experience. I need photography to help me make sense of it all.