Point, Click, Let Go

Shooting analog again while uncoiling from my smartphone

When I opened my batch of film scans, I wept.

The ephemeral moments from the past two months cascaded back, textured and gripped in dreamy light that matched my memory. My life.

People talk about the phenomenon that emerges after putting the smartphone away: gradually, your attention, focus, and perception begin opening back up.

You realize—suddenly, sadly—that you'd been in a tunnel the whole time. Your visual perception had closed around the 18 inches in front of your face, your ears muffled, the whole world tightly wound around a vortex of spinning energy between you and this thing dancing before your eyes.

You get it back, though. You notice it little by pebble. A slower, slacken way your eyes begin to drift, and rest and patiently to wait to see. Your peripheral vision engulfs places you hadn't thought to look—like up—and you feel the buoyancy of air around you holding information for the taking.

You find pockets of sunshine to warm up in like a cat, and while soaking in rays, you stretch and yawn and notice the vastness.

Instead of escaping into that other world—the private two feet only you can inhabit—you find yourself watching strangers around you. The way they chew their food only on the left side, hold their breath waiting for an answer, or smile reassuringly while bouncing their leg like an anxiety jackhammer under the table. It's beautiful here.

I've been free from my smartphone for just over two months now. Alongside my experiment to break ties with my phone, I decided to shoot on film again. The experience has been a pleasure trove — reconnecting to my pre-internet self. Analog photography has helped me channel the expanded attention and perception into an activity that furthered and deepened my attunement, a feedback loop of presence and reclamation.

The two things I was most hesitant to give up were my camera and my music.

For music: I invested in upgrading my record player, became a member of NTS radio, and when driving, I've been enjoying sampling local radio stations. It's much different than my Spotify streaming era, but I'm loving it. I also cut back on podcasts, YouTube videos, and extraneous content—and that alone has given me so much more space.

On the photography front, I purchased a Kodak EKTAR H35 Half Frame Film Camera, and I already had a Fuji Instax hybrid camera that shoots digital and prints on Polaroid-like film. Between the two, I decided to spend the summer shooting my life the old way. Point, click, and cross my fingers that something special comes back.

The Ektar especially transported me into a different space when shooting—there was no feedback screen to tell me if I'd captured the moment the way I intended. Blind faith, hope, trust, letting go of control each time I clicked the shutter.

The most moving images were of my children—my heart exploded in a kaleidoscope of summer lanky limbs—but those are my own tender and private artifacts. When I became a mother, my co-parent and I decided not to post images of them on the internet, giving them sovereignty to choose who they will be as digital people when they're old enough to choose for themselves. What I will share with you today are the other moments that stood out, but know what is not shown is also present — a mother’s euphoria.

This experiment has been nothing but pleasurable and fun. Maybe it was just an attempt, at first, to reclaim some of my creative time and attention. But what I discovered was far more profound than I ever imagined. I didn't just step away from my phone—I stepped outside the entire cultural current I'd been swimming in without realizing it.

And from this distance, everything looks different. The way we move through the world, the invisible forces that pull our attention, the whole elaborate choreography of modern life—it's all suddenly visible, like watching from a hilltop — and the distance is surprisingly warm and forgiving, like watching ants do their emergent work. It's genuinely mind-bending. I came for better focus and stumbled into a completely different way of seeing.

I’d like more people to see it, if I’m honest.

If you’re dumbphone curious, I am going to host a Go Dumb Meet Up on Tuesday, July 29th from 5pm-6pm PST.

Sign up here.

Together we can talk through any questions you have about temporarily or permanently giving up your smartphone and crossing the threshold over to this side.

Get it dudes, we’re going for a ride.

My flash didn’t pop for this one, but I kind of love the gritty mood. I stumbled into this candy store with my kids on a Sunday. It was odd — the feeling of being in a store that was actually teeming with inventory, stocked to the gills. Most stores I visit today seem to be pinching together the semblance of cohesion, the bygone era of excess slipping away into the collective faded memory.

Wild yellow irises and ferns in the redwood meadows. We visited again a few weeks later and all the blooms were gone — we caught it in a magical window of citrine ephemera.

Behind the scenes of the photoshoot Jaime Eliza and I did for my website — dripping in blue and offerings back to beauty.

I just finished designing Jaime Eliza’s website — she specializes in Fine Art Nudes of women, Motherhood Photography, and Creative Portraiture. It’s something.

Went for a walk while waiting for my meditation class to start (instead of scrolling) and stumbled upon this mural honoring the Pomo people, original ancestors of the land here in Santa Rosa and beyond. Not gone, here still.

Mother’s Day — I spent the afternoon with my Sisterwife and all our kids. My mom, my co-parent (former husband) and I met up with his bride-to-be, her two kids, and my two kids. She and I lay in a field of lupine and told each other our birth stories while our eldest daughters quietly listened in, enraptured.

Russian River drama. We watched this dead fish in the water — and a gull who would not be deterred by a brutish vulture. I laughed with other encampments of beachgoers who were likewise enraptured with the melodrama of it all.

Found this sprawling cactus garden beside the gas station I frequent. Never noticed it before, until I put my phone down. The cactus grove is the size of my living room and was in bloom the morning I was finally awake enough to notice it.

Quinn Christopherson opening for Samantha Crain at Little Saints in Healdsburg

My daughter and I watched this magnolia bloom one morning from a tight bud to this massive explosion of lemony scented glory — it moved so fast — in full bloom within a matter of 15 minutes.

A day in the studio with Muunjuun, and a night out at Little Saints.

This White Egret made two appearances in one week to gobble up live, wiggling lizards. Imagine eating your food while it’s still moving…. apparently the trick is to stand still for a long time, and then do a groovy dance-walk-sway to get the creature down your gullet.

In June, Jaime Eliza and I teamed up again — this to shoot Supernova Support. I can’t show you any of the images yet because I’m designing their new website, but gahhhhhh, and the whole vibe of the set was unlike anything I’ve ever produced. Katie and Karen, the founders, sang and harmonize the entire time, transforming what normally would be awkward posing moments into a heartfelt concert. Wow.

My soul-cousin Sarah Morris did hair and make-up on the shoot, but she is an all around creative powerhouse — here shooting content for socials and holding space for the moment as it unfolded.

All of us. And I need to say it: I love working with women. It’s the best.

You just can’t predict the nuance of the light

All the new places to look — like up.

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Thanks for passing the moments with me — you can sign up for the Go Dumb Meet Up here.

I’ll be seeing you through the portal 🌀