New York: Washington Square Park
Inspiration: The Bird spreads his wings and they take him high. His body is soon silhouetted against the sky. With impossible ease he takes off in a glide. Showing off, turning side to side. In this moment, freedom is his. No one can take it away. Freedom he expresses in his flights day by day. The clouds belong to him. The skies his own. It's as if the world exists just for him to roam. In the turn of his body and by the impossible ease of his glide, the Bird mocks me, "Freedom is mine."
When I was a child, I loved to write stories and poems. Recently, I came upon a tattered notebook close to the bottom of a box of stuff that has been "lost" in storage for years. The notebook has a beautiful red silk cover on the outside. I think that my Mom gave it to me years ago just because I loved the color of the cover. Inside the little diary are a bunch of poems that I wrote as far back as when I was 8. Oh My God! What a find. So, the funny little rhyme above is by me. That is, the 11 year-old me. Please don't laugh. Okay . . . laugh. So, I wrote this during detention one afternoon at school. I cannot now recall why I got in trouble, but I do remember that in the midst of wishing that I was anywhere but there, I saw a bird soaring above the trees outside. Free. And suddenly (as was often the case back then) this little poem took shape. Mind you, I wrote this back in the day when I was convinced that a poem wasn't a good poem unless every line rhymed with the one before it:-) In any event, this shot reminds me of that moment.
Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin' don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no no
And feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues
You know, feelin' good was good enough for me
Posted by: ferdie | January 28, 2010 at 12:15 AM
oh! darling!!!! this is such a sweet anecdote. though a photo tells its own story up to the viewer's imagination, it's always nice to read something personal from the person behind the lens, especially when it's that intimate!
i really know how it feels, as you could see form my post of past, where you found connection between the way you felt years ago and something in the present!
and the photo itself is simply a big "wow" and big "liberation", 2 things i can use more often, haha!
love all the suppors, btw, xx
Posted by: UnoCosa | January 28, 2010 at 01:56 AM
Wow can you be any more cooler???? That is amazing that you wrote that when you were 11. you are out of controll!!!
Going to bed now in hopes that I will dream of those beautiful birds :)
Posted by: cristi | January 28, 2010 at 02:24 AM
First you are a great photographer, now you are a great writer since 8?! Is there no end to your talents? :)
Posted by: Nicholas Leong | January 28, 2010 at 03:29 AM
UnoCosa - Thank you . . . I was a little bit skeptical about sharing that story/silly poem, but what the heck . . . I loved your past/present post. Maybe I was subconsciously inspired by that post . . .
Cristi - you are simply the best! Thanks for all of your love!
Nick - you are funny . . . Thank you.
Ferdie - feeling good is good enough!
Posted by: The Photodiarist | January 28, 2010 at 09:24 AM
really cute. i love your story. good illustration. freedom is good.
Posted by: Carole | January 28, 2010 at 11:52 AM
wow i just got this really good feeling inside me. i love this photo, and the title says it all.
Posted by: amalie | January 28, 2010 at 11:59 AM
I love pictures with birds! This one is awesome!
I have one in my portfolio too.. yours is so pretty!
Posted by: Antonio Barros | January 28, 2010 at 01:23 PM
How delightful! finding lost lost trinkets is such a gift. And I think the poem is gorgeous.
Posted by: minor keys | January 28, 2010 at 07:29 PM
That is a beautiful picture. Great blog. Keep it rollng.
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Posted by: marquis | January 28, 2010 at 07:34 PM
Love this. Dramatic.
Posted by: Alice Olive | January 28, 2010 at 11:39 PM
Another fine photo- and I enjoyed meeting the eight year old you.
Posted by: Don | January 29, 2010 at 02:39 AM
I read it as prose and of course assumed you wrote it now, and thought it was brilliant. Then I read your anecdote below and re-read it - saw the rhyme - and think it is even more brilliant. To think you wrote it when you were 11.
I'll say it again: WHO ARE YOU?? Whatever you do at your real job, do they know how f-ing talented you are?
Ironically, my last day in Florida I was lying by the pool @ my mom's and there were a ton of birds in the sky, each flying in their own orbit. I thought of my dad who, I believe, doesn't feel a need to come back as a human, but - with his love of flying - occasionally comes back as a bird. I was thinking the same thoughts about freedom.
I wonder now what you were doing in detention. To think, you'll never know now, but the poem survived, and is being read round the world.
Beautiful photo. Thank you for this post. xox
Posted by: jill | January 29, 2010 at 08:47 AM
okay, now i can't get this out of my head:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FMhnl0__Vo
haven't posted yet - can't get that together - but was probably playing that while you left your comment to me. thank YOU! ; )
Posted by: jill | January 29, 2010 at 10:37 AM
Great poem and lovely photograph! I put my wild imagination to good use when I was young and wrote short stories. Unfortunately, I haven't kept any of my notebooks. Hang on to yours - they're an important part of your history!
Posted by: Tall girl | January 31, 2010 at 05:05 PM