When adolescence hit me in earnest with all its hormones in 1968, I began to have crushes on women. I dated several boys..never felt much for them– okay guys, but my heart was not in it…I’d watch from the sidelines of a church dance or in someone’s arms– the couples who were so obviously in love and wonder at how that happened.

I continued to have massive crushes on women teachers through out my high school career.

Unfortunately when I was 16, the Spanish teacher I fell in love with decided to seduce me. I was ill-prepared for the emotional and physical things that went with a “safe” authority figure breaching boundaries she shouldn’t have. This is a whole separate issue.

I recovered and went off to college.

My family had always teased me about my crushes..thinking them just a teenage phase I guess. In college  I dated a woman. It didn’t go well. She was in love with someone else..I wondered about being  a “Lesbian”.  I looked it up in “The Joy of Sex,” but found little material to inform or comfort me.

I came from a small town and a small white bread kind of school. Looking back, I am sure there must’ve been others in my class..but who they would be I have no idea. I am also sure that that teacher probably seduced others.  She certainly was no resource or role model on how to become a healthy lesbian adult woman. My mother’s response when I finally told my parents years later, was to” hush it up”.

When” The Joy of Lesbian Sex” was published, I was first in line at the local bookstore. I read it ragged.

Had a breakdown like many kids in college do and came home for awhile. Went into therapy to figure it all out. Of course, in discussion my crushes came up and sadly, the therapist chosen by my parents, believed gay relationships were immature and unhealthy and  analyzed and  dissected  me to banish that part of me.

Eventually while attending classes at a local community college, I began dating another woman.

My mother overheard my conversation with my lover late one night on the telephone and screamed at me. I was “Sick and disgusting.” She was going “to tell my father!”

Don’t know if she ever did. He never changed his behavior toward me, supporting me as he always had.

 Then another woman. This time I had the sense to keep my mouth shut in therapy. That relationship  flamed out as young “loves” with hot pants often do. My neighbors who became my best friends, totally accepted me that way. I told my therapist only after my heart was broken. Same old-same old. 

In my late twenties I had to have lung surgery. I fell in love with my male surgeon who was married and 30 years my senior. My father had died the previous year….I did not think much of the age difference or “Freudian” implications of this choice.. He was a kind man. I immediately asked him “Have you dated men?” since he seemed very desirable to me that way, reminiscent of my cousin’s Uncle Tom and his partner…. I told him about my own lesbian experiences. He treated that as nothing out of the ordinary and shared with me that several   young men in his surgical residency program had come out to him over the years. I married him. The “lesbian issue” took a back burner. Life went on.

I am a person who believes when I am in something, to be in it wholeheartedly. I tried the best I knew how to be a good partner and wife. Many bad things happened to us. Health issues on both sides, financial losses..enough to put a huge burden on our small coupledom.

In the end we drifted farther and farther apart. Through the last years, I avidly read any news in the papers on gay rights. When we’d mall walk I’d linger around women I was sure were dykes in Borders..hoping for..I didn’t know what…

We moved from city to rural countryside after he retired.  Surrounded on all sides by woods and fields, this tiny hamlet was the last place I would’ve ever thought to come to terms with my sexuality and to come out.

But the neighbor’s 62 year old dyke daughter developed a huge crush on me. Sometimes I think of this as  a Higher Power hitting me over the head so I no longer could escape the fact that I am gay.  She was, of course, in a  relationship and also lived under the belief that nobody knew she was gay. This created all sorts of weirdness. But I thought “Oh well, maybe that is just how it is.”

In any event, she pursued me so thoroughly I could not ignore it. After a Memorial Day weekend of lugging rocks out of the woods for a garden wall and thinking all the while, I  told my husband I was in love with her and was going to follow it through.

He was wonderful. He said “I’ll do everything I can to support you.”

She was interested in just a fling  and I thought I was in love. After the hurt died down a good friend said to me “You can’t go back to who you were.” No, I could not. She was a key and a door opened. I finally walked through it..  All sorts of memories from my whole life fell into place and made sense to me. I was 51 years old.

I was so lonely! Since I lived in this small rural area the chances to mingle with other lesbians or  to meet folks were nil.  There was no community. I was starving for it. My friend finally urged me to sign onto Match.com.  That day remains in my memory as a lost day—I sat down at the computer after breakfast and “came to” as the January sun was setting at 4 p.m…In between I read and read and read other women’s stories.

Now, I am in love and married to a wonderful woman. It took a year before I was comfortable coming out to my mother..that long ago fight haunted me. This time, since she had seen how much happier I was for awhile, my mom wrote a loving note welcoming Erin into our family. It made us both cry. We still have it hanging on the fridge. My whole family loves her. Happiness shouts louder than anybody can ignore it.

 I write much lesbian poetry.  Some has won contests. I am expecting the publication of my first collection of poetry soon. My partner designed a wonderful website for me where among other things, we market my lesbian and erotic photography. I moderate a poetry group and appear in art shows and at poetry readings. I am openly gay and open with my partner. I figure if a person is not okay with us being us, then they also are not my friend.

 I will be 54 on my birthday next month. Took “the long way home”….as the song says.

Doesn’t matter how long that journey was, only that I finally arrived. If my dad were still alive, I know he’d pull up our driveway in his white Ford truck, back full of tools to help us repair whatever needs it, and to teach Erin more of the woodworking and mechanical know-how she craves. Life is good.

Photography: poetry from behind the macro lens

Poetry a  “close-up”  with words

What do they have in common?

In my  opinion a good poem and a good photograph share a few basic characteristics. Simplicity. Clear, basic composition. Enough detail to grab our attention, but not so much that we get lost in trying to consider it all.

An effective poem leaves us with a few strong images …

A way to get at revision is to write the piece. Then remove all the words that are not necessary for it to stand alone. Uncover the skeleton. Least common denominator. After, after, then dress it up, add make-up and accessories..if you over-do that, that is your issue but at least under it all, the poem will stand on its own.

“Best Friends” is a photo-poem composition created by me in 2007.

 I attended an art gallery opening hosted by friends at their local gallery. At this event where I was taking pictures, I met a young boy who was all dressed up and had a shaved head.  His parents explained that he had requested the hair cut because his best friend had been diagnosed with cancer earlier that year. While undergoing chemotherapy the young boy lost his hair and confided his feelings about this to his friend. I asked permission to take his picture. His parents agreed.

When I had the old fashioned 35 mm film developed, the resulting portrait was revealed. Friends urged me to give  a copy to the boy and his family. So, as a Christmas gift, I framed the photo as a greeting card and printed the poem the childrens’ story had inspired in me, on the it to thank his family.

Later in the new year, I was told that when the child’s parents opened the card, they were so thrilled that his mom began to cry. She rushed to share the card with the mother of the little boy who was sick.   This then resulted in both sets of parents taking the card to the childrens’ school to share with art teacher, principal and other teachers, one of whom was undergoing chemotherapy at that time as well.  It so moved the staff that in the June 2007 edition of the yearbook a center page spread was created to honor the sick child using the photo-poem “Best Friends.”

In May 2008, Kinney Drugstores sponsored a benefit for Golisano Children’s Hospital, Syracuse NY . The Cazenovia branch photo department manager is well acquainted with my photography.  She asked me to donate a picture for the cause. “Best Friends” was it. I enlarged it to an 11” by 14” and framed it in hardwood.. It stood on the counter in a place of honor during the entire event.

“Home Is Where The Barn Is”

In August 2007, a friend invited me to come to her fiance’s dairy farm of approximately 1700 Holstein cattle to take pictures of the cattle and workmen going about their daily routine.

I was using my 35 mm Nikon F 4 with film at the time. When I had the rolls of prints developed, I was thrilled that several of the shots were top quality.

I received notice of an upcoming art show to take place in the new Lipe Art Park in Syracuse, NY in October 2007.  The theme had to do with how agriculture is relevant to city dwellers..one could choose from such subjects as those related to the land, animal husbandry, compost practices and recycling. I chose the animal category and queried the curators. They indicated that they were unsure of being able to use photography as this was an outdoor multi-season show, but to go ahead and send them my entries.

They were thrilled with the pieces I  both of which may be viewed on my website. We coordinated our efforts and the curators created wonderful weather-proof framing for the shots. The show as a big success.

For Christmas 2007, the dairy manager’s fiancée commissioned me to enlarge one of the same series for her in a unique composition I created with my partner, Erin Carraway, for his gift. Thus was born “Home Is Where The Barn Is.”

 It uses both the photographs that appeared in the Lipe show and several others framed in a design replicating an old barn gate with distressed metal work.. I painted over the photographs which were then decoupaged onto the mat board.

January 2008 we asked permission to borrow the piece back and entered it into a state-wide art show sponsored by The Art Association of Oswego, Fort Ontario, Oswego NY.  Early March we learned that we had juried into the show. It opened March 22 to a full house.

What makes a flower erotic? Sharp crisp lines, seductive curves,  warm enticing colors, ripe, rich textures…stiff parts seeking fertilization…It begs for photography.

A classic erotic flower picture should have simple composition.

One curve, for example, one swelling and two colors to invite the viewer to “fall into” the photograph. To ask the viewer to lick the teeth, swallow, to sigh. To create in the viewer a desire to stroke, to reach into the picture and participate. To remember. Simplicity and clean lines.

 This is different than “dirty flower pictures.” While a blooming plant in a pot of soil may constitute a “dirty flower”, humor aside, I am talking about navigating away from the adolescent reaction of “Oh yeah, look! a tiny pair of boobies” snicker, snicker.

To consider a plant/flower/root/bud/leaf as a metaphor for human body or metaphor for human sexuality in all its starkness and magnetism.

The sensual in nature surrounds us in especially in Spring in northern climates. Birds at their deepest most dramatic colors, sing rich songs unique to mating season. Lush  plant growth  of all colors after  winter’s monochromatic white, tan and gray. Flowering trees and fertilizing bees at their cups, its all about sex. The way the Earth opens with a sharp shiny edge of a farmer’s plow, the waves of folded back, rich brown soil, that is sensuality at its most extreme. Flowers that lend themselves to this type of viewing are many,but the orchid family comes to mind first and foremost with its riot of shapes, long-lasting, stiff flowers, fragrances that attract and mesmerize..even the root growth slipping out the dormant end of a white stubby root with a shine of slick green new tip emerging.

All it requires to discover erotica in flowers and natural life around us, is a macro lens and patience. The viewer must be willing to have not only a  “slow hand” to paraphrase the Pointer Sisters, and an easy touch. My years behind the lens opened an entire universe of sensuality and sensuousness to my eyes. Poetry as snap-shots.  Point and shoot, yes, but don’t shoot and run.

A classic erotic flower picture should have simple composition.

One curve, for example, one swelling and two colors to invite the viewer to “fall into” the photograph. To ask the viewer to lick the teeth, swallow, to sigh. To create in the viewer a desire to stroke, to reach into the picture and participate. To remember. Simplicity and clean lines.

 This is different than “dirty flower pictures.” While a blooming plant in a pot of soil may constitute a “dirty flower”, humor aside, I am talking about navigating away from the adolescent reaction of “Oh yeah, look! a tiny pair of boobies” snicker, snicker.

To consider a plant/flower/root/bud/leaf as a metaphor for human body or metaphor for human sexuality in all its starkness and magnetism.

The sensual in nature surrounds us in especially in Spring in northern climates. Birds at their deepest most dramatic colors, sing rich songs unique to mating season. Lush  plant growth  of all colors after  winter’s monochromatic white, tan and gray. Flowering trees and fertilizing bees at their cups, its all about sex. The way the Earth opens with a sharp shiny edge of a farmer’s plow, the waves of folded back, rich brown soil, that is sensuality at its most extreme. Flowers that lend themselves to this type of viewing are many,but the orchid family comes to mind first and foremost with its riot of shapes, long-lasting, stiff flowers, fragrances that attract and mesmerize..even the root growth slipping out the dormant end of a white stubby root with a shine of slick green new tip emerging.

All it requires to discover erotica in flowers and natural life around us, is a macro lens and patience. The viewer must be willing to have not only a  “slow hand” to paraphrase the Pointer Sisters, and an easy touch. My years behind the lens opened an entire universe of sensuality and sensuousness to my eyes. Poetry as snap-shots.  Point and shoot, yes, but don’t shoot and run.

amaryllis1-w-text 

Here are some hints on how to get started.

first of allw rite from you gut or your heart, not your head. Don’t stand back and “think about” how to write a poem. You will soon get stuck in the details. I often recommend closing your eyes while the pen unspools words or the keyboard. You have all the time in the world to go back and edit and tinker afterward.

Use a contrasting emotion to a clear image that captures the reader’s mind. For example a friend of mine recently lost her dog. She talks about the box they built for his casket and his funeral on the hill in her yard..a tree she ordered and planted over him..and she also talks abotu the times they laid back in the sun on this same hill, how funny he was when he’d curl up in bed or how obnoxious when he’d roll in the neighbor’s horse poop..

it is possible to contrast the good memories wiht the sad imagery of his loss. She coudl also surprise us if she added hwo tired she was over time tkaign care of him in his terminal illness. Or how she sometimes resented the fear she felt on his behalf..the necessity of making that hardest decision, for euthanasia..and the peom could go on from there to allude to a person’s death as well.

Especially when w riting about animals it is important not to be cutesy and obvious– the “button eyes” for example

Snow began to fall and not one chicken would stick his or her beak the teeniest bit outdoors. The barn–which doubles as our work-shop where frames and boxes and other wood projects are created for my photography—soon became another stinky mucky mess. This was not like parakeets at all.

This weekend past we went out there with our boots on to chicken proof the area.

By nightfall all birds were captured and locked in. Today dawned warm and thawing. January at its least offensive in CNY. I opened their door to feed them this morning. When I went back into the house and looked out my kitchen sink window, I saw a stream of hysterical birds pouring from the barn–surely more than the original 5 whose body language seemed to shout “we’re FREE! we”re Free!”  Pigs in hot pursuit. I did not realize back in 2006 when I entered the poem “Scoop” about my ex-husband’s pet rooster who mothered all the stray kittens on their farm, when he was a kid, that one day I, too, would witness the peculiarly endearing antics of my own chickens..nor that they would be featured subject matter for many special orders in my photography business. See my website to meet them in person or Google me  on the Syracuse Post-Standard’s website “National League of American Penwomen winners 2006″ to read “Scoop” and other animal pieces.

Rachael Z. Ikins  www.rachaelzikins.com  justaskrache@aol.com

Soon enough winter was upon us.