Day Two. The last gift summer gave

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From this project, one thing I hope to learn would be new color pairings that attract me, and use them for inspiration and reference in future photoshoots. It happens on occasion that I see certain colors that intensely grab my attention; they look like what poetry would, if poetry was a color. For several moments I admire it and muse that it would be nice to use it for a new piece. But I rarely document them, and it goes unthought of and forgotten.

color-code

But today, as I walked down my street, small purple flowers floated above my head, and quietly landed on the cemented road below; a gentle proclamation of the forthcoming winter. Before I came across this subtle scene, I had been quite upset, and was very raw with emotion. But as this slow dance of the relinquished season was demonstrating itself on the road, just by watching the natural array I instantly felt separated from my sadness, and was able to just look and enjoy the simple beauty that was there to publicly enjoy. One of the last gifts summer gave.

Always,

Reylia


http://www.reyliaslaby.com

http://instagram.com/reylia.slaby

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The Red Era

brendanx-convert

Some time ago, about two years now, I was at a festival. This particular one I had looked forward to every year. It was here that I had discovered a part of myself that wasn’t scared or anxious. It was during this one day, my brain allowed myself to transform.

It wasn’t until the evening, that a man came up to me. He told me he was a friend of my mother’s. He was friendly, but looked at me intently. We chatted casually about the day, him a drink in hand, and me sober. A state to remember everything. “Oh Reylia.” he said, suddenly changing the topic. He cupped my face in his hand, and then briskly stroked my cheek. “You could be so beautiful…if your skin wasn’t like this.”

Pain and shock erupted in my gut, but left me speechless. Because of this man, the skin trouble I had been dealing with for years might have finally broken me. Every morning, the first thing I would do was to look in the mirror and to see if it was gone. Every night, I would check the mirror again to see if it leveled out through the day. It rarely did, if not get worse with the sun, air, and sweat. Despite all the things I used to try to heal it. And here at the festival where I felt the most confident, I had in front of me all my demons, all my insecurities, in the form of just one man.

In my daily life, once I stepped out of the house, I tried to never mind my skin too much, and to remind myself that there were worse things to worry about than how I looked. In that way, I was confident, and concerned myself with matters that involved my art or my education. Unfortunately makeup had the tendency to hurt my skin more, so it was always me naturally, bare skin to all.

After the words had come out of the man’s mouth and his hand had fallen back to his side, I realized that all my friends were walking ahead back to the station, so I had no time to react properly. I rushed to my group, and was quiet for a while, processing how his comment, his physical gesture, made me feel. I touched my skin gently as the train swayed back and forth, the texture rough to the tips of my fingers.

It was then I realized how much I didn’t care. But that I did want to turn it around and make something through this time of mine. The Red Era. Maybe that’s what it’ll be called. Whatever this time of mine is, I won’t let anyone take away my joy at just living, breathing, and being alive. Here, now, and in my skin.

Always,

Reylia