Stream of Consciousness

From Desert to Dream to Sea

“We writers are the raw nerve of the universe. Our job is to go out and feel things for people, then to come back and tell them how it feels to be alive. Because they are numb. Because we have forgotten.”

— Ursula K Le Guin

I drove through southern and central California in a hot haze. No A/C. Windows rolled down the whole time. I got back home Sunday, but I can't shake the feeling that I’m still dusty from the trip.

I didn’t formally announce this journey ahead of time. I did not officially open my schedule for photo sessions. I reached out to past clients, and a good number of them booked Second Sight Sessions. Mesmerizing moments of connection and creation were made. I was away from home for two weeks. Most of week two was spent teaching with Ryan at the very charming and somehow alive Art House (owned by Richelle Rich and Harry Waters. You can book your own mystical stay here). 

I always wish I kept a better journal of each trip I take. The mini yet epic sagas that only occur on the wide, open road. The rise and fall of entire internal empires. The particular magic and singular story of each family I photograph, or friend I see—stories which in their specificity hold universal heart themes for us all. 

However, despite it being 2024, I maintain that it's impossible to truly live within a moment and document at the same time. Even my camera, which I am being paid to use, feels like a distraction. I have to give myself to the long days across many roads and beds. I have to let the wonder and lessons absorb and steep in my bones before transferring it anywhere else. 

But one thing I can do is make an ‘I remember’ list. It's details as they come, not slung together with rhyme or reason. A stream of consciousness list. So here it is. My ‘I Remember’ list from my two week trip to California.

I REMEMBER: 

Feeling extra emotional when I said goodbye to the kids. So emotional, I told everyone I loved them, even Tuesday and Marty and Laura and hoped my excess of feelings didn't mean a tragedy looming in my future / the car volume turned all the way up but I still couldn't hear Ram Dass in the dark / telling myself I’d wait for the eclipse to be over before making some major life decisions / feeling half-hypnotized, half-seer on the long highway — getting insight I didn't ask for / screaming / dousing myself with water again and again / gas station coffee / peanut butter power bars / singing for myself / yoga clothes and cowboy boots / so much cheese at Richelle's house / Merlin stealing my cheese / stealing salt and vinegar chips / plowing Richelle with questions, trying to extract her wisdom / whippy / Rumi in the morning / staying an extra night in a nice big bed with a nice big bath /

/ meeting Jeff and Lauren as parents for the first time / their house is a little nicer / their eyes are a little wiser and more tired / their three year old is a Scorpio like me / she is more free than me, more pure with her emotion, but I recognize it / we play. We growl. We tell the other they stink and delight in it / Lauren takes her clothes off in a Los Angeles park / She is pregnant and breathtaking / Jeff and I are simpatico / I do yoga in the park by a pond / I see a tortoise / I thank the sky for closing loops / I cry / I make it to Valentina and Matthew's / the four boys are so much better behaved than I expect four boys to be / I am in love with all of them / I feel adored by all of them / I think of my seven brothers / Valentina is hot and strong / Matthew is steady and peaceful / we talk religions and differences / they feed me healthy food / they give me fizzy drinks / they let me sleep in their yellow guesthouse / I sleep in a yellow tank and talk too late into the night / the next day on the road I am tired / my feet are blistering and sock-less in cowboy boots / Valentina gives me socks / so does Marilyn later /

/ I make it to Erin and her girl / they look like princesses / E had me take a photo on her iPad for her boyfriend / we drive to the Redwoods / they silence me / they are so sacred I don't want to take photos but of course we do / Erin is a powerful woman / Erin’s body buzzes with vitality / she tells me about a long illness / she tells me about long dates / we laugh / we watch a movie about princesses and daughters of princesses / I sleep in the guest room / I’m on the road early the next morning / my body hurts / my clients are incredible but my heart is lonely / I Marco Polo the group chat of my childhood friends / I ask for their care and prayer / they send it / the road is so, so hot / I pass the hours with this incredible book on audible, The Hummingbird’s Daughter by Luis Alberto Urrea / I land with friends in Turlock / no photos this time, just hellos and catch ups and mystical shares / just their baby who has become a kid and is full of faerie wonder. Just talk of hummingbirds and mystery and creative spaces / one sleep and the road again / the air cools as I close in on San Francisco. The air smells like my old perfume. Like some of my favorite trees / as soon as I try to hold it in my nostrils, it's gone /

/ I’m worried if I’ll have enough film, enough batteries / the cloudy pastel aesthetic of the SF coastline shocks me with loveliness. It always does / Robin’s home is all heart and a wild no city kid will let be destroyed / her oldest rolls down sidewalks / we walk to the beach by her house / there are details I can't tell you / after, we have conversations over dinner that inspire me and I hear so many Harry Potter facts / I love it and miss my kids and later that night I dream of Myra as a little girl and how I wish I saw what she needed then / the next morning we drive to the ocean. We each pick a favorite song to play / I play I Wish You Were Here / the morning is cold, gray, and misty / somehow in no time Robin is in the water / somehow Robin is naked in a crowd of people and no one cares or chastises her. A woman even cheers / I’ve been avoiding eye contact with the infinite sea for a good six months. But this time I look again / I cry and I cheer / her daughter doesn't want to get in with her at first but gets her courage up at the end / it only lasts for a second but it's burned in my soul’s eye / later they give me tea and sit me on a heated bench and my bones breathe thanks / everything feels calm and good but it's time to go to the next shoot / I drive a few hours but get the location wrong / the location was overcast anyway, we choose a new one /

/ I'm so happy to see Seana and the girls I know from years of photos but the magic isn't there fully yet and we all feel it / we agree to try again the next morning / the next morning is something special / first Seana and her partner. He makes her smile in a way I haven't seen in all these years of photographing her / my heart is so filled with it that when we bring the girls back for more photos they fall under the spell of the glow / we squeeze every drop of it / we eat a chilly breakfast after and everyone looks bright and infinite / like Erin, I watch Seana and fill with awe over her power. What she’s come from and how she’s leading her daughters / we say goodbye and I go back to the beach where we shot. I take my blanket for yoga. I am in love with everything / I am grateful that every part of me that aches so deep feels better in slow, holy motion / I get on the phone and have a long conversation that soothes instead of agitates / I drive to Lynn’s / she is as alive and impossible as a fifth season / her baby is a MAN/ her husband is a MAN/ yet we are all babies / we watch Willow / Lynn feeds me pesto pasta and wine and I feel the hedonist within me fully activate / over the next day and a half I eat and eat and swim in the bay and witness women hold toes /

/ Kelly has the body of a young athlete and the gray hair of an old mystic / the sea sings and I give myself to her / I sleep deep / the air feels like camping / I never know how to say goodbye to Lynn so I don't very well / I forget my notebook / I have around ten hours in the car ahead of me to get to Joshua Tree / I am a different person by the time I get there / my skin is more suncooked than it's ever been /

/ my bleach buzz cut is bordering shaggy / the house is pink peace / the students will arrive in 15 mins / Tai has come from a hurricane / Jennifer heard of us from Kylie Purtell / Rachael is acclimating to the new sense of desert danger / Jaime comes late. He’s ridden a motorcycle from San Diego and asks if I mean aryuvedic or traditional when I ask him his zodiac / the workshop days blur by in beauty. Too much to even remember / Maybe it needs its own ‘I Remember’ list because this is sooo long /

/ Rachel is there as our model and that is special because Ryan has made more meaningful work with her than anyone else and I will get to photograph her with her children / Ryan can't look at her without crying and I am moved / Richelle floats in and out like a badass good witch / Lexi is everyone’s favorite / Ryan and I pick a white object for Richelle’s photo project / I get to have a good long convo with Karen after / My lower back feels like it's breaking / my heart is full / I split the drive back home in two / I spend one night in Vegas at my best friend, Becky’s / she and Matt cook so much vegan food / I fall into Becky’s arms and we laugh cry / I remember. 

xx,

Yan