Eastern State Penitentiary / October 23, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

"Looking down these dreary passages, the dull repose and quiet that prevails, is awful. Occasionally, there is a drowsy sound from some lone weaver’s shuttle, or shoemaker’s last, but it is stifled by the thick walls and heavy dungeon-door, and only serves to make the general stillness more profound. Over the head and face of every prisoner who comes into this melancholy house, a black hood is drawn; and in this dark shroud, an emblem of the curtain dropped between him and the living world."

Love in the Moon's Shadow / September 3, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

The trip was of course, wonderful, until the last 30 minutes of the drive home when Serenica's engine began stalling on us whenever we'd drop beneath a certain speed (hoping it's a minor fix!). Fortunately, after stalling out on several occasions and getting it restarted again, she died right inside our RV storage lot gate and wouldn't turn over.

The Idaho Springs Cabin / June 13, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Do you ever have one of those moments, or events, that are so amazingly ridiculous that you just know it'll be something you never truly forget? Like, in the midst of it happening you can already appreciate its value, or memorability, in hindsight?

Idaho (and a little Wyoming) / April 12, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

“When we get out of the glass bottle of our ego and when we escape like the squirrels in the cage of our personality and get into the forest again, we shall shiver with cold and fright. But things will happen to us so that we don’t know ourselves. Cool, unlying life will rush in.” —D. H. Lawrence

Maybe It's Not a Big Deal / April 6, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

You're like a walking sun, but maybe it's not a big deal. Maybe it's not a big deal that you take care of me in ways foreign to me, that I can physically feel your love for me emanating from every pore of your body, that it's you and me against the world.

In Harmony with the Hurt / March 21, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

l think about you on these roads to nothingness, I think about my pain or regret or guilt that have become dead-end branches off my heart forever reminding the blood running through me that I could have been better, that I fucked up, that some things are never undone and never forgiven and never forgotten. Have you forgiven me? Have you eulogized the branches of your own heart? Or are you still struggling to live in harmony with the hurt?

Born Looking for You / February 14, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

I was born looking for you. I was born in fragments, permeable and porous. I was taught that we are each whole persons, that we are not halves seeking to be made whole, that no other body could complete our own.

Serenica Landship / December 18, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

I'm not yet sure where life will take us in this beautiful beast (dubbed the Serenica Landship for anyone curious), but I'm okay with that. The road is enough. The road is beautiful. The road is host to so many fantastic possibilities. There's something thrilling and freeing about embracing the unknown, about being tied to nothing but each other, about movement and escaping a static and stationary presence. I suppose there's something poetic in acknowledging the forward motion of life in such a literal way.

AdobeMAX / October 7, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

The walk was not scenic but it was beautiful. And it was sad. It was through some extremely poor/low-income areas and I lost count of the many mattresses and makeshift sidewalk homes I'd pass on my way each day, the piles of garbage, the struggling mothers all hurrying their kids to school down the block. And the contrast of such surroundings with the people I'd encounter only minutes later sitting in beautiful conference halls, working on their MacBooks, answering emails on their tablets and having conversations on their smartphones was jarring at the very least.

I <3 Venice / October 4, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

"There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights."—Bram Stroker

Water Flows / September 19, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

“Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.” ―Margaret Atwood

Redwood National Park / September 12, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

There is nothing I can say about the trees to describe them to you if you've never seen them or found yourself in their presence. I hope you trust in my sincerity when I announce my satisfaction at that realization. It's true. I'm so utterly contented knowing there are places in this world that lie outside the boundaries of articulated description, places you simply have to see and feel and experience to know.

We Are Making Photographs / August 13, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

“We are making photographs to understand what our lives mean to us.” —Ralph Hattersley

I Go to the Sea / August 12, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

"When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused." —Rainer Maria Rilke

When Love is Not Madness / August 11, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

"When love is not madness it is not love.” —Pedro Calderón de la Barca

A Tree Says / August 10, 2015 by Rebecca Tillett

"Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail."

For Now, Relentlessly Onward / September 9, 2013 by Rebecca Tillett

I'm on a journey to find my purpose. I haven't yet figured out if it's something I carelessly lost along the way somewhere a few miles back, a few years back, a few spins back or if it's something I've never truly had a firm grasp on - purpose has always felt like a moth or a butterfly fluttering by me occasionally. If I'm lucky, every now and then I'll cage it between my hands, marveling at it's elusive beauty but it always escapes, fluttering away to be caged by others inevitably.