Art District Fest @ RiNo / September 7, 2019 by Rebecca Tillett

I participated in this year’s RiNo Art District Fest thanks to my cousin Cassie and Red Wolf Gallery!

Little Lists / August 31, 2019 by Rebecca Tillett

Things I love:
The way she dances to Queen
Her laugh, her big toothless grin
Giving kisses with her forehead
The Hannibal Lecter thing she does with her tongue

There is Only Light / August 12, 2019 by Rebecca Tillett

I am much more protective of my feelings on motherhood than anything else in life. I am still working on unraveling just why exactly. I suspect because they are not always overwhelmingly exuberant, which I feel mothers rarely see mirrored or represented outside the darkest recesses of our minds. We are inundated with nothing but the happy wonderfulness so there is a built-in shame in feeling anything but, perhaps.

Our bodies rise again / June 22, 2019 by Rebecca Tillett

and when our bodies rise again,
they will be wildflowers, then rabbits,
then wolves singing a perfect love
to the beautiful, meaningless moon.

Eternities Exist Between Dawn and Dusk / March 10, 2019 by Rebecca Tillett

his sweet babe is 5 months old today. Time passes so quickly, I’m always left with the tragic relentless feeling that I’m not fully appreciating or as present for every precious moment as I should be. For her, the days are still long enduring intervals in which eternities exist between dawn and dusk. For me, it feels as if every morning I have awoken from a long coma and she seems so much older than the baby I put to sleep the night before. It’s one of the hardest parts of motherhood for me.

Addax; Nothing Here Like You / March 6, 2019 by Rebecca Tillett

Lonely in trees, ignoring the sky because you’re angry, because you’re hurt
Asking for home, crying for family, searching for left behind souls in the dirt

Fountain of Blood / December 10, 2018 by Rebecca Tillett

“I'm a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl.” —Björk

The First Pregnancy / October 7, 2018 by Rebecca Tillett

“That first pregnancy is a long sea journey to a country where you don’t know the language, where land is in sight for such a long time that after a while it’s just the horizon – and then one day birds wheel over that dark shape and it’s suddenly close, and all you can do is hope like hell that you’ve had the right shots.” —Emily Perkins

Germinationem / July 28, 2018 by Rebecca Tillett

If someone had asked me 10 years ago if I would plan to take self-portraits should I ever get pregnant the answer would have likely been a resounding yes. To document such drastic changes in this vessel I inhabit and be able to add that to my body of work, which was then and still occupied by so many beautiful and various female bodies I've photographed over the years? Well, of course. Ten years later when prompted with that question by several someones, my answer wasn't so certain, maybe even doubtful.

Saguaro and Buckhorn Cholla / April 23, 2018 by Rebecca Tillett

When I became lost in the separation of child and mother,
Of myself and the other
When I became lost you became found
You climbed on to the backs of birds and
sailed between land and space for miles
Your back covered in feathers as black as the sky on a moonless night
each freckle an understudy for the veiled stars

Balloon Girl (there is always hope) / January 30, 2018 by Rebecca Tillett

I met Melissa, this red-lipped, beautifully inked, raven-haired woman less than 6 months ago. One day, nearly two months ago she confessed her love to me for Banksy’s balloon girl. She said she was dying to recreate it in a photograph for someone special to her, but wanted a snowy-filled backdrop. She wanted that vibrant red heart balloon to pop off a clean white setting.

I loved the idea.

Colorado's Wonder View Tower / November 19, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

My husband and I recently participated in an Atlas Obscura event to get a peek inside the Wonder View Tower in Genoa, Colorado. I'd actually never heard of this place before a friend sent me a link for the AO tour event only days prior to the meet-up. Needless to say, I was hooked and immediately bought tickets.

Skin of the World / October 30, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Do you see it?
The way the land piques beneath us, like your skin, my fingers hovering millimeters above it, anticipating my touch. Touch. The streets are scars and the rivers arteries feeding the body.

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."

The Oxoteguys / October 15, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

“Human lives are not pieces of string that can be separated out from a knot of others and laid out straight. Familes are webs. Impossible to touch one part of it without setting the rest vibrating. Impossible to understand one part without having a sense of the whole.” ―Diane Setterfield

Unfinished Prose, Edition 01 / October 4, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Are all the heroes dead? Or just ours? Will the melodies ever sound the same, as somber and fixed in time as they are now? Will they stay? Because your voice, when you're playing Nutshell and humming Layne's voice on my parlor guitar, and I'm reminiscing over dreams I stopped having years ago; your voice and your fingers and everything else that I love. They stay in that way; reincarnated. I miss the dreams and am in love with the cause; a quandary, because I see things in dreams. Now I just feel like life stops when I sleep. Like death. In backness and nihility.

Domino y Como una Flor / September 23, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Although I've done more than my share of trespassing, it was a bit nerve-wracking doing it so close to home.

Angela Craven Art 2017 / September 16, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

I had such a blast photographing and photo-documenting the beautiful, talented, passionate and always lovely @angelacravenart at her art studio in north Denver Friday night.

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.

You Wanted Her / August 3, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

You hadn’t looked at me in days. You hadn’t really seen me in years. You saw only the heavy black clouds enclosing me. You didn’t understand me. You didn’t want to. You wanted something easier. You wanted to believe you deserved better. You wanted someone smiling back at you from future days. You wanted to stop cranking your neck backward in hopelessness and exhaustion.