hi, i’M molLy.
Born and raised in the suburban milieu of New England. Photographer, writer, mentor, student, mother, empath, friend.
Grandma Jean passed away when I was 10. There was a back room in her house where she kept her art things, and after she died I went through all her stuff and found letters, sketchbooks, envelopes holding locks of hair, pressed flowers, butterfly wings. I even found a human skull that I stowed away in my overnight bag and kept hidden from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts, the entire eight hour drive home.
A few years ago I started to notice a lot of chairs in and around my home, and when I counted them up I had 72 chairs. Other things I have collected: business cards, stamps, stationary and stickers as a kid, books and ketchup bottles. Cigarette butts that belonged to the regulars at the diner I worked at, which I’d sneak into the pocket of my waitressing apron when I was 20 years old.
Like most mom’s I’ve struggled with my identity, trying to figure out which parts of myself I’ve lost or gained over the years and always trying to remember who I was before kids and how do I hold onto a piece of that person. Despite all the confusion, I do know that the greatest privilege I’ve been given was when someone handed me these four kids and said “Here, it’s your turn now.”
When I was a kid we went on a lot of canoe camping trips. My brother and I sat in the middle and spent hours trailing our fingers in the water and making up stories. I can remember one time hiding under a tarp in the rain and how it felt like I was in the belly of the boat, water above and beneath me, safe from the storm.
A few years ago I finally bought a canoe for my own family. Which was not just a canoe, I realized, but an attempt to fulfill that instinct we all have of taking our own childhood memories and passing them on to our children. Along with all the other things they may or may not want to inherit.
I can still hear my dad’s voice reading me this book, it was both of our favorites. When I read the last page of the book I always cry, but it’s not because it’s a sad ending. It’s because the last page of almost every childrens book makes me cry, which my children think is hilarious. And also because it reminds me that I still believe in magic.
Still not sure if I have supernatural powers or if I have occasional bouts of strength and a great imagination.
For 42 years I have never thrown away a single letter, photograph, note passed in class, christmas card, bus fare, concert or airline ticket. I have 18 bins in storage filled with journals and bags of things I thought I’d someday glue into journals. Writing has always been the most important creative act in my life.
Learning to talk with my angels.
I drive a 1990 Volvo 240. The college kids think it’s cool, but my 13 year old makes me drop him off in the alley across the street from his school when no one’s watching.
Andrew Wyeth said, “You can have the technique and paint the object, but it’s what’s inside you, the way you translate the object—and that’s pure emotion.” Wyeth painted over 300 photos of windows and I finally bought a print of this one. He’s one of my favorite artists.
This is starting to feel like a dating profile where I’ve mistakenly over-shared too much about myself. So I’ve added a terrifying photo of my youngest child.
Holy shit, right?
Molly is a part-time photographer with a background in creative writing and documentary radio. Her main pursuits lay in teaching and mentoring. She works locally with teens and adults in Boulder, Colorado, leads intensive workshops on storytelling and multimedia, and has worked with photographers from (almost!) every continent. She specializes in guiding photographers through the process of developing and bringing to fruition personal documentary and conceptual projects.