Big news you guys!
I’m happy to share with you that a poster I designed with this photo to promote my series, “My Summer with Optimus Prime” was selected for publication in American Photography 30.
From the AI-AP website and press release:
From 9,644 images submitted by 873 photographers, magazines, agencies, and schools, only 375 were selected by a majority vote of this year’s judges to appear in the AP30 hardcover book. Another 226 images were chosen with at least two votes to appear online in The Archive, the American Photography curated resource for industry professionals.
Regarded by creative professionals as the “books of record” and best sources for today’s top image-makers, American Photography is the premier showcases for editorial, advertising, book, poster, design, animation, fine art, unpublished and student work created by established, emerging and student photographers.
(Photo: Shawna Gibbs)
Optimus Prime practicing his moves for all the neighborhood to see. It’s so nice to be outside again without our winter clothes!
Follow us on our adventures with wee Optimus Prime. A fun, lighthearted photo series with me and my superhero-loving kids.
P.S. We’re on Instagram too.
Tabula Rasa, from Genius Loci by Shawna Gibbs
In celebration of National Poetry Month, a collaborative multimedia piece between photographer Shawna Gibbs and poet Diana Engel.
A twilight-glazed table cleared after each flurry of meals, scraped
of wax from years of dripping candles, stands in the still night.
My growing-up years, starless nights on this porch, a distant
street lamp the only glow — I would lay my head against the
dark surface to escape a gnawing loneliness. As I closed my
eyes, chair slats became played strings of a violin, its wistful plea
sweetening the air, the table expanding into an open road. I ran
down its sanded surface into emerald shadows of sheltering trees,
the night, my cloak of invisibility. I dreamed of living in a lushly
bowered tree house where the only watchful eyes were those of
squirrels and birds. This table, a temporary sanctuary from the
din of childhood. When I crouched on the floor beneath it, I
walked into fairy tales as my brothers and sisters ran into woods,
where they built tree forts and swung on giant grapevines. Now
my autumn soul yearns for the extinguished years. My family has
gone — mom, fending on her own. Our lives, like birds seek nests
beyond this porch. But this smooth, cleared table beckons me. Is
the light vanishing? A new narrative begins.
Many thanks to the Open to Interpretation project for their support.
shawnagibbs.tumblr.com / www.shawnagibbs.com