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My name is Claudia. I am a mother, wife, photographer, homemaker, memory weaver, story teller. My life has always been a work in progress, with many, many shades of grey and layers of strife in between smiles and happy moments. I believe we are not defined by what we do, or the mistakes we make, therefore I walk tall and learn a bit more about the true meaning of love, compassion and kindness when I practice it on myself. I was born in Lima, Perú, raised in the United States until the age of 9 and then landed across the border, further south, never turning back. I reached the end of my destructive adolescence (which went on into my early 20´s and stopped abruptly when I discovered the profound and life altering fact that a little person was growing inside me), went on to be a young mother, then marry, then become a mother again, unaware I was grounding roots for the first time ever. Just when I thought that stability was not a state meant for someone such as myself. I have never been anything but an artist, never claimed to be anything else, yet titles had always caused me anguish and the idea of creative monogamy made me want to run for dear life . So it was that I never seemed to settle and evolve in any one discipline, precisely because it meant being disciplined, comitting, sitting still. And so I became compulsively self taught and over the years, as the beatings I took from life wisened me and I learned to trust, this became a gift. The funny thing? All along, while I tread the winding road of artistic promiscuity and self destruction, I always had a camera hanging from my neck. Photography was the perfect mistress. She never asked for my commitment and took me in when I crawled back to her side, thus I never considered her a "threat", or made shallow promises to myself that would eventually, inevitably, be broken. And that is how I "accidentally" created this lifelong relationship with my camera.
I am a romantic. Helplessly. I am not afraid to cry, to kiss and squeeze, to adore and look for grace in morning light seeping in through branches  and in the smell of afternoon rain. I have learned to admit my mistakes, to say I am sorry, and to accept I do not know it all, cannot control life, and will stumble as many times as I will get back up. And this is ok.

As expressed exquisitely by the beautiful and admirable Beth Kirby in her guest post for Esme Wang Productions Blog:

"I morphed. But, as in the mathematical branch of topology, I don’t believe I’ll ever compromise the Euclidian space I occupy. Whether I’m a donut or a coffee cup, I’m still a thing with a hole in it. I believe we remain homeomorphic to ourselves. Which is to say, we are who we are and on a fundamental level we remain that way, but the manifestation of that I are vast."

"....my advice to you is to know your weaknesses, carve out a space for them in your life, and then climb. And fall. And climb again without fear. And fall again. And never stop. You’ll find you’ve climbed very far and achieved more than you thought possible, even with all those falls. And personally, I think you’ll be better for them. Suffering can breed a wisdom and compassion you’d never have without it."

So as for me?  I´m still a thing with a hole in it. I am not perfect.  Neither is my life. I wouldn´t have it any other way, for it is endlessly beautiful in all it´s imperfection.