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07/20/2005 03:32:46 AM · #1 |
The Navajo Indians believe that a part of our soul is captured in a photograph: I found myself unable to look at images of my father for years after his passing; my grief so raw, I found it unbearable. It̢۪s only now that I can look at them and smile. Each image capturing an aspect of his soul, his character, his unique personality. Now I can see my young nephew̢۪s face in my father̢۪s; my niece̢۪s cheeky grin; my son̢۪s eyes. It̢۪s all there, the future in a simple image from the past.
Also locked into the image are the memories of the time and place the image was taken:1976 one of the hottest years on record. He’d been gardening in his string vest and got badly sunburned. When he took it off, he was white where the vest had been, and red where the holes wereâ€Â¦like a negative image. We laughed for days. Viewing the image, I am seven again, like a form of time travel I am pulled back to the child I was then. My new orange Chopper bike; my bare feet burning on the red-hot pavement; my unrequited love for Sean Humphries - I’m back into the feelings and emotions. Photographs have such power.
This power was driven home to me this week: A bottle of wine, a bad, bad week and a moment of madness made for a dangerous cocktail. I curiously entered my first real love̢۪s name into google. I saw his name linked to a site about wedding photography and remembered his artistic leanings. Had he left the dull, corporate world for a career in photography?
I followed the links only to find my first love̢۪s wedding pictures from December 2004. This was the man that had broken my heart in to a myriad of pieces at the age of 19. The man I had wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Here was not just one image from his wedding day, but some ninety. Like watching a car accident, some morbid, masochistic curiosity made me click on each and every image. Suddenly I was the rejected nineteen year old again, pulled back in time to witness my greatest living nightmare in all its gory glory, as if the intervening 17 years had not happened. The emotions I was now feeling were totally irrational - now happily married, living abroad and thoroughly enjoying life, I found myself wailing like some wounded animal. Such is the power of a photograph
Message edited by author 2005-07-20 03:34:11. |
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07/20/2005 03:37:13 AM · #2 |
| Great story - thanks for sharing... and you are right, photographs can be immensely powerful, even, given the right circumstances simple (not-so) happy snaps. |
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07/20/2005 03:43:50 AM · #3 |
SOB SOB SOB.... that was an amazing and powerful piece of writing amber.. and it certianly gave me something to think about ... thank you so much for that... you just stirred something ( good thing ) up inside of me, that hopefully one day i will show everybody....
again.. those words were/are powerful....
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07/20/2005 03:45:22 AM · #4 |
Touching stories!
Ya know how many feelings a picture's worth! |
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07/20/2005 11:09:58 AM · #5 |
And such too is the power of the written word, when harnessed as well as above. Thanks for sharing.
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07/20/2005 11:16:24 AM · #6 |
Just an excellent story. Touches something elemental about what we do.
R.
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07/20/2005 11:40:44 AM · #7 |
| Great story. I take it you're originally from England? '76 seems to be a seminal year for those of us of a certain age......All my memories from that time seem to be in rather sickly colours, kind of like the fashions of the day and old slide stock. My most vivid memory is falling out of a tree on to drought-hardened earth and spending a week or two with my leg bandaged up. By the way, I had a Raleigh Commando, not a Chopper, which was infinitely superior (twist grip gear change...cool). ;) Ben |
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07/20/2005 08:56:30 PM · #8 |
Thanks all for comments;)
Yes I'm from England Ben. I know what you mean by the colours, but I remember them almost like the colours you get with LOMO cameras? Weeks of blazing, uninterrupted sunshine from sunrise to sunset and parched earth combined to make it an ethereal time. |
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07/21/2005 07:23:58 PM · #9 |
Yesâ€Â¦such is the power of a photographâ€Â¦so poignantâ€Â¦this makes me thinkâ€Â¦Kate has started something excellent hereâ€Â¦lets run with this.
So you ask yourselfâ€Â¦what are your motivations for making a certain imageâ€Â¦what are your desiresâ€Â¦to whom are you speaking, and are you trying to say anything at all? And just how much should you revealâ€Â¦emotionally, not physicallyâ€Â¦or do you even care, is it all just a technical dance you’ve taken up? Yes, the steps are always fluid and growing more so with constant practice and instructionâ€Â¦yet still you are not satisfiedâ€Â¦you are not full.
Every image I make has been asked to be madeâ€Â¦light speaks to me in many ways. Sometimes it’s just a whisper and at other times a blood-curdling screamâ€Â¦I’m not trying to be deep here, this is just how it is for me. I had been taking pictures maniacally from the very moment my grandfather got me my first brand new “grown-up†cameraâ€Â¦a Nikon FG20 when I turned 15, before then I had been using an old hand-me-down. I am not new to photography, yet for the last eight years I ignored the inklings, the little nudges to pick up a camera for more than just a snapshotâ€Â¦and it was all right really. I was on a different artistic journey and was newly married, these things begged for all my devotionâ€Â¦plusâ€Â¦I no longer had a darkroom, so how was I to make my pictures?
Only recently have I begun to renew my vows to my first creative love. These little digital cameras are awesomeâ€Â¦and Adobe makes a lovely darkroomâ€Â¦though I do miss that safe light glow and the smell of stop bath and fixer sometimes. And only just very recently have I heeded the voice calling for me to return portrait making.
It happened one eveningâ€Â¦we have but one lonely window in our bedroomâ€Â¦but ohâ€Â¦the light that crashes through this window at this moment of timeâ€Â¦completely divine. Danny (the husband) had just finished primping and was ready to go out. I asked if I could take a pictureâ€Â¦mind you, I had no pictures of this man except for a few stolen snapshotsâ€Â¦he absolutely despises being photographed. I begged and pleadedâ€Â¦please Dannyâ€Â¦pleeeeeeeeease let me take a picture. He looked at me like I was a half bubble off level and said, “ why the hell do you want to take my picture for? “ my reply, “ because if you died tonight I have just three crappy snapshots to remember you by. †He moved over to the windowâ€Â¦ and I made my very first portrait of Dannyâ€Â¦we have been married for just over seven years.
This is raw Dannyâ€Â¦ his ever present white wife beater undershirt underneath some mid-century inspired overshirtâ€Â¦the pompadour doâ€Â¦the gold cross necklace his grandmother gave him that has only been removed 2 times since I have known himâ€Â¦those beautiful full lips that have kissed me goodnight for over seven years straightâ€Â¦and the goatee I have never seen him without.
On top of these obvious things I also see a man who mourned for a week after selling his kustom ‘55 Mercury Montclair. A man with a deep smooth Philly accented voice that loves Do-Wop and has a rather special talent for making up crass new lyrics to go with the old melodies. A man who knows that one good deep belch can send me into fits of spasmodic laughter for an hour. A man who proclaimed his love after knowing me for only a few days and could not be talked out of it. A man who made me the sweetest shadow box collage for our first Valentine’s day but didn’t dare show it to his friends.
â€Â¦And a man who simply adores me for being me.
What do your images say? What feelings do they conjure? What bits of magic do they help recollect?
And how do other’s images speak to youâ€Â¦do you care or do you even take the time to really look, to really feel the imageâ€Â¦can you look beyond the technical and find the meaning, the emotionâ€Â¦is there really any genuine emotion to be gleaned at all? If notâ€Â¦then what exactly is the purpose of the image? Can you truly be pleased with an image that doesn’t move you at all? Can you be happy with an image that doesn’t speak to you, not even a murmur?
Pictures are but little slices of life, some meaty, some light and fluffy, some sour, some sweet, some pretty and some â€Â¦not so muchâ€Â¦and then there are those occasional hot n’ spicy slices to get the blood movingâ€Â¦food for the soul for lack of better words.
Just make sure you never go hungerâ€Â¦because no one can survive on candy alone.
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07/21/2005 10:42:05 PM · #10 |
Wow Rachel:)
This resonates with me so much. I am like your husband, I loathe being photographed and as I am the one behind the camera I get to avoid being in family photos.
I thought this clever until this week: my son is about to leave for university in the UK. I have developed an acute case of what they call 'Empty Nest Syndrome'. As the panic takes hold I realise that I don't have one image of him and me together from the last 10 years and my time is running out. So many opportunities missed and irreplaceable.
So I'm painfully learning that photographs are not just snapshots of events, they are incredible documents of our love.
Message edited by author 2005-07-21 22:42:50. |
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07/22/2005 04:45:24 AM · #11 |
Amber and Rachel soo much thanks for sharing these fine pieces of writing and thinking
i can relate very much to the essence of these stories ! |
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07/22/2005 04:54:44 AM · #12 |
Now see you guys went and made me cry! At work nogal!
Beautifull. |
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07/22/2005 05:24:59 AM · #13 |
I will share.
My mother passed away unexpectadly three years ago. I was not into photography yet, and I had borrowed a Samsung 1.2mp p&s camera to take some snaps of her with my newborn daughter about a six months before her passing. She sits on the edge of a bed in her bathrobe, with my daughter on her lap. The fresh summer morning African sun illuminates them through a soft lace curtain. Perfectly sharp and vivid. She is looking at her granddaughter, infinitaly.
My mother was a stubbourn person, she refused to give in to any pressure at all, ever. She was a leader, If something had to be done, no matter how demeaning the task, she was there, in front, with her head held high and hell to whoever crosses her. She was never, ever apologetic for anything. Beware the person or party who even looked as if they were out to harm us, for they would learn the meaning of hell on earth.
My mother was a hard person. She shunned emotional ties with me, her only son, and I reacted to it. There was a time that I hated her. I never felt as if I had any connection with her. I felt and did a lot of things I will not relate here. I often asked why, but in red rage anger, rethorically.
My mother had a dark secret. After her death, we found that she had kept this from us, her children, my father, everybody. There was another child. A son, forced from her into adoption before she met my father. She held this boy, we heard, much in the same way as she held my daughter, for less than a minute, before it was taken from her.
This secret she kept from us, in herself, festering black, untill it ultimately killed her.
In this photograph of her holding my daughter, I can see her. I can see her as she was, as I could never see her in life. As she never allowed herself to be shown. She could not show emotion, she could not afford to, for it would have taken over and jeapordised her secret. In this photograph she let her guard down. Just for a split second, loving my daughter. And I recorded this with a cheap, metallic blue 1.2 mpixel Samsung.
And I can love her. |
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07/22/2005 06:20:17 AM · #14 |
OMG Marius! Now I'm in tears..
What an incredible story. I cannot even begin to imagine what your mother suffered. The idea that others could do that to a mother, no matter what the circumstances is abhorent. Coming from an Irish background, I know that many young women were forced into homes where they were made to work and had their babies removed at birth. (There was a film a few years back Magdalene Sisters )
The trauma she must have felt... most people would be wounded for life. How sad that she felt she had to carry the secret for all those years without support. What a strong woman.
And how fantastic it is that you could empathise with her, understand her and love her...and have an image to show her true spirit.
Thank you, genuinely, for sharing that...I'm so moved.
Message edited by author 2005-07-22 06:22:30. |
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07/22/2005 07:35:30 AM · #15 |
Marius - that is some powerful story, very moving.
Amber and Rachel - thanks for sharing your stories with us - amazing
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07/22/2005 07:42:18 AM · #16 |
What a moving, emotional thread. Thank you so much for sharing your stories. The stories really touched me deep inside. I lost my mom -- who was my idol -- about a year and a half ago. I still can't think of her without get emotional and teary. When I look at pictures of her, involuntary tears still flow like it just happened yesterday. So Amber, thank you for sharing your story. . .because it lets me know that someday it won't hurt so badly, and I will be able to see pictures of her and not ache to see her again for real.
And I really related to your grief over your son leaving for college. That was a particularly painful time in my life too. . .but I can tell you for sure. . .it WILL be okay, and your relationship with your son won't suffer. . .in time, when you get over the initial grief, the new adult relationship you have with him will be MORE rewarding and fulfilling than the one you have now. I promise!!!!
Message edited by author 2005-07-22 07:44:35. |
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07/22/2005 09:22:30 AM · #17 |
If I may share a similar story. Seven years ago I reported aboard my new duty station at the Naval Base in Great Lakes, IL. Again I had to meet new people and make new friends that I would most likely have to leave in 3 years or they would be leaving sooner. This is military life and it had some pluses if you met people you really didn't like. But this was not the case here.
I met a women named Myra, she was a civilian, heavy set, black woman that, because of our first meeting, I feared. (she yelled at me and blamed me for unplugging some important equipment that I'm still certain I didn't touch) After about 6 months I was chosen to move offices and work in her department...I was scared.
I fearfully worked for her and more than once got schooled on the way things worked in her department but that didn't deter our friendship from growing. I learned she was a single mom of two beautiful, smart girls and was working her butt off to make sure they got a good life. I respected that. She always took the younger "kids" sailors under her wing and helped to mold them and keep them out of trouble and although I was in my late 20's I was eventually to exception to this.
In my eventual 6 years there, we became good friends and would often rush into the others office and close the door to vent. She helped me deal with my wifes continous medical problems and through some improper times of my life (and NEVER judged, just listened and advised) and then again with my divorce and then new marriage. She ended up with quite a few of my barn pictures (including what was technically my first) because she loved them so much and I would seek out new ones to shoot just for her. Other than my wife she is probably one of the first people to encourage me in my photography, a skill I was just learning (even though she detested being photographed).
About 4 years ago her daughter begged her to stop smoking so she did, cold turkey. Didn't tell anyone till it slipped out 6 months later. She had lost all desire to have one and was doing great. Then two years ago health problems and probably self-confidence led her to pursue bariatric surgery to lose weight.
The surgery went fine but then the day before she was to come back to work her sister in another state, called and called and called but couldn't get an answer so she called another sister that lived closer and eventually she was able to make it to the house only to find she suffered a stroke 3 hours earlier.
After many months in and out of the hospital and physical therapy and more small strokes she finally got to come home around Christmas last year. Only to end up back in the hospital with other complications. All of this without communication with her friends because she didn't want them to see her like that. She was a proud woman.
In March, this year, I got a call at 10pm from some new friends of mine, she just had her baby and wanted me to come to the hospital and photograph the new baby. This brought much joy to me as I was part of the reason these two got together in the first place. I sat with them for about two hours talking with them, taking pictures and even got to hold the baby.
The next morning I got a call, Myra had passed away due to heart complications. Talk about a roller coaster of emotions. I just photographed a new arrival then had to hear about the loss of someone I never expected to even be a friend. That evening, I was determined to shoot one more barn picture for my friend, even if she couldn't see it. I went out and drove for a long time looking for a different barn to photograph and just about the time I was going to give up I saw the sunset beginning to glow beautiful orange. I went into a new housing communitee and noticed a beautiful old barn with a dying windmill next to it with the sunset in the background. Totally felt blessed to get that.
I took a lot of photos, raced off and printed, signed and framed one and left it and a letter to the family in their door at their house. Her sister was very thankful and her daughters framed the letter and one took the letter and one took the photo to have with her. They wanted me to read the letter at the funeral but I was unable to attend, that hurt a lot.
I can not look at my friends little boy or a barn picture without thinking of Myra and the unexpected impact she had on me and probably many others.
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Thank you for starting this thread "amber", who knows, you may have helped someone else releve some tension or pain they were holding on to.
Message edited by author 2005-07-22 10:48:27.
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07/22/2005 09:37:08 AM · #18 |
I have to run to work - so I haven't read this whole thread. I only got to Rachel's post (and her photo of her husband).
Left comment (and favorite) on the photo. What an outstanding capture, and what a great thread.
I hope to get time at work to finish reading everyone else's stories.
Message edited by author 2005-07-22 09:37:37. |
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07/22/2005 10:00:34 AM · #19 |
NIce writing.
Nice story.
Needs to be a script and pitched to a studio.
I need a drink.
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07/22/2005 10:45:23 AM · #20 |
| WOW some amazing stories,,As they say a picture can tell a story and isnt that what its aobut,,I love the challenges I really do but I also love to be out somewhere or home and see something that just speaks to me to get the camera and capture the moment,,whether its the lighting or what have you,,its amazing how anything at all can be the perfect picture,,the perfect sotry,,the story that takes you back in time to relive a cerpatin part of your past,,re hash old memories feelings,its amazing and powerful and awesome!!!! It can either really make you value what you have or want to change your life completely,,,WOW |
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07/22/2005 11:01:29 AM · #21 |
Wow, all of these are very moving. The ablity to photograph something, a moment at the time, a memory forever, is an awesome thing, I feel the same way about music, though you can not see it, often music has strong
links to memories.
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07/22/2005 11:23:15 AM · #22 |
Originally posted by SandyP:
What a moving, emotional thread. Thank you so much for sharing your stories. The stories really touched me deep inside. I lost my mom -- who was my idol -- about a year and a half ago. I still can't think of her without get emotional and teary. When I look at pictures of her, involuntary tears still flow like it just happened yesterday. So Amber, thank you for sharing your story. . .because it lets me know that someday it won't hurt so badly, and I will be able to see pictures of her and not ache to see her again for real.
And I really related to your grief over your son leaving for college. That was a particularly painful time in my life too. . .but I can tell you for sure. . .it WILL be okay, and your relationship with your son won't suffer. . .in time, when you get over the initial grief, the new adult relationship you have with him will be MORE rewarding and fulfilling than the one you have now. I promise!!!! |
Sandy...it's taken a while, but I can now look at photos of my father without crying... with an acceptance of the joy and humour he brought to my life; celebrating rather than mourning. You will get there, I promise;)
My son - thank you so much for your comment about the empty nest thing - but you don't look old enough to have experienced that, what's your secret? :) Seriously.
It's the 'countdown' I can't stand and the 'he's only eight in my head, where did the time go???? It really does help to know that someone else has survived the emotional minefield that I'm crawling through;) So all you other DPCers with young children, treasure those little ones, because all too soon they're dissing you musical taste and leaving home.
Message edited by author 2005-07-22 11:48:56. |
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07/22/2005 11:47:49 AM · #23 |
Scott, it's an odd quirk, but most of my best friends have been those that I initially had a problem with:) I thought they were vain or full of themselves or overbearing...they turned out to be the best, deepest loyalist,friends I've had the pleasure to know.
I can't see any barn images in your portfolio - no portfolio:) I would love to see what Myra loved;)
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07/22/2005 11:55:08 AM · #24 |
Originally posted by amber:
Scott, it's an odd quirk, but most of my best friends have been those that I initially had a problem with:) I thought they were vain or full of themselves or overbearing...they turned out to be the best, deepest loyalist,friends I've had the pleasure to know.
I can't see any barn images in your portfolio - no portfolio:) I would love to see what Myra loved;) |
I am in the very slow process of updating my personal web page, as soon as I get it up you will be the first to review/view it. Thanks again for your thread.
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07/22/2005 02:26:02 PM · #25 |
The Navajo were right, Amber, and I can imagine all too well what you felt when you saw those pictures again. My girlfriend of two and a half years left me not long ago, and for the whole time we were together I was sure that she as the one. I̢۪m trying to put the pieces back together, but I fear that day in the future when I go looking through all those old CDs of pictures and re-discover her in them. The way the sun made her hair glow, the look in her eyes that is now long gone. On that day, to look online and find the sort of pictures that you did, I don̢۪t know that I could bear it.
I may move past all these feelings, but I don’t know that I’ll ever forget them, and seeing here again, just as I always loved best, it will reopen them and send them raging against me once more. These moments in time, these pieces of lives that we collect every time we shoot a frame, they are far more capable of haunting us than any ghost yet imagined. Memories of better times, still so real and preserved foreverâ€Â¦.
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