Self, Authenticity and Others
Today I attended a photography class called Who are You: Self through Photographic Image. In addition to expanding my photographic repertoire, I thought it was a good way to explore some of the same themes found in memoir through another medium – the visual. Our instructor, Polly Raine, encouraged us to be authentic. It is the same message, Jon Katz, our leader at the Hubbard Hall Writers Project tried to drive home. In my memoir class, I explore the idea of truth in memoir with my students: What does it mean to tell a true story? Is a story true if memory is flawed, if your perspective differs from others, if you have to manufacture dialogue, if you shape it to be more literary?
Today Polly asked us if a photo is a self- portrait if someone else is in it, if no one is in it, If someone else snaps the shutter or helps with the concept or the lighting? And, what does it mean to be authentic? Do any of us know ourselves, is knowing yourself the same thing as feeling comfortable with yourself? These are important questions and just as I instruct my students, Polly instructed us, that we have to reach conclusions for ourselves, come up with our own working definitions of self-portrait, memoir and as in life, decide what it means to truly be our authentic self.
Sometimes this means deciding what to include and what to exclude – do I share this story or do I keep silent? Do I show my face or leave it out? What is the best way to be authentic and to share this self with others?
I have found that sometimes the knowing comes in the doing. In order to figure out who we are we have to take the picture, write the tale, share the story. For me, I sometimes find out who I am by looking at others. Their lives serve as a mirror into my own. Such is friendship with Joan, my pug Waffles breeder. I have found myself writing a lot about her on this blog and it wasn’t until one of my readers commented that she loves my stories about strong women that I realized this was part of my fascination with Joan’s life – her strength and her vulnerability. I am drawn to paradox. It is part of what I love about religious study – paradox abounds in the Bible – a crucified messiah, the word made flesh, truly god, truly man. I see strength and vulnerability in myself. It is probably in all of us. But sometimes I am strong when I should be vulnerable and vulnerable when I should be strong.
Polly said that traditionalists would argue that a photograph cannot be a self-portrait if someone else presses the shutter and that it can be argued it may not be a true self-portrait if someone else is also in the picture, because having someone else involved, by its very nature, changes the dynamic. Yet, no man is an island right? Like a tree falling in the forest if no one is around does it still make a noise? Are any of us anything in isolation? Even when we are the only one’s in the picture, we are not alone. Someone is always reading the story, looking at the photograph. It’s always our voice, our portrait, but how can we be authentic if we don’t acknowledge that?
We are social creatures. Isn’t my truth always being reflected and bounced off those around me? I’m not sure it is possible for me to disconnect my story from those around me – Joan’s story is my story, my mother’s story is my story, my friend Sheila’s story is my story – all these women, all these people both strong and vulnerable, are me. I look at them and learn who I am and who I want to be.
Keep Moving
My sister-in-law, a personal trainer, shared this picture and saying (from Get-Fit-Naturally) on Facebook today. I know she posted it to motivate people to keep exercising, but I love the sentiment in general. Life has thrown some challenges my way health-wise lately, but I don’t want to dwell on them. I want to keep moving.
Sometimes you have no control over what happens to you; sometimes you just have to deal with the consequences. Sometimes you have options. Regardless, you can always keep moving forward, learning and growing. A friend and counselor once told me that was one of my assets – in spite of the specific challenges I’ve faced in my life I didn’t let them stop me, I pressed on.
It’s not denial, it’s an act of faith and sometimes all you need is to take that first step to gain momentum. This morning I watched Alfie and Waffles as they faced the morning cold. Neither wanted to leave the warmth of the house and once out both immediately turned back toward the door. Then Alfie finally made the move off the stoop. Waffles watched for a beat and followed. Soon the two were climbing over the snow banks and prancing over the frosty ground. Watching them in motion, the air seemed lighter, the day seemed warmer. I wanted to make the leap with them.
Writing Prompt: Joy of Crows
To call yesterday frigid would be an understatement. I’m not sure if there is metaphorical equivalent to “hot as hell” when it comes to cold weather, but when the temperatures drop below zero here in the north country, it can become a bitter hell all its own.
I surely felt that way when I was out running errands yesterday afternoon. The quick walk from the local soup and sandwich shop to my car took on expedition proportions. Hunkered down beneath layers of woolen hats and scarves, LL Bean thermal jacket and heavy sweater I felt like I might have been climbing Mount Everest. Once inside the car and safe from the arctic chill, I turned the heater on high and basked in the warmth. It was then that I spotted the crows.
A few cars down from me, a flock of very fat crows was feasting. A blue pickup truck had a load full of garbage and these birds were claiming it as their own. They were going to town, pecking holes in the bags, grabbing morsels and flying back and forth from car to tree as if they were on a Caribbean vacation. They seemed oblivious to the cold. They were not oblivious to me.
Unfortunately, I had left the house without my camera and since I wanted to capture this merry crew, I was resigned to using my i-phone. This meant I had to get close, but each time I tried, the crows would fly away to a nearby tree. They were smart. They waited for my car to circle, would fly back and grab some more grub and fly off again when I came close. This picture was the best I could do, but it does little to show the immensity of the birds or their meal.
I watched them for a long time. You can argue with me all you want about whether animals have emotions and whether they experience the world the same way we do. I’ll listen and at times I may agree, but yesterday as I watched this company of birds I knew one thing – in a world of bright blue skies and subzero temperatures, I may have been experiencing hell, but these guys were in seventh heaven and they were happy at the banquet table.
Writing Prompt: Write about what's in front of you right now.
Book Review: Lost and Found
I first learned of Amy Shojai’s book Lost and Found through Blogpaws, a site for pet bloggers and received a free copy from Story Cartel in exchange for an unbiased review. Promoted as a dog-viewpoint thriller, it grabbed my attention. I usually prefer memoirs and non-fiction dog-themed books, but thought the dog-related theme worth a try.
I wasn’t disappointed. Overall, this book was an enjoyable and entertaining read. Unfortunately, its autistic-children-get-violent theme may not be as readily received following the Newtown shooting. Readers sensitive to this should be aware. That said, Shojai does seem to have some knowledge or at the very least done some research on autism and weaves a story with a variety of twists and turns. I saw some of them coming, but like a good episodic television show, I still found myself entertained.
This was not what I expected when I first opened the book. Chapter One begins “September Day sloshed another half-cup of coffee” and the only thing that kept me reading passed this sentence was to discover if Shojai was serious in dubbing her character or if there was some joke to be revealed. Unfortunately, the name seems to be intentional and was made worse by the fact that September’s sister is named April and their maiden names January. These monikers are so ridiculous they took me out of the story for a moment, but I pressed on and a few pages in found myself impressed. Describing September’s cat, Shojai writes, “Macy paced. His tail dry-painted September’s cheek and wove in and out of her long wavy mane. Green slanted eyes, coffee-dark hair, hidden claws and enigmatic smile – she’d been told more than once that she and the cat matched in both personality and looks.” Now, this was a description worth reading!
Also, impressive was Shojai’s handling of Shadow, the therapy pup. When Shojai is writing in Shadow’s voice, the story is at its best. By writing from the dog’s point of view, Shojai is able to reveal true insights into the dog-human bond. I would have loved to hear even more from Shadow and wouldn’t mind reading a sequel from his point of view.
The book could have used more careful editing. Half way through a dog named Bruno becomes Jet for a few pages before reverting back to Bruno again, which I found a bit disconcerting, but overall this is a fun read if you can get passed the darker elements. I recommend it for the Shadow parts alone.
Imperfection
I love this photo, but it is not perfect. In fact, I took it to my photography class tonight and my teacher said it didn't work for him. It doesn't matter. I could look at it for hours and it's the imperfections that attract me -- the movement, the blur, the white space, the lack of detail. Perhaps it's because I see what isn't apparent. I see Waffles staring off into the distance, into the emptiness, into the white. I see her separateness, or independence, her alien interaction with the world. There is a distance I cannot bridge, a space, a boundary between photographer and subject, between human and dog. She is her own creature, she sees something I can't see. Her back is to me, her face is to her tomorrow. I see her fur, the lines that form her, the way the light caresses her. I see that she will not be still and frozen by my camera. I am drawn to this picture not because it is perfect, not because of the bond between us. I am drawn to this picture because it is imperfect and full of life and movement. I am drawn to this picture because it and its subject cannot be tamed by me.
It's the little things...
Sometimes it’s the little things that count. The other day I asked my friend Sheila to go see a movie with me. I gave her two options – Silver Linings Playbook and The Impossible. I sent my invite via Facebook and somehow in reading it we had a communication gap and she thought I was inviting her out for Saturday when in reality I was inviting her for Friday. As a result, she told me to give her a call and we’d talk on Saturday and I thinking she was unavailable for Friday went out to see Silver Linings Playbook by myself.
When we finally talked and figured out the confusion, I suggested we could still see a movie. I could tell that she preferred Silver Linings Playbook over The Impossible, so I offered to see it again and I was happy to do so.
When we arrived at the theater, I saw that Les Miserables was playing, a movie I had wanted to see since Christmas Day. I said, “Oh, Les Mis is here, I’d love to see it.” We talked a bit about what we each had heard about the movie and even spoke to some people we knew coming out of the theater about it. Then Sheila surprised me. She turned and asked, “Would you rather see Les Miserables?”
It might sound funny for me to be shocked by such a simple question, but to be honest I am used to usually attending films with friends and family members with very definite views on what they will and will not see and frequently find myself accommodating them to keep the peace. My father will not sci-fi, art house films, or anything historic such as medieval movies where people wear thick clothes, as he sees it (Don’t ask). My friend Joan foregoes horror, action films, and animal movies with sad endings. My friend Chris has even more specific taste -- usually going against the mainstream. Most of my friends will not go see a film if I have already seen it, not to be kind, but rather in protest that I went without them, so I often find myself pretending that I haven’t gone. Since I’m usually willing to see just about anything and over and over again, it’s not that big a deal. Or so I tell myself, but I was taken aback when Sheila tossed this question out there as an honest choice. The thing that really got me was the sincerity behind it. She was perfectly happy to have us see Les Miserables instead of her preference and I realized that since I had genuinely enjoyed Silver Linings Playbook the night before and thought Sheila would really like it as well, I was truly happy to see that again if she wanted. Turns out she really did and we enjoyed sharing the experience together. Still, her kind gesture and the genuine choice it provided me touched my heart and opened me up to a new possibility – sometimes I can choose. It was a small thing on her part, but it left a big impact on me.
Good Company at Cockadoodle
Living in a small town has its perks. Tonight I experienced one of them. My mom and I decided to grab a bite at Cockadoodle Pizza Café, the local pizza place. It’s one of those places where not only does everyone know your name, but everyone you know will be there. Sure enough as we approached the counter I saw my friend Betty and her husband Jody waiting for their order. “Are you dining here?” I asked, and though they weren’t planning on it they decided to join my mom and me for dinner.
It turns out that the two had just come from taking their dog, Paco, to the vet, which was quite the ordeal. We spent most of the meal exchanging dog stories – whose dog is the most hyper, the most ill behaved, the funniest sleeper. We swapped stories like pros and soon found us moving on to other topics – the trip they’re planning to Hawaii, their favorite places to visit. Jody told us about seeing an eagle sweep down upon a lake in the Grand Tetons. I told them about the time we arrived at a camp ground in the dark and stayed up all night because we were placed near some crazy wild beast that cawed and howled till dawn. It turned out in the light of day to just be an upset burro, and we all shared a good laugh.
We stayed longer than we would have if we were just grabbing a quick bite, but it was time well spent. When we went back out to meet the sub-zero temperatures, we found our hearts warmed by good food and good company.
Walk
Sometimes when it looks like you are wandering,
lost or walking in circles
You are blazing an unique
and beautiful path.
No two roads are the same, no other footprints
leave your impression.
No one can understand the halting, the circling,
the standing still. They can’t see the trail
you leave until it’s done.
They need perspective,
You need to keep moving on.
Wild Child
I am taking another photography class with my friend and teacher Jim Block. I have taken the class before, but learn something new each time. Our assignment this week is on working a scene and perspective (as in seeing things in a new way). Because I haven't been feeling well, I haven't really gotten out and about to take any photos, so I have concentrated on taking pictures of the pugs (my favorite subject, anyway) usually inside and at night. Because of the low light conditions and my laziness in not using a tripod, a lot of my pics have been relatively noisy and subject to motion blur, but I have also managed to capture a few I love. Above is Alfie, caught mid-yawn. It was actually a quiet moment for her in between a game of chase with Waffles, but perhaps because it shows her teeth, to me there is a bit of the Wild Child captured here. She reminds me of a lion in the wilderness.