Furcht
NudeEdward Weston1927
"There is nothing to fear but fear itself." -FDR
In sixth grade, during a video on the Great Depression, the screen locked onto Dorthea Lange's Migrant Mother, and these eight words of wisdom filled the classroom. Since that moment, this has been a favorite of mine and I try with all of the brainpower I possess to live by this statement.
So what is fear? "A distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, or pain, whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid." As human beings, we have this great mental capability (whether we're aware of it or not) to control emotion. However, we're only human and at times our minds have a tendency to slip into dark corners.As a photographer, one thought causes me trepidation. During my commute that has become seemingly longer over the past few weeks, my mind is left to wander. Ask yourself, what could possibly be the worst thing that could happen to one whose passion lay in images? A true tragedy it would be should one finding ecstasy in tricks of light, the contrast of the world, find themselves in complete darkness. A harrowing thought it is.This thought has crossed my mind several times lately, after first presenting itself in a Modern Art reference book two weeks ago. Paul Strand's Blind Woman (below)stared up at me, an ironic and thoroughly interesting subject he chose, might I add.
Blind WomanPaul Strand
1916
There is an image hanging on a wall of the darkroom in which I admire immensely. It is titled Nude 1927 and was shot by Edward Weston. After further inquiry about Weston, I discovered that he had lived my fear; in 1946 he was diagnosed with Parkinsons disease. No, he was not blind, but how do you load, shoot, judge, develop when you have increasingly limited control over your movements? He shot his last photo in 1948 of Point Lobos.
I start with no preconceived idea - discovery excites me to focus - then rediscovery through the lens - final form of presentation seen on ground glass, the finished print previsioned completely in every detail of texture, movement, proportion, before exposure - the shutter's release automatically and finally fixes my conception, allowing no after manipulation - the ultimate end, the print, is but a duplication of all that I saw and felt through my camera. -Edward Weston
Just something to think about, folks. Though I've found my passion, perhaps you have no idea. It's probably a good idea to analyze your greatest fears. What would you be absolutely lost without? Ponder, and have a good one.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Save the World
When does one truly become an adult? The following are the repeated consensus of a few of the folks I know:"Eighteen; as soon as you're able to vote.""As soon as you're able to do everything, so 21."Ok, great; on your eighteenth birthday you roll out of bed and jump for joy because you're finally able to make a difference in the country's government! Not so much. Eighteen is the generally accepted age of adulthood - basically, that's when you're expected to be able to take responsibility for your own actions. After eighteen years, you'd better be able to. From age eighteen to twenty-one, however, you are undergoing a trial period of adulthood. You're given responsibilities, you're able to be tried, you can put yourself in debt, but you're not quite ready for that added responsibility of drinking. Add that later, after the really bad apples are dead, in prison or too far in debt to afford alcohol. Then you're a true adult, correct? After you're entrusted with all of these responsibilities, you must be! But wait, you turn 25 and you're insurance goes down. So from ages twenty-one to twenty-five you're still not trusted to handle a vehicle! This space is yet another trial period, and if you don't pass the test, you're either dead, broke, inprisoned, or an alcoholic and will be one, if not all of the three sooner rather than later.See, with all of these tests, you'd think the world would be ok. Unfortunately, somehow hundreds of the inept have slipped through the cracks and are now preparing for world domination. When they stick together, they're fine. They bicker, drool and gafaw with each other and it's alright; however if one were to approach these profound beings with, say, logic, intellect -- an open mind even -- the poor soul who passed life's tests would be plagued with frustration, and heads have been known to just give up and fall off at the sheer disappointment in the world's population. So it is this that I ask you, oh deserving intelligent public: Don't give up hope in the world.Let us educate these juvenile beings, and should that venture fail, encourage them not to breed. Lastly; do not allow your mind to go to waste -- perhaps by raising the standards we can strengthen these tests and better filter the weak.
When does one truly become an adult? The following are the repeated consensus of a few of the folks I know:"Eighteen; as soon as you're able to vote.""As soon as you're able to do everything, so 21."Ok, great; on your eighteenth birthday you roll out of bed and jump for joy because you're finally able to make a difference in the country's government! Not so much. Eighteen is the generally accepted age of adulthood - basically, that's when you're expected to be able to take responsibility for your own actions. After eighteen years, you'd better be able to. From age eighteen to twenty-one, however, you are undergoing a trial period of adulthood. You're given responsibilities, you're able to be tried, you can put yourself in debt, but you're not quite ready for that added responsibility of drinking. Add that later, after the really bad apples are dead, in prison or too far in debt to afford alcohol. Then you're a true adult, correct? After you're entrusted with all of these responsibilities, you must be! But wait, you turn 25 and you're insurance goes down. So from ages twenty-one to twenty-five you're still not trusted to handle a vehicle! This space is yet another trial period, and if you don't pass the test, you're either dead, broke, inprisoned, or an alcoholic and will be one, if not all of the three sooner rather than later.See, with all of these tests, you'd think the world would be ok. Unfortunately, somehow hundreds of the inept have slipped through the cracks and are now preparing for world domination. When they stick together, they're fine. They bicker, drool and gafaw with each other and it's alright; however if one were to approach these profound beings with, say, logic, intellect -- an open mind even -- the poor soul who passed life's tests would be plagued with frustration, and heads have been known to just give up and fall off at the sheer disappointment in the world's population. So it is this that I ask you, oh deserving intelligent public: Don't give up hope in the world.Let us educate these juvenile beings, and should that venture fail, encourage them not to breed. Lastly; do not allow your mind to go to waste -- perhaps by raising the standards we can strengthen these tests and better filter the weak.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
I am small; I am needy -- warm me up and breathe me...
On June 28, 2007 I made a resolution to update this weblog somewhat often. Here it is, August 24th, nearly two months later and until tonight, I had completely forgotten that this account even existed. Why the sudden epiphany of weblogging? I've spent the evening, in all of my restlessness, catching up with an old friend who kindly reminded me. I'm quite grateful; after deciding that 19 credits and an internship leave little time for even a part time job, let alone an additional class, I dropped my single writing course, the sole purpose of which was to keep my writing skills in check (skillZ, if you will.). Hopefully this will do the trick.Throughout tonight's conversation (via AIM, as the friend in which I speak is currently studying abroad halfway around the world), I was reminded not only of this blog, but of several other things, new and old, that had I continued the way I am currently -- stressing about finances, family, friends, school, etcetera -- I would have missed. Of course, they're little things, but hell, the little things are what make us whole, right?Oh and PS, I just downloaded the song from that video "Breathe Me" by, Sia. Few songs have significant effect on me -- and by significant I mean reaches into the depths of me, so much so mentally and emotionally that I can physically feel it -- but that one certainly does.Cheers until next time.
On June 28, 2007 I made a resolution to update this weblog somewhat often. Here it is, August 24th, nearly two months later and until tonight, I had completely forgotten that this account even existed. Why the sudden epiphany of weblogging? I've spent the evening, in all of my restlessness, catching up with an old friend who kindly reminded me. I'm quite grateful; after deciding that 19 credits and an internship leave little time for even a part time job, let alone an additional class, I dropped my single writing course, the sole purpose of which was to keep my writing skills in check (skillZ, if you will.). Hopefully this will do the trick.Throughout tonight's conversation (via AIM, as the friend in which I speak is currently studying abroad halfway around the world), I was reminded not only of this blog, but of several other things, new and old, that had I continued the way I am currently -- stressing about finances, family, friends, school, etcetera -- I would have missed. Of course, they're little things, but hell, the little things are what make us whole, right?Oh and PS, I just downloaded the song from that video "Breathe Me" by, Sia. Few songs have significant effect on me -- and by significant I mean reaches into the depths of me, so much so mentally and emotionally that I can physically feel it -- but that one certainly does.Cheers until next time.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Infatuation has to start somewhere...
Thinking today of two years back. I vividly remember my third day of college sitting in the caf with Candis and Ryann and having a perfect stranger captivate me. Somewhere, mid roommate chit-chat I was impressed enough to make the public declaration that I would one day be romantically involved with that very gentleman.
Fast forward two weeks, develop setting: thirsty thursday, mid september, choruses of innebriated college students echoing throughout the microscopic campus. My visiting cousin witnesses our first words exchanged. Attitude flairing, the man from the caf dares the accusing security guard to sample his drink, allegedly pineapple juice. Once the guard has exited the scene, I bluntly denounce the blue-eyed wonder's brogue as a fraud. We're off to a great start.
A week has gone by to bring us to another Thursday. The girls decide clubbing is in order, Carrie and Allisen join in the fun, I am designated driver. A quick stop in the village has Pete the creep who myspaced every semiattractive freshman girl before we had finished dorm shopping coaxings us into his common room with promises of every college kid's backstabbing whore of a best friend: jungle juice. Another resident, apparently interested in aquainting himself with Pete's new friends, accompanies us. I'm sure I don't have to draw a picture for you to realize just who this resident was. After many well received attempts to deter us from the clubs, I successfully dragged the reluctant females back into the night, clearly uninterested. It wasn't until after denial to the club (spring for decent fakes, folks), and me flipping out on the ridiculousness that was my sister trying to climb into the car with the 40 year old creep that had been summoned over by the drunken baffoons in the backseat of my little coup, that we ended up at Saints and Scholars. Please keep in mind, I was disgustingly sober.
The bar was empty besides GASP Pete the creep and the man referred to as "Irish John" by drunken baffoon #3. I took a seat with Al and Carrie at the second booth from the wall, facing the door as always. Pete and John soon joined the table of gorgeous girls and before long myself and the latter of the boys were engaged in conversation. For three hours we did not shut up, and once the bar had closed we moved the crowd and conversation back to campus. Typically, I dormed it up for an outfit change before heading to the after party - glam to gloryyy in a classic tshirt-sweatshirt combo [I've got looks and charm... I'd rather keep it real than designer at 3am.] One beer into my next conversation with John, enter security, exit ladies. He followed me out, arguing that I should stay and talk some more. I took his phone from his hand, entered my information, and left him with a smile.
Returning to my dorm, I changed into pajamas quite happily with the taste of possibility in my mouth (or maybe bud light, who knows). Brushing my teeth, my phone rings and there is that deep voice on the other end telling me its ok to come back over. I told him I was busy, and declined.
Next morning in the caf, my greeting was met with confusion and a double take. Once safely tucked away in good ol' 2C, I texted him for the first time. As a first text, you'd hope it would be something sweet or memorable, but the only part of it I can recall is calling him a drunken idiot and reminding him he was turned down for my toothbrush, which luckily was met with laughter and an invitation to his soccer match a few days later.
I stayed for only half of the game, as I had places to be and people to see... or a class to attend rather. By half time I had witnessed not only his soccer playing abilities, but his intense anger. A shit-talking opponent muttered some choice words in his direction and a few moments later was knocked in the head, propelled backwards and lay motionless on the ground by John's free kick. I was in bits. Immediately preceding my departure John's foot was broken and I hightailed it out of there.
Later I got a phonecall, and after about 17 "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING"s we discovered that texting was a much better route to take.
Date one. After laying in 102, watching a movie and making fun of each other, I claimed I had to leave and John offered to walk me across, of course it was more of a hobble due to the broken foot, but being the Captain of Smooth, he used that as an excuse to lay his arm across my shoulders. He walked me to the street light, and in the darkness of the night with the scent of summer lingering and not a sound to be heard, he kissed me as the lights flickered from green to red. I smiled up at him and listened to him so poetically blame me for the pains in his foot.
After that, laundry dates became regular. I remember one day in particular, I sat perched on the counter with my legs crossed, savoring my grits (a favorite snack of mine) and after railing on me for about half an hour about how disgusting they were, he grew silent and sat on the windowseat. After much coaxing, he looked down at the floor, hands fiddling nervously and finally managed to ask me what was going on with the two of us.
Genesis
Quote of the day: If your life weren't a mess, well, it wouldn't be life.
To begin, I am a people person--a woman of the world, if you will. I pride myself on the amount of empathy I exceed and my logic-based thinking. If it doesn't make sense, I will not accept it. For example, while the vast population expresses the popular belief that terrorists are not human, gays should be locked up and Britney Spears should be given a stern talking to and perhaps a labotomy, my arguments tend to differ.I value my thought processes as many my age value their self images. I'll have to credit good ol' PaDukes for that one. Throughout years of classes, the 1-S-G listened to me, typically fuming at whatever propaganda an instructor had thrown at the class, and like the wise man he is, my Dad would help me see the whole picture. It's the way he teaches. While most attempt to sway opinions with one sided arguments as human beings are wired to do - Dad lays out any information, making it possible for students to see why one might choose either side of the issue, and allowing them to draw their own conclusions.Enough's enough. We'll save the long blogs for the third or fourth week.
Thinking today of two years back. I vividly remember my third day of college sitting in the caf with Candis and Ryann and having a perfect stranger captivate me. Somewhere, mid roommate chit-chat I was impressed enough to make the public declaration that I would one day be romantically involved with that very gentleman.
Fast forward two weeks, develop setting: thirsty thursday, mid september, choruses of innebriated college students echoing throughout the microscopic campus. My visiting cousin witnesses our first words exchanged. Attitude flairing, the man from the caf dares the accusing security guard to sample his drink, allegedly pineapple juice. Once the guard has exited the scene, I bluntly denounce the blue-eyed wonder's brogue as a fraud. We're off to a great start.
A week has gone by to bring us to another Thursday. The girls decide clubbing is in order, Carrie and Allisen join in the fun, I am designated driver. A quick stop in the village has Pete the creep who myspaced every semiattractive freshman girl before we had finished dorm shopping coaxings us into his common room with promises of every college kid's backstabbing whore of a best friend: jungle juice. Another resident, apparently interested in aquainting himself with Pete's new friends, accompanies us. I'm sure I don't have to draw a picture for you to realize just who this resident was. After many well received attempts to deter us from the clubs, I successfully dragged the reluctant females back into the night, clearly uninterested. It wasn't until after denial to the club (spring for decent fakes, folks), and me flipping out on the ridiculousness that was my sister trying to climb into the car with the 40 year old creep that had been summoned over by the drunken baffoons in the backseat of my little coup, that we ended up at Saints and Scholars. Please keep in mind, I was disgustingly sober.
The bar was empty besides GASP Pete the creep and the man referred to as "Irish John" by drunken baffoon #3. I took a seat with Al and Carrie at the second booth from the wall, facing the door as always. Pete and John soon joined the table of gorgeous girls and before long myself and the latter of the boys were engaged in conversation. For three hours we did not shut up, and once the bar had closed we moved the crowd and conversation back to campus. Typically, I dormed it up for an outfit change before heading to the after party - glam to gloryyy in a classic tshirt-sweatshirt combo [I've got looks and charm... I'd rather keep it real than designer at 3am.] One beer into my next conversation with John, enter security, exit ladies. He followed me out, arguing that I should stay and talk some more. I took his phone from his hand, entered my information, and left him with a smile.
Returning to my dorm, I changed into pajamas quite happily with the taste of possibility in my mouth (or maybe bud light, who knows). Brushing my teeth, my phone rings and there is that deep voice on the other end telling me its ok to come back over. I told him I was busy, and declined.
Next morning in the caf, my greeting was met with confusion and a double take. Once safely tucked away in good ol' 2C, I texted him for the first time. As a first text, you'd hope it would be something sweet or memorable, but the only part of it I can recall is calling him a drunken idiot and reminding him he was turned down for my toothbrush, which luckily was met with laughter and an invitation to his soccer match a few days later.
I stayed for only half of the game, as I had places to be and people to see... or a class to attend rather. By half time I had witnessed not only his soccer playing abilities, but his intense anger. A shit-talking opponent muttered some choice words in his direction and a few moments later was knocked in the head, propelled backwards and lay motionless on the ground by John's free kick. I was in bits. Immediately preceding my departure John's foot was broken and I hightailed it out of there.
Later I got a phonecall, and after about 17 "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING"s we discovered that texting was a much better route to take.
Date one. After laying in 102, watching a movie and making fun of each other, I claimed I had to leave and John offered to walk me across, of course it was more of a hobble due to the broken foot, but being the Captain of Smooth, he used that as an excuse to lay his arm across my shoulders. He walked me to the street light, and in the darkness of the night with the scent of summer lingering and not a sound to be heard, he kissed me as the lights flickered from green to red. I smiled up at him and listened to him so poetically blame me for the pains in his foot.
After that, laundry dates became regular. I remember one day in particular, I sat perched on the counter with my legs crossed, savoring my grits (a favorite snack of mine) and after railing on me for about half an hour about how disgusting they were, he grew silent and sat on the windowseat. After much coaxing, he looked down at the floor, hands fiddling nervously and finally managed to ask me what was going on with the two of us.
Genesis
Quote of the day: If your life weren't a mess, well, it wouldn't be life.
To begin, I am a people person--a woman of the world, if you will. I pride myself on the amount of empathy I exceed and my logic-based thinking. If it doesn't make sense, I will not accept it. For example, while the vast population expresses the popular belief that terrorists are not human, gays should be locked up and Britney Spears should be given a stern talking to and perhaps a labotomy, my arguments tend to differ.I value my thought processes as many my age value their self images. I'll have to credit good ol' PaDukes for that one. Throughout years of classes, the 1-S-G listened to me, typically fuming at whatever propaganda an instructor had thrown at the class, and like the wise man he is, my Dad would help me see the whole picture. It's the way he teaches. While most attempt to sway opinions with one sided arguments as human beings are wired to do - Dad lays out any information, making it possible for students to see why one might choose either side of the issue, and allowing them to draw their own conclusions.Enough's enough. We'll save the long blogs for the third or fourth week.
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