Oncatography: Shadow and Light

End of an Era: Farewell to Crick

It nears two weeks since my favorite camera shop, Crick, in Kansas City, Missouri had to close its doors for good. Few things I have experienced in all my photographic endeavors over the years have affected me quite like this closing. It seems unfair that I had the privilege of working with them only four plus years, having made the connection upon moving out to Kansas back in 2012. I recognize that change is the only constant, but sometimes change such as this comes across as unnecessary and mean-spirited. I was just getting my legs under myself as a film photographer, and now a major part of the associated support system is gone.

At its root, this is a story about connection and the loss thereof. I do not make connections easily or often. This state of affairs exist at the intersection of introversion, reflexive mistrust of people, and ingrained fear of embarrassment. These traits are not a badge of honor but rather a constant source of anxiety and doubt. Life would proceed much smoother if they could be overcome. That conquering of myself has been a decades long self-improvement project, open ended, and ongoing. As part of that work, it is photography in part that has enabled me to overcome those drawbacks of character to better engage with the world.

Photography has had a grip on my imagination ever since I understood just what it meant to "take pictures". That grip waxed and waned over the years but never truly left me alone. In architecture, in life, the camera and its output served as a touchstone with which to stop time and get a grip on myself. I have said before that the camera for me has become a "filter and shield" by which I can interpret the outside world while keeping it at bay so it does not overwhelm me. It is no stretch to say that peering through the viewfinder provides a centering of the self that cannot be found in most other entertainments of the mind.

Filter and shield the camera may be but it also serves as a connection point. A kingpin in the train of actions and objects that all photography involves. Photography allows for me to pursue a vision of the world in my own way. It does not ultimately allow for a total disconnect because there are things I cannot accomplish on my own in the art of taking pictures. No matter how much I wish it were otherwise there is far more for me to learn about the art and science of photography than I already know. This is where the camera serves as a link to those from whom I can learn.

Arriving in Kansas years ago I had given up the luxury of the local links I had formed in my time back in Maryland. Bags of gear accompanied my ambitions. What I needed was a point of connection in my new home to restart the process of discovery on film and image. Fortune was kind in that Crick Camera Shop turned out to be close to my new home and had a great reputation for service and products. I gave them a go and never looked back. Not only did I get good advice and good service, I formed a friendship with the staff. For someone who is as unsure of his professional self as I am, this arrangement was truly welcome. It is a wonderful thing to have help in what you are doing from people interested in what you are doing even if you yourself are not convinced you know what you are doing!

When Crick announced their closing I felt shock and sadness. As I stated earlier, I do not connect easily. The loss of a connection such as this meant I will have to start over in some capacity. Other sources will have to be found for the hardware and consumables incurred by photography. In this day and age of the Internet of Stuff that probably will not be as big a deal as I imagined. The truly difficult and more important thing, is the reestablishment of human relationships that I came to understand truly benefited my eye and skill as a photographer. Today I stopped by the store to pick up a big roll of background paper, part of the odds and ends of inventory they are seeking to offload as they shut down for good. It was sad to stand in the store space stripped of most everything but fixtures and memories. It is the end of an era, one that will hold a good place in my photographer's heart.

In the Bewilderness

I washed my hands at the sink, looked up, and was startled by this man peering back at me. The winter graylight created an accidental portrait setting, one I felt compelled to document. Bemusement, wonder, unease: all the sensations self-portraits induce in myself. Much time is spent thinking about this man I know intimately and yet not at all. Water dripped from my fingers, his fingers, as we stared at one another over less than a yard of separation. The jaguar in winter freezes at the sight of his reflection in the stream. Technology assured that it would not get away. Not this time.

Cold introspection has driven me to this set of affairs before. A few years ago, trapped inside what felt like a shrinking apartment by the worst snow storm I have ever experienced I did a series of self-portraits for lack of anything better to do. It was a method of entertainment, I suppose, but I always felt a subtle itch in my skin every time I saw the images in my library. This morning was the first time in many months that the compulsion to take another hit hard enough to spur action.

Unshaven. Unshowered. The uniform of the schlub in sweatpants and t-shirt worn out of resignation and circumstance. Perhaps one thing that drew me in was the expression in my eyes (eyes are a particular fascination of mine when it comes to people) which radiated a set of feelings for which there may be no exact word in English. Weariness? Lack of sleep? Low-grade existential anxiety? Or just plain garden-variety anxiety behind those blue-gray windows to the soul?

I seek the word for that state of mind. It must exist, it has to exist. To find such a word we must sometimes step into and outside of ourselves, cease trying to say it, and capture it with something that is worth more than the traditional thousand words. The photograph, filter and shield for this man who knows himself too well and not at all. Someday he may forget himself to meet himself anew. The camera is along as witness for the trip.

Taken, Not Shared

The ether is all around us. Ubiquity and ease of use make us humans oh-so-prone to overindulgence and abuse. Who among us is free from the sin of too many selfies and oversharing? My heart may be partially made of glass but my head sometimes encourages the throwing of stones. Or posting a "me" pic. Or arguing with strangers when I am not looking at pictures of cats. Those of us who are fortunate to possess smartphones are frequently too easily shepherded by our digital masters to put too much out there, and lead us to believe that we have not posted enough.

It is a vicious circle shaped like a yoke, one that I am hoping to throw off in pursuit of inner peace. In pictures as with words it is my desire to improve my self-editing. The end result of such an exercise is to present to the world only that which fulfills more than simple affirmation of my presence. I have long felt that the "me" that is me is no more or no less than the "me" that is others. That is, just as boring and interesting as anyone when taken on the basis of their existence. So the energy invested in putting something before the world, to my mind, should be channeled into presenting things that are noteworthy for reasons extending far beyond the simple action of presentation.

Fireworks go BOOM! but most people want light, color and artistry above mere noise.

Photographs operate in a similar fashion. I think this a major reason why most selfies are ultimately boring and unsatisfying, at least to my eyes. A series of "This is me in location A, B, C,..." too quickly becomes an exercise in the same (or almost exactly the same) subject in anonymous locations with slightly different lighting or time of day. Sort of Where's Waldo? pages stripped of the interesting surrounding and colorful context. A similar things starts to happen when one sees too many food-of-the-moment pictures. Instead of a picture that says "I AM A SANDWICH", I want a picture that tells me a story about why that sandwich is good. That means context, occasion, maybe even history. These things make images worth sharing and by no means an exhaustive list.

Let me make it clear that I am not declaring myself an anti-selfie or anti-food pic zealot. I understand and have indulged in the need to share something of the moment, when enthusiasm and energy compel someone to share what they have. Even if technology is the real enabler, it can still be fun to be carried away by the spirit. It is my hope that this spirit will be informed by thoughtfulness and consideration for what will be shared, why it will be shared, and its effects upon with whom it is shared. This can produce conflict between sharing merit and seeking attention.

I was reminded of this recently during an editing and maintenance session on my workstation. I was editing some images and searching my photo library for images to inspire and images to delete. Because I had largely managed to get the events of last summer into a safe mental storage space, I was not expecting to see the images I had taken of my infant granddaughter on the day of her sudden death in July. The air went out of my lungs in one deep whoosh. Tears sprang to my eyes as I clapped a hand over my mouth in shock.

It is a series of five images taken after a request was made of the emergency medical personnel. This was the last chance to get some permanent memory before she was taken by the coroner. My granddaughter lay still in her infant carrier, the stub of the emergency ventilation tube protruding from between her lips. If that tube was not there you would have a hard time believing she was dead and not asleep. The contrast between this industrial plastic and the organic beauty of her cherubic cheeks was heart-rending in its understated brutality. Little pink nubbins of her toes peeked out from under the blanket in which she was swaddled, tiny anemones perched on the seashells of her feet.

I took those pictures as a reporter. Simple chronicle of the facts of the day, one of the worst I and my family have experienced in this life. The poet in me wanted to share one with the world, to seek solace in communal acknowledgement of universal tragedy. The reporter wanted to share to announce the news of the day, letting the viewer decide for themselves what to make of it. The counselor in me urged restraint as knowing of such tragedy is hard enough; witnessing a slice of it, maybe too much. None of those three won a clear victory, but a slight edge went to the counselor.

I closed the folder and moved on to other things. The photographer me knew then that one of the most valuable traits to have when making pictures is that of honed discretion. Knowing what to share and when is vital to sharing the story one wants to tell. For now, the pictorial evidence of this one tragic morning of agonizing heartbreak shall remain in the vaults of my heart, a story not ready to be told.

May 28th, 2012: Heartfelt Thanks

In gratitude for their service...Thank you!

Safe Places: The Royal Summer Residence

Living Room, a lazy August Sunday morning...

Peering Through The Keyhole

Sometimes?  I wonder what its like, behind those eyes.

Funhouse

Exit Tunnel,  a.k.a. "Funhouse Mirrors",  Virginia Aquarium,  April 2011

My Heart Walks On Before Me

Legacy, on a sunny day in the woods

Whiskey In The Glass

"May the wind always be at your back..."

Happy St. Patrick's Day, to you and yours, wherever they may be.  Slainte!

An Oncatography Public Service Announcement

Apologies, one and all.  Seems I have to dust off the place!  I didn't realize it had been since February 17th that I dared to nail a thesis to this church door.  No way to get souls in the pews, I know.

Having said that, allow me to offer you all a bit of practical advice:

When setting out to take pictures with your nifty new film camera, especially if those pictures are to be of someone you haven't seen in too long, so it is a sort of special occasion...make sure that you have actually loaded film into the camera before leaving the house without backup.

That is all, carry on, as you were.  I hope to have some more eye candy up soon (when I have the actua pictures to print...dangit.)