It was a beautiful day. I had no idea what to do.
I did nothing.
I came back to my mother's house early. It was too soon to have a cocktail, I thought, but. . . . After a bit of sitting and staring, I read for an hour. But I was outside in the garage porch, and it was hot. I was sitting in a plastic leather lounger, and I was sweating. I decided to make an early dinner. I wasn't making much.
The news. More t.v. Bed.
I need human interaction.
"Hi. I'm one of the boys from the neighborhood. What's your name?"
One good luncheon date has put my present life in perspective. It is miserable.
"You need to be careful what you say out loud. When she's gone. . . ."
Oh, trust me, I would be full of guilt. But not to worry. I'll be gone before she is, the last years of my life spent in empty servitude.
The film lab sent me an email at noon. My film was ready to pick up. I had shot slide film and was excited to see.
I was surprised when I walked in. The pretty blonde woman at the counter reached into a bin and pulled out my film. I'd only seen her once, and she wasn't there when I dropped the film off to be developed. She didn't ask my name, just smiled and handed the rolled up strip to me.
I put the film on the light tray on the counter and started looking through. She was talking to another customer as I went through each slide with a loupe.
"Funny, isn't it, that when you get your film back, you wonder where all the masterpieces you thought you made have gone."
She looked at me and said, "Well. . . slide film is tricky."
"Oh, no. . . I don't mean the processing. I meant the photographer."
"Oh. . . yea. Ha."
The excitement was gone. I had my cameras with me, and I only needed to make eight exposures to finish another roll, but it was hot and there seemed to be no magic in it anymore, so I drove back home to start scanning the film. And that is when I began to wonder. I had shot this roll on the old Canon film camera. And the film was older. The slides looked either underexposed or underdeveloped. The colors were not saturated. What was it--me, the camera, the film, or the lab?
Food for thought. Maybe shooting up the 100 or so rolls of old film wasn't the best idea. Thrifty, sure, but I could be screwing up what might have been some good photographs.
Or was I just shitting myself? Was I able to make "good photographs" anymore? How would I know? I wasn't winning any awards. Nobody was clamoring for a print. I wasn't a social media star. I don't even know how that shit works. I've posted some photos, but like ten people see them.
Vivian Maier never showed anyone her work. Eggleston said he only liked his own photographs. Did he mean all of them or only some?
Why should it matter? As I said before, speaking to the void, making pictures should be fun. And as a photographer from Belarus sagely told me by email so long ago, "When you can't make photographs, don't try to make photographs." That's pretty much the same thing, right?
I wonder what happened to him. Sasha. And his girlfriend. I still have a photo of her that he sent me hanging on a wall in my house. A sad ballad, I think.
The rest of the photos I bartered for are by women who are doing quite well. Three in particular. When I traded out one desk for the one T gave me, I found, among the many, many other things stored away forgotten in the drawers, a birthday card from one with a small hand colored photo pasted on. I'd forgotten about it completely. It warmed my heart.
But that now seems long ago and far away.
It is going to be another bright sunny day. I wish I could spend it at the beach. Take some photos. Sit in a beachside pub and drink a cold beer and eat a fried fish sandwich. Talk to the locals. Which reminds me. The last time I was at the beach, the only time I've gotten out of town for the day in years, was Bike Week. I still have the phone numbers of two women who wanted me to make pictures with me. Not "with me"--you know what I mean. Lunch with Red one afternoon. Lunch with the factory women yesterday.
That's it. That has been my social life this year, at least with any females.
And mom.
I'll go make breakfast for her now. I bought some of those whole grain protein frozen toaster waffles for her. She asks for them all the time now. But I'll fix eggs and Canadian bacon and toast with honey and a side of Kimchi for gut health today. She hasn't lost a pound on my watch, and the old machine keeps ticking. Vitamins and minerals and good fats and proteins.
And about 30 prescription pills a day.
I'm going to look at my buddy's e-bike today. And who knows, I might even go out and make some pictures that only you will see.
And that is better than what 90% of the world's population will have today. Mine are the troubles of a bourgeoisie, First World privileged baby.
And I'm just the fellow to document it. For you.
Selah.
No comments:
Post a Comment