parents, mortality, baggage, love

I'm of that age where many of my friends are beginning to lose their parents. I lost mine over three years ago. It's alarming and sad and as you can imagine, provokes reflections on mortality. I know this seems like a morbid subject, but it has been on my mind lately, especially since my in-laws are experiencing diminished health and talk in terms of the limited opportunities we might have of spending time with them. I wish I had some insights or conclusions to throw out here to allay all of our anxieties and allow us to shrug this line of thought off and move on. I don't.

I can offer from the observations of my friends who have recently experienced a loss (and of course my own), that like everything else, loss is a mixed bag. In some instances it provides relief, especially if pain or suffering of the dearly departed was involved. In most, it leaves a very big emptiness since our parents were the foundation of our self-esteem, security and authority. No matter how old you are, you are still the "child" of your parents.

We can attribute many of our shortcomings and strengths to our upbringing either because of or in spite of our parents, but nonetheless, they have left their mark upon us. We can choose to be bitter or grateful or a combination thereof in the scale of emotions. I've found friends who register on both extremes of this scale but even with them, the scale is a sliding one.

My thoughts after a few years are now primarily of fondness. I'd say I have some things I can be bitter about with both my mom and dad, but I've come to the conclusion that overall they had my best interests in mind. Their moments of anger and resentment towards me were, for the most part, caused by their frustration and bewilderment that I was not following the course they had plotted in their minds for me to attain happiness or success. I think they may have perceived that my contrary behavior was borne of rebellion and disrespect. I've thought about this a lot and I've concluded it was not. I wasn't deliberately doing things to provoke them (well, maybe sometimes), but I really thought that most of my decisions were the best ones I could make at that time. It's regrettable that I didn't come to this conclusion earlier.

Nonetheless, they nurtured many of my interests like photography and music during my formative years and provided me an environment that allowed me to explore these pursuits (and many others) fully. I am grateful for this. To this day my photography and music provide refuge, a creative outlet and an infinite amount of satisfaction in the ongoing cacophony of daily life. I'm grateful for the love and security they provided me as a child. In parenting we do our best (at least I hope most of us strive to), but we are all flawed and have our own special frailties. I suppose this is one of the conclusions I've taken away from my observations. If we recognize this, then I think all is well. We can be released from our grudges or resentments and move towards understanding and even more appreciation for the gifts our parents bestowed upon us.

winter

The other day, during the aftermath of yet another snowstorm, I had an odd revelation; I like winter. Not every aspect of winter, mind you. I detest the fact that night descends in the blink of an eye and seems to linger forever. I hate the sheet of ice that forms on the sidewalk from the drip in the rain gutter, a taunting reminder of the preparatory cleaning of the gutter I should have done earlier in the fall. I hate emerging from a shower or bath to be instantly chilled by the bite in the air that modern furnaces are unable to eradicate completely in the cold-tiled surfaces of the bathroom. I hate negotiating snow-laden freeways, fearing the onset of uncontrollable skidding or worst yet, somebody else launching towards you in an uncontrollable skid.

BUT, as I was out shoveling the snow from the driveway, I noticed that everything looked brighter, clearer. The reflection of the light off the snow brought definition to everything and made everything seem more real. I remember this is how childhood felt for me. Everything seemed new and fresh and I had a more vivid memory of things then. After I had finished shoveling, as I assessed my work, I felt exhilarated in that moment, drawing in the cold bracing air with each intake of breath and watching with delight, the vapor of my exhalation.

the demise of Polaroid film

Spoon shot with Polaroid 35mm Polapan film

Tea cup shot with Polaroid Type 55 film then dipped into cooking oil and re-shot


Tea cup shot on Polaroid Time-Zero film, with the backing separated from the image layer which was then scratched utilizing a paintbrush.


Sadly, last year Polaroid announced the discontinuance of its instant film line. Polaroid film provided an extra palette for the photographic community to incorporate in the art of imagery. There was a special quality to a lot of their films that were ideal for expression and experimentation. Some examples of my personal work utilizing Polaroid film are shown above.

As an example, Type 669 (peel-apart color film) had the nice characteristic of providing a transferable image doing the 90-second development process. Many photographers exploited this characteristic to full advantage by transferring images to watercolor paper which yielded painterly images. Another Polaroid film, 35mm PolaPan, created black and white positive transparencies with a unique grain structure that was unlike any other film on the market.

I guess this is yet another testimony to the fact that nothing remains the same. In this instance, technology, economics, and a dwindling customer base, all took their toll on Polaroid's film division. The company remains in business, focused on its digital (albeit small) product line. (I suppose I am already too late to sell off my inventory of film cameras, at least for what I would deem a reasonable price. Prices on film cameras in classified ads and on the internet are definitely depreciating at an alarming rate. But I digress . . . ) Artistic expression will always rise to the latest technology to take advantage of the distinctive characteristics of the medium. I'm not worried about that. I will however, like many things that have passed as I grow older, miss the tactile, analog world of Polaroid film and all of the unexplored possibilities it presented.

more appealing lyrics

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place
I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way
I promise to go under it.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin' swingin' madly across the sun
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seein' that he's chasing.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

- Bob Dylan

appealing lyrics

Look what they done to my song ma
Look what they done to my song ma
It was the only thing that I could do half right
And it's turning out all wrong ma

Look what they done to my song
Look what they done to my brain ma
Look at what they done to my brain
Well they picked it like a chicken bone
And I think I'm half insane ma
Look what they done to my song

Oh I wish I could find a good book
To live in
h I wish I could find a good book
Well if I could find a real good book
I'd never have to come out and look at
What they done to my song

Ils ont change ma chanson, ma
Ils ont change ma chanson, ma
C'est la seule chose que je peux faire
Et ce n'est pas bon, ma. Ils ont change ma chanson.

Maybe it'll all be all right ma
Maybe it'll all be OK
Well if the people are buying tears
Then I'm gonna be rich someday ma
Look what they done to my song

Look what they done to my song, ma
Ma Ma look look what they done to my song
You know they tied it up in a plastic bag
And they turned it upside down ma
Ma Ma look at what they done
Won't you look at what they done
Look what they done to my song.

- Melanie Safka

additional movie favorites . . .

It's been a little bit of an obsession reviewing some of my favorite films (with my faltering memory), but I have thought of a few more since my original list. I know I've named a lot of movies here. I may revisit the list and highlight the best of my favorites. Also, I invite you to submit your favorite films.

Brazil (directed by Terry Gilliam)
Forrest Gump
The Departed
Dave
The Natural
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Blade Runner
Risky Business
Pennies from Heaven
Casablanca
The Hot Rock
Singin' in the Rain
Three Days of the Condor
Water (directed by Deepa Mehta)

"art is not a thing . . .

it is a way . . . " goes one of my favorite quotes from Oscar Wilde.

The above photo was shot in an art gallery on a recent trip to Pittsburgh. I'm certainly at risk of declaring my ignorance here, but sometimes I just don't "get" contemporary art. In this instance, "art is not a thing . . ." , or perhaps it is . . . just a thing, a disturbing, twisted thing . . .