yeah...just wrote this today for class....eegads!
Photograph
They say the Chinese language is the hardest to learn. Hell, they’re probably right. I mean it’s all dashes, lines and ching chang chong. Who knows what the hell they mean half the time? I do know one thing about the language, though. Everything is connected. For instance, take the word ‘Man’ combine it with ‘Mountain’ and it means ‘Immortal.’ Kind of cool but I couldn’t speak it. That juxtaposition…it’s that juxtaposition of the words that I’m getting at. I do that. Well, I mean, not with words but with pictures. Photographs, that’s what I juxtapose.
I take pictures. I have a camera, so why not? I only take black and white, though. Color isn’t real enough. Black and white film captures the moment in its truest form. That’s why I love pictures. They’re true. Its not until you add the color that a picture means something else. The picture is still true, but it no longer means what it meant when it was taken.
***
“Wait, Heather, let me ask you something.” I wanted to take her picture. We had been seeing each other for a year or so now. I figured it wouldn’t be creepy.
“What? What is it Jeff?”
“I wanna take your picture. Get in the car.”
“The car?”
“Yea, get in the car I want to take your picture.”
“Okay, but why in the car?”
The thing about a picture is, the person can’t know it’s going to be taken. I couldn’t dot that to her. Native Americans thought it stole your soul, and I guess along some similar lines I believe that too. But I couldn’t steal her soul, not with a picture.
I opened my car door. She was already sitting in the passenger seat; she looked at me with the funniest, most curious look ever. I got in with my camera in hand and sat and started the car.
“Where are we going? Why don’t we just go back in the park and you take my picture there?”
As soon as she looked over at me I raised the camera to my eye. Quickly, I set the aperture and focused.
“No don’t. I’m all sweaty from walking around and playing in the park. Jeff don’t take my picture!”
She looked so funny. Her head was covered with my knitted, wool hat. The cool
Fall weather called for a sweatshirt (in this case a hoodie) and jeans. She attempted to hide her face with her hands. One of them was inside the sleeve of her hoodie (well, really it was my hoodie). Her slender fingers grew out of her other sleeve from the knuckles. Her knee nearly touched her face. Her legs had been crossed and the left knee hid her body from the camera.
I snapped the picture.
***
The thing I loved most about that picture was her eye, her left eye. It was the only part of her face that you could see. It was beautiful. Perfectly framed between her fingers and the sleeve of her hoodie. I loved that picture. It actually won me an award in a photography contest. I don’t know why, maybe it was my subconscious, but I named the photo Hummingbird. Maybe I named it that because it was taken so fast. Maybe it was because of the Wilco song Hummingbird. I don’t really know.
I still come back to that photograph when I want to remember her. At one point, about a year ago, I made a reprint of it. I sprayed it with this one chemical. Damn me if I can remember the name of it now. It’s a pretty cool chemical, though. It allows you to color over the black and white prints with markers or colored pencils. In my case colored pencils. I colored in the hat on the picture. I used Maroon, Yellow and Blue. I didn’t have to use white because parts of the hat were already white.
I liked it a lot. So did other people. But, it changed the picture. It couldn’t be named Hummingbird anymore. Before the picture said, “Remember to remember me, standing still in your past, floating fast like a hummingbird.” Now, it just said, “hat.” The picture was changed and so was its meaning. I’d taken what it had meant, and in a futile attempt to make it better, snuffed it. They were two totally different pictures now. The original captured the moment. It was true. The colored one no longer captured that moment, but only a moment about the hat.
***
“Let’s get some ice cream. I could go for a vanilla cone. What’d you feel like, Jeff?” The wind blew through her hair while we walked down the street. I could go for some ice cream. It’ll probably mean the death of me for the night. Lactose intolerant people should never eat ice cream. What could one cone hurt?
“Ice cream sounds like a good idea. Do you remember where that ice cream parlor is that we walked past?” I know we passed one earlier. This little downtown area of Petoskey was deceptive. On the map it was a cross section of 12 streets. Six of the streets went one way, the other six the other ways. Little shops lined the streets, up and down.
“I think it was back by that little hippie shop. The one across the street from the book store.” I said.
“Yeah, I think your right.” Heather and I turned around and made our way back towards the ice cream parlor. It was a beautiful summer day out. The wind was blowing hard enough that you could wear jeans comfortably. The setting sun caused the temperature to drop just a few degrees.
“Burr, good thing I didn’t wear that skirt. It would have been too cold.”
“The weather here is beautiful,” I said.
“Oh look, there’s the ice cream parlor. See it? It’s the second to last shop on the block.” I saw it, but let her point it out. She always got this tone of excitement when she found what we were looking for. It was so cute. The parlor was named Freezing Pointe.
I laughed to myself, “Look at the name of the parlor.”
“Ha ha, how cute. What do you want to get,” she asked.
“Order me a vanilla chocolate cone,” she looked at me with a lifted eyebrow, “One of those mixed swirl ones. I’m ganna go across the street and check out that hippie store. Thanks”
“Oh ok, gotcha’.” She went inside and ordered.
The store smelt like incense. Along the back wall of the store were winter hats. What kind of a store sells winter hats in the summer, I thought. I went over to them. They were actually kind of cool looking. They were all hand made, knitted, with earflaps and a little poofy thing on the top. One of the hats in particular had a zigzagged patter to it. Hell, I thought, a winter hat in the summer has to be half off. I took it over to the register and the lady rung me up. Five bucks, cant go wrong there.
“Thank you,” I said while paying the lady and leaving the store. The wind had picked up. I took the hat out of the bag and slipped it on my head. Looking up, I saw Heather had the ice cream cones. She was franticly licking the base of her cone. Her attempts were in vain as the ice cream dribbled down her slender fingers.
***
The pictures were in a double matted frame on the wall in my bedroom. The original, true, picture on the right and the color pencil manipulated photo on the left. Each picture had its own memory. Yeah, they are the same picture, but they’re different. Different memories. The Chinese words, what were they? Man and Mountain, that’s it. They’re two different words of the same language. Put them together though and you’ve got something different, the word Immortal. It’s the same with my pictures. Two different memories in the same yet different photo put together to make one photograph.
They say the Chinese language is the hardest to learn. Hell, they’re probably right. I mean it’s all dashes, lines and ching chang chong. Who knows what the hell they mean half the time? I do know one thing about the language, though. Everything is connected. For instance, take the word ‘Man’ combine it with ‘Mountain’ and it means ‘Immortal.’ Kind of cool but I couldn’t speak it. That juxtaposition…it’s that juxtaposition of the words that I’m getting at. I do that. Well, I mean, not with words but with pictures. Photographs, that’s what I juxtapose.
I take pictures. I have a camera, so why not? I only take black and white, though. Color isn’t real enough. Black and white film captures the moment in its truest form. That’s why I love pictures. They’re true. Its not until you add the color that a picture means something else. The picture is still true, but it no longer means what it meant when it was taken.
***
“Wait, Heather, let me ask you something.” I wanted to take her picture. We had been seeing each other for a year or so now. I figured it wouldn’t be creepy.
“What? What is it Jeff?”
“I wanna take your picture. Get in the car.”
“The car?”
“Yea, get in the car I want to take your picture.”
“Okay, but why in the car?”
The thing about a picture is, the person can’t know it’s going to be taken. I couldn’t dot that to her. Native Americans thought it stole your soul, and I guess along some similar lines I believe that too. But I couldn’t steal her soul, not with a picture.
I opened my car door. She was already sitting in the passenger seat; she looked at me with the funniest, most curious look ever. I got in with my camera in hand and sat and started the car.
“Where are we going? Why don’t we just go back in the park and you take my picture there?”
As soon as she looked over at me I raised the camera to my eye. Quickly, I set the aperture and focused.
“No don’t. I’m all sweaty from walking around and playing in the park. Jeff don’t take my picture!”
She looked so funny. Her head was covered with my knitted, wool hat. The cool
Fall weather called for a sweatshirt (in this case a hoodie) and jeans. She attempted to hide her face with her hands. One of them was inside the sleeve of her hoodie (well, really it was my hoodie). Her slender fingers grew out of her other sleeve from the knuckles. Her knee nearly touched her face. Her legs had been crossed and the left knee hid her body from the camera.
I snapped the picture.
***
The thing I loved most about that picture was her eye, her left eye. It was the only part of her face that you could see. It was beautiful. Perfectly framed between her fingers and the sleeve of her hoodie. I loved that picture. It actually won me an award in a photography contest. I don’t know why, maybe it was my subconscious, but I named the photo Hummingbird. Maybe I named it that because it was taken so fast. Maybe it was because of the Wilco song Hummingbird. I don’t really know.
I still come back to that photograph when I want to remember her. At one point, about a year ago, I made a reprint of it. I sprayed it with this one chemical. Damn me if I can remember the name of it now. It’s a pretty cool chemical, though. It allows you to color over the black and white prints with markers or colored pencils. In my case colored pencils. I colored in the hat on the picture. I used Maroon, Yellow and Blue. I didn’t have to use white because parts of the hat were already white.
I liked it a lot. So did other people. But, it changed the picture. It couldn’t be named Hummingbird anymore. Before the picture said, “Remember to remember me, standing still in your past, floating fast like a hummingbird.” Now, it just said, “hat.” The picture was changed and so was its meaning. I’d taken what it had meant, and in a futile attempt to make it better, snuffed it. They were two totally different pictures now. The original captured the moment. It was true. The colored one no longer captured that moment, but only a moment about the hat.
***
“Let’s get some ice cream. I could go for a vanilla cone. What’d you feel like, Jeff?” The wind blew through her hair while we walked down the street. I could go for some ice cream. It’ll probably mean the death of me for the night. Lactose intolerant people should never eat ice cream. What could one cone hurt?
“Ice cream sounds like a good idea. Do you remember where that ice cream parlor is that we walked past?” I know we passed one earlier. This little downtown area of Petoskey was deceptive. On the map it was a cross section of 12 streets. Six of the streets went one way, the other six the other ways. Little shops lined the streets, up and down.
“I think it was back by that little hippie shop. The one across the street from the book store.” I said.
“Yeah, I think your right.” Heather and I turned around and made our way back towards the ice cream parlor. It was a beautiful summer day out. The wind was blowing hard enough that you could wear jeans comfortably. The setting sun caused the temperature to drop just a few degrees.
“Burr, good thing I didn’t wear that skirt. It would have been too cold.”
“The weather here is beautiful,” I said.
“Oh look, there’s the ice cream parlor. See it? It’s the second to last shop on the block.” I saw it, but let her point it out. She always got this tone of excitement when she found what we were looking for. It was so cute. The parlor was named Freezing Pointe.
I laughed to myself, “Look at the name of the parlor.”
“Ha ha, how cute. What do you want to get,” she asked.
“Order me a vanilla chocolate cone,” she looked at me with a lifted eyebrow, “One of those mixed swirl ones. I’m ganna go across the street and check out that hippie store. Thanks”
“Oh ok, gotcha’.” She went inside and ordered.
The store smelt like incense. Along the back wall of the store were winter hats. What kind of a store sells winter hats in the summer, I thought. I went over to them. They were actually kind of cool looking. They were all hand made, knitted, with earflaps and a little poofy thing on the top. One of the hats in particular had a zigzagged patter to it. Hell, I thought, a winter hat in the summer has to be half off. I took it over to the register and the lady rung me up. Five bucks, cant go wrong there.
“Thank you,” I said while paying the lady and leaving the store. The wind had picked up. I took the hat out of the bag and slipped it on my head. Looking up, I saw Heather had the ice cream cones. She was franticly licking the base of her cone. Her attempts were in vain as the ice cream dribbled down her slender fingers.
***
The pictures were in a double matted frame on the wall in my bedroom. The original, true, picture on the right and the color pencil manipulated photo on the left. Each picture had its own memory. Yeah, they are the same picture, but they’re different. Different memories. The Chinese words, what were they? Man and Mountain, that’s it. They’re two different words of the same language. Put them together though and you’ve got something different, the word Immortal. It’s the same with my pictures. Two different memories in the same yet different photo put together to make one photograph.