cast of characters

(found on weheartit.com)

I would like to devote this blog post to two people who, quite frankly, are perceived by your Average Joe as freaks. "Freak" is a slang term that, according to Dictionary.com, means "a person who has withdrawn from normal, rational behavior and activities to pursue one interest or obsession." What is normal, rational behavior though? Is being a freak the same thing as being interesting? Or does a freak go above and beyond unique and interesting, and become something almost unsettling and jarring?

I have two examples today.

The Timekeeper
There is a short little man who stands on the intersection of Washington Place and Washington Square East every day. The top of his head is bald; he has gray-brown tufts of hair exploding from his general ear region. He's pretty stocky, almost dwarf-like. He has a huge, bulbous nose, and a great big watch. He's the Timekeeper. As students rush past him to class, he yells out "Five minutes til the 9:30 class! Hurry up! Watch the traffic." He's become sort of an NYU legend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txvyiwRngGo

The Girl With Wings
Unfortunately, I do not have a video to share with you for this one. So let my words paint a picture. There is a young woman, tiny and frail: like a baby bird. She has jet black hair, and lines her eyes with dark eyeliner. Using this eyeliner, she draws three stars around her eyes. She has different outfits, but one recurring costume is her angel wings. She'll come in to the bar at the restaurant at which I work, have a drink, exchange air kisses with the managers, place her headphones firmly over her ears, and go out onto the street and dance. While the cars are moving, she'll dance near the curb, muscles flexing and relaxing, body swaying almost robotically. When the cars are stopped at the red light, she'll dance through the bumpers.

People either love her or they hate her. Most stop to take pictures, or videos. Others heckle her, yell, "Freak!"

I was talking about her with one of the managers the other day, and he told me a little more about who she is. She's a stockbroker, on Wall Street. A very intelligent woman, apparently. This dancing in public, this is her creative expression. This is what she does to unwind. Which complicates the definition of a freak, really.

Can one be a "freak" only some of the time?

live it up love, everyday

(from weheartit.com)

fifteen things that make me terribly happy

1. the smell of fresh ink on warm copies
2. rainbows in gasoline puddles
3. reading in the fountain
4. taking naps
5. a good, sweaty yoga class
6. toddlers in glasses
7. falling in love on the subway
8. silk scarves
9. lemon tarts
10. flirting via text message
11. big, comfortable man hugs
12. the smell of barbecue in the late summer air
13. sparkly new york sidewalks at night
14. brushing my teeth
15. making music


(inspired by the creative geniuses behind the rockstar diaries blog, at taza-and-husband.blogspot.com)

(oh, and this is not a comprehensive list at all)

=]

worth a thousand words

(from grayskymorning.tumblr.com)

"Good art makes you forget where you parked your car."
-Haley Mellin

Another post inspired by my photography class. It's so nice (and refreshing!) to finally have a class that makes me think, that inspires me to delve deeper within myself, that's informative and fun at the same time.

We had to read Roland Barthes' Camera Lucida for today. A summary, stream of consciousness style:

within photography there exists a duality, a "co-presence of two discontinuous elements," which he calls the studium and the punctum...the studium is the range of meanings that are universal to anyone and everyone...the punctum is "a cast of the dice," the private meaning; the detail that attracts and holds the spectator's gaze...the photo-self never coincides with the actual-self, creating a life of its own, and the subject photographed suffers from inauthenticity...the photograph does not necessarily so what is no longer, but only and for certain what has been...every photograph is a certificate of presence: the photograph has no future.

I have a lot of (still sketchy, only slightly explored, mostly questioning) thoughts on the subject, and I'm not really sure how to cohesively and coherently share them. Perhaps continue with this stream of consciousness motif (I take my notes in this format too...it's a little disorganized, because when I go back through my notebooks I don't necessarily understand my own thought process. But when looked at from a distance it makes me look so smart!)

Here goes:

There is a sort of nostalgia that surrounds every photograph taken, even the ones that were taken just last week, or yesterday. Photography is the act of capturing an instant of reality, a moment that will never happen again. Barthes refers to this as the "death" of a moment, but to me that's a little macabre. Rather than despairing that the moment will never occur again, I'd prefer to have the photograph as a reminder, as a memory aid. So what that the moment will never again occur? It could have been the most beautiful moment of your life. But life is full of beautiful moments. And it's better to have a photograph, I think, because the moment lives on through it.

(That wasn't exactly stream of consciousness.)

a negative has as much integrity as a painting-- the same rays of sunlight that touched the negative touched the subject...the punctum should affect: it is more about an energy, a feeling. how does this photograph make you feel? bring your own personal visual history to each new image you encounter...the only thing universal about photograhy is that it's subjective...what defines a culture is what it chooses to reproduce and archive.

It used to be that photographs showed the ultimate truth. The same rays of sunlight that touched the negative touched the subject. It was authentic, and accessible. The instant of reality captured on film could not be faked. Nowadays, with digital technology, we have no way of knowing if what we are seeing is what actually happened, or what something/someone actually looks like. I feel that this has skewed with our perceptions of reality (whatever that is, anyway), and I think it has rendered a lot of skepticism surrounding art, or advertising. Now that we can manipulate an image that used to tell it like it is (was), is there still an honest punctum when we look at a photograph? I know a punctum is inherently honest, but isn't it a little tainted if the image isn't real? What's the point of photography, then, if not to capture a slice of time? Does it just become another artistic medium?

I don't know where I'm going with this.

last sunday of summer

(from gingerlillytea's flickr page)

cloudless blue skies, perfect temperature
shopping for sweaters, socks, squash
transitioning to fall: macintosh apples too
chrysanthemums at the farmer's market
brunch on the patio & fresh-squeezed oj
remembering and laughing and looking forward

it was a good summer

bare boned and crazy

(image from mirjan.'s flickr photostream via weheartit)

Honesty. Something that is desired, and something that is feared. We are always told to speak the truth, but do we really want to hear what other people think of us? The pure, unadulterated truth? Honesty is scary. It creates vulnerability.

Honesty is unapologetic, upfront, and real. I think that a lot of the reason why some people can't handle New York City is because they are put off by how in-your-face this place is. They can't handle the truth that is loud noises, bad smells, poor people-filthy rich people-crazy people. This city is a truly global city. A little bit of everything. A little bit of everyone. I think that many people have become desensitized, and sheltered. It's like the theme song from Weeds: "Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky; little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same." Where's the real world in that?

People have become desensitized and sheltered not only in terms of their environment, but also, I think, in terms of how we interact with each other. Very few people are always honest. We tread lightly, afraid of offending, of being politically incorrect. Many people can't handle the truth, the bare bones of it all, and put up their "little boxes" in the form of anti-depressants and the like. Perhaps I am trivializing it, but I think there is some truth in the matter. Pun intended.

It's sad that honesty has become so fleeting, and elusive, because I think that honesty can also be very beautiful. When the stars are aligned (I like to imagine those fiery balls of light playing that game where the puzzle pieces are all jumbled up and you have to slide them one by one into the correct place), being honest with someone, expressing your innermost feelings, can be...well...I wouldn't really know. I imagine it's beautiful. I don't have the guts to make myself vulnerable like that. I, too, am afraid of being honest.

Maybe it's time for me to venture out of my little box made out of ticky tacky. I'll go get the mail. Sweep the sidewalk. Plant some flowers. Baby steps. And then...

Touch your lips just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
Into me, baby
-Dave Matthews Band

collection of memories

(from weheartit.com)

To me, an archive is, quite simply, a collection of memories. There are many different types of archives, categorized by the location in which these memories are kept. It can be a diary, a photo album, a memory box...it can simply be the mind.

I've always been terrible at collecting and storing memories. I'm not one of those people who write faithfully in their blog to chronicle their quotidian events. I've tried, sometimes with moderate success. Every day in 8th grade I'd write in my calendar interesting things that happened on a certain date: "Sat next to (insert latest crush here) at the basketball game :) Had stew for dinner. Gross." I've also tried, and failed. In high school, for an art project, I made a memory box, and put a lot of mementos from the beginning of senior year in it. But I left that memory box in the studio--my attempts to contain time actually made time fly away from me.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. One usually thinks of 'archives' in the grandiose historical sense, as in, the National Archives, et cetera et cetera. That kind of archiving takes a lot of research and a lot of discipline. Discipline is something that I am lacking in. So, for this project, I decided to start small. I decided to archive one day: Wednesday, to be precise.

I archived Wednesday in two ways, which I think makes the collection of memories more comprehensive and complete. I purchased a disposable camera and snapped away throughout the day, capturing interesting sights on my way to campus, chronicling the way the sky looked at a certain point in the day, etc. There are limitations to photographs, however. The quality of the camera. The absence of smells, sounds, movement. But a visual representation is often better than just words themselves. For that reason, I added captions to my photographs (PostSecret style) to help me remember why I took that photo in the first place.

These photos are not a complete archive, though. I'm not sure an archive can be called an archive until the memories are in a place of their own. That being said, my second method of archiving Wednesday provides just that for the memories. I taped food wrappers, receipts, flyers I picked up on the streets, as well as my daily crossword puzzle attempt (which was an epic fail by the way) to the Wednesday, September 9 2009 box in my planner.

It was difficult to remember to keep my receipts, and I definitely got some strange looks while using the disposable camera (apparently it's an ancient relic), but at the same time I was more observant of my surroundings. This project will definitely help me remember almost every detail of 09-09-09.

(Inspired by a speech I had to write for my Photography and the Visual Archive class. The assignment? "Show me what you think an archive is.")

midnight train

(from weheartit.com)

what is a journey?
a journey is not a trip
it's not a vacation
it's a process of discovery.
it's a process of self-discovery.
a journey brings us face-to-face with ourselves.
a journey shows us not only the world,
but how we fit in it.
does the person create the journey?
or does the journey create the person?
the journey is life itself.
where will life take you?

(inspiring words from a louis vuitton commercial that can be viewed here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5xCGZuvhWI)

to print or not to print...

(from audreyhepburncomplex.tumblr.com)

...that is the question.

I like to call myself an amateur photographer. I enjoy taking pictures, playing around with cameras, learning about angles and lighting and what makes a beautiful shot. But that's exactly it: I like to take beautiful, interesting pictures. Most of us do.

I cannot imagine being a photojournalist working, for example, in Afghanistan. That is a dimension of photography that, quite frankly, frightens me. I really admire those who will do anything for an important, inspiring, even controversial shot.

In the New York Times the other day, a post on the Lens blog (photography, video and visual journalism) really caught my eye. A photo taken for the Associated Press which shows a mortally wounded corporal in Afghanistan is the cause for debate in journalistic circles across the country. Does one respect the wishes of the family, who really doesn't want to see their son in his last moments of his life, in such pain? Or does one fulfill his or her promise to the public: to show things how they are?

Words from the photographer herself:

"It is necessary to be bothered from time to time. It is too easy to sit at Starbuck’s far away across the sea and read about the casualty and then move on without much of another thought about it. It’s not as easy to see an image of that casualty and not think about it. I never expect to change the world or stop war with one picture, but only hope that I make some people think beyond their comfort zones and hope that a few of them will be moved into some kind of action, be it joining a protest, or sending that care package they’ve put off for weeks, or writing that letter they keep meaning to write, or donating money to some worthy N.G.O., or just remembering to say I love you to someone at home. Something.

I believe that is why I decided to send the photo in to the N.Y. desk despite what the media rules of engagement said, to start some conversation about it and hope that it will move out there. It bothered me too much not to have at least some discussion about it. And with great respect and understanding to all the opposing arguments to publication, I feel that as journalists it is our social responsibility to record and publish such images. We have no restrictions to shoot or publish casualties from opposition forces, or even civilian casualties. Are those people less human than American or other NATO soldiers?"

-Julie Jacobson

The rest of the blog post is here:
http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/04/behind-13/?emc=eta1

i want to hold your hand (a poem)

(from maryruffle.tumblr.com via weheartit)

a touch of the nose
a touch of the hip
was that a physical
freudian slip?

where the heart is?

(found on weheartit.com)

Where is home? What is home? Where the heart is? Where you can dance around without pants on and be comfortable about it, as the picture above suggests?

Comfort has a lot to do with it. So does my pillow. But it'd be nice to have a more permanent home. I think a lot of the reason why I've felt so unsettled (all shook up) lately is because I haven't put down roots in one place for more than four months for so long. After freshman year, it was Ohio, Thirteenth Street, Paris, Fourth Avenue, and now Lafayette Street.

I just want a place of my own. Ohio will always be home, but I'm never there. I want somewhere that I can go to and feel comfortable. It's been so long since I've danced pants-less.

windows of opportunity

(found on vickstar's deviantart)

"To laugh is to risk appearing a fool,
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental
To reach out to another is to risk involvement,
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self
To place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss
To love is to risk not being loved in return,
To hope is to risk despair,
To try is to risk to failure.
But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing is nothing.
He may avoid suffering and sorrow,
But he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or live.
Chained by his servitude he is a slave who has forfeited all freedom.
Only a person who risks is free.
The pessimist complains about the wind;
The optimist expects it to change...

and the realist adjusts the sails."

-William Arthur Ward, "To Risk"