Ivory Angel #6

I've always loved photographs. I love the way the caress of the lens can turn something ordinary into something extraordinarily magnificant. Kodak made Cinderella possible- every maid in rags can become a goddess. In a photograph, everything seems to acquire a certain velocity. My theory is that's because we don't look at each other's faces enough, not for long enough periods of time. We see shifting blurs that mean a thousand things at once- the brain just gets overloaded and can't treasure and dissect simple moments like a roll of limp, yielding film.

Which is maybe why I hate being photographed- becuase I feel itchy if anyone looks at my imperfection too long; because I'm expecting the camera to replace me with a real ivory angel. Honestly, I've never had a picture I really liked. I've always got red eyes or my expression is vacant or I had a cold sore or a black eye or I look miserable or arrogant or frustrated or fake or just plain silly. (My friends say I look spaced out on purpose on my driver's license so no cops seeing my ID can't tell when the real me is high) I'm waiting for the perfect photo to come and magnify the inside-me, which is so much different than what I look outside. I'm waiting for a magic wand to poof! turn me into a princess. Not adoreable, or fun, or any of those other comments that means I'm really sorry your parents are going to be staring at that for the rest of your life but truly lovely.

I've done this to other people, you see. Hours of work in a dark room have made some of my friends come alive in a way they wouldn't have otherwise. I have a lovely picture of my best friend in high school picking her nose...and she still looks beautiful doing it! Michevious, secretive. I like people shots the best because there's just no way a bowl of fruit can be as dynamic as a human being. At least, not without the use of cool computer-effects, which is cheating. If everybody can do what in five minutes with adobe photoshop what it takes me an hour with just the right lighting conditions, is it nearly as valuable? Our art is suddenly being debased by convenience. I guess maybe the poets of our past would say that about us in an age where even our word processors can write in fancy calligraphy. Anyone can be Dickenson in her heritage without the isolation courtesy of addictive AIM.

My high school photography teacher helped nourish my love of pictures. You see, I'm technologically cursed. My negatives would get dirty or someone would discard used developer into the old bottle and mess up the entire batch or the camera would be busted and scratch the film...so many tragic accidents. So many lost moments. But through it all, my teacher held my hand and taught me patience and persistance, and something about an artist's eye. He complimented and never criticized, which is important to someone who realistically can only be described as a mediocre photographer. Becuase he saw something in me that I didn't see myself, and was willing to work towards it, I got better. All because he had faith in me.

Sometimes, I wonder why. Why did he single me out like that when there were so many people more talented? I can't help but think of the day when he asked me to go to Europe with him, and he told me we'd live together and take pictures all day long. He was joking, I know, but...there was something in his eyes that said this was real, that if I was a younger man... Was it sexual harrassment? Am I so cynical I can't just let anybody have a good motive, just be nice without some ulterior motive?

I think I would have come with him to Paris if he asked. Silly, running off with someone old enough to be my dad, but it's hard to resist someone who can see what a thousand high school dance photographers have missed- exquisite, unmitigated beauty. Precious, rare, refined...

Photogenic.