If you’re still here, and wondering what ever became of me, I’ve moved over entirely to Captured Light. Take a look, drop a comment, subscribe if you dare. I’ll leave the porch light on for you.
I see the image of Jeff Flake being accosted in the elevator and it makes me think of the tsunami that’s coming. A tsunami where the tide goes out so far everybody’s like, “hey, what happened to the water?” And the tide comes rushing back in, sweeping everything away. There is a broad and deep and profound change coming to our orientation in the world. I see and hear all of those angry old white men sitting at the dais in the front of the room, I see them being swept away. Anger comes from a place of fear, and those old men are terrified at the prospect of the clubhouse being torn down. Torn down by the vast disenfranchised who are rising up to reclaim their voice, their power, and their place at the table. I know those disenfranchised – women, people of color, young people, and especially young women of color – don’t need my validation, and likely I’m one of the old white men will be swept away, but I’m very excited at the prospect of the changes that are coming. There is an enormous power shift on the horizon that will completely rearrange the landscape. I see governments and societies being disorganized and falling into at least a modicum of chaos, only to be reorganized and restructured by those very disenfranchised populations who have been shoved aside. It’s messy and it’s going to take a while, but it is in motion and undeniable. And my generation needs to be prepared to step aside to make way for my kid’s generation – who will also need to step aside – and the generations after. I wish I could stay around to see what grows out of the rubble.
I fell down the other day. Not so much fell as slid (gracefully, of course) from the bed to the floor, muttering through gritted teeth, “no, no, no,” all the way down. Once there, I ran through the I’ve Fallen Checklist: am I bleeding, (if yes, how much), what parts of me can I move, and is there anything right around me that I might use to get myself up off the floor. Assuming that I’m not injured, and can’t get myself up, the next question is where is my phone – my I’ve Fallen And I Can’t Get Up alarm. I don’t go ANYWHERE without it. I called Alison who was downstairs, and told her that I needed some help. I had muscled myself up on to my knees (luckily I didn’t herniate myself), but that was as far as I could go. And naturally, my spastic leg (Dragon Dictate wants to say, “spaz stick.”) chose this moment to freak out. We gave it a good shot, Alison and I, but we were unable to shift the Great White Whale. The 0h-0h Squad was called.
Within minutes, the Fire Chief and three strapping young men were gathered around me in my bedroom. Luckily for all of us, I had pants on. After a brief conference, they lifted me bodily off the floor onto the bed like a big baby. I heard the chief mention as they went down the hall that the last time they had rescued me Alison had made some cookies for them. She assured them that she’d carry on that tradition. Gotta keep the Oh-Oh Squad happy.
Aside from the humiliation of the predicament, I was left with a lingering sense of helplessness, that, if left unchecked, would spread in all directions, like an inflamed nervous system. A fall like that, brought on simply by the force of gravity overpowering my inability to resist it, can happen anytime. And as undramatic as the actual fall was, finding myself on the floor unable to roll over was, if not dramatic, at least sobering. I’ve been sobered like that before, and I vowed then as I did this time to be more vigilant of exactly where I am in space and where the tipping point is. Vigilance and the admonition to Be Careful are good things to keep in mind, but they only go so far. And in the end, gravity always wins. I need to put that on a T-shirt.
When I was in photography school, an educational foray that didn’t hurt me none, my first teacher, Fred Sway, made the comment that the term “shooting,” didn’t really fit with photography. Making a photograph is actually a pretty passive act, he pointed out, nothing more than accepting light. That has always stayed with me, as has Fred’s deep understanding of light. The photographer points the camera at something, adjusts what settings are at his disposal, light enters through his opened shutter and is captured by the film, or paper, or other recording medium in the camera. That’s all there is to it. The rest, the philosophy, technique, the fuss over lenses and cameras and film vs digital, that’s just logistics. In the end, photography is captured light.
So, long story (and I could easily make this story longer) short, I’m going back to my original photoblog, Captured Light (which, by the way, will be the title of the massive retrospective volume of my life’s work). I will continue to use this blog to post writings, few and far between as they may be. In order you don’t miss a single word or photon, you might could subscribe to both. I know I’m going to. I promise you won’t be overwhelmed.