Today began with an air of excitement and trepidation. Despite all the planning I felt disorganised. Being unwell didn’t help the situation. I had to make decisions and take action because time was marching by. I kept thinking of a mantra my husband, Lynsey, often recites: I’m efficient and effective and I get things done.
I needed to get things done, and fast. We had a plane to catch; the first leg of our journey to Denver, Colorado followed by Austin, Texas. I am now officially on holiday for the next two weeks and yet in between packing, an unexpected trip to the doctors, sorting out our son (who wasn’t coming with us), and securing our home in readiness for our absence, I was also checking my work emails. So many things were whirring around in my head and I needed to let some of them go.
As I became overwhelmed by everything I kept focusing on one thing; within the next 24 hours I would be reunited with my daughter Zofia and I couldn’t wait for that moment.
The day continued to unfold as it should except as one hour merged into the next time seemed to take on a different meaning. Zofia was flying out from Heathrow Airport, London at 2.25pm their time headed for Denver via Minneapolis. Lynsey and I left Wellington at 4.30pm NZ time also headed for Denver via Auckland and San Francisco. At some point, many hours later, we would all meet up in a different country and different time zone yet it will still be today. We will be travelling back in time as we make our way towards the United States. When we reach our destination we will be reliving the day we are already experiencing. This seems so unimaginable.
Apart from the time changes many other things made today unbelievably long … delayed flights, endless security checkpoints, navigating unfamiliar airports, trying to find out information, speaking English but not American, dealing with a different currency, finding food we wanted to eat, the inconsistency between the messages our bodies were sending us and the actual time in the place where we were, and the temperature differences as we moved from winter to summer. Why do we call this a holiday? Travelling is exhausting yet there is a certain exhilaration associated with it as you experience the many weird and wonderful things you get exposed to …
Tornados are not something we kiwis would normally worry about yet at Denver International Airport there are tornado shelter signs everywhere.
I was taken by the luggage carousels that catered specifically for oversized items like skis. This was a pertinent reminder to the fact that the Rockie Mountains with some of the world’s most famous ski fields were close by.
I became excited when I saw this sign change to say ‘in range’. Zofia was getting closer.
And then she arrived!
Holding my daughter in my arms made everything we had been through in the preceding hours insignificant. As we stood there hugging each other with tears streaming down both our faces my heart was bursting with love, pride and relief. Here we were together again. She was right there in front of me and not an image or a voice I could see or hear via my computer or the telephone. Our adventure could begin in earnest. No matter how tired we were after being up for the better part of 24 hours this time was precious. The clock was ticking and we wanted to make the most of our holiday together.
We headed to our hotel where our first priority was to get some sleep because in a few hours we needed to be up and ready to face the new day in whatever time zone we were in now.
After hanging up from a Skype call with my daughter in London this evening I stumbled across this video clip on YouTube of The Goodnight Kiwi. I remembered this nightly ritual that appeared on our television screens and felt a warm glow inside. I was transported back to a time when things were very different even though in reality it wasn’t that many years ago. Technology has advanced in such a short period of time and transformed our lives in unimaginable ways. Sometimes I find myself hankering for the good old days and I’m just not old enough to be thinking like that.
As I watched this video I thought about all the kiwis living away from their home. I want to wish you all ‘goodnight’; may the new day that unfolds when you wake bring you all you dreamed of and more.
Before 24 hour TV Goodnight Kiwi signalled the end of nightly broadcasts. The last airing of this animation was in 1994. Today the characters are regarded as icons of New Zealand culture.
We spend far too much time and energy contemplating our inadequacies. We forget that we are all perfect in our imperfection. Kate Dillon
As I was waiting for the lights to change at a pedestrian crossing on the corner of Cuba and Vivian Streets I looked up. This is such an interesting, and alternative, part of our city and it always has been. I have so many memories of this area dating back to my childhood.
A message painted on a window of an old building across the road struck a chord with me: ‘Come as you are’.
How often do we actually ‘come as we are’ and even more importantly how often are we accepted ‘as we are’?
I have been known to be labelled by others as a perfectionist. I never feel like this is being said as something I should be proud of. Quite the contrary; it always feels like something bad. I feel put down and worthless as though who I am and what I do is meaningless.
‘Am I really a perfectionist?’ I ask myself.
As I research what a perfectionist is I feel incredibly uncomfortable at what I discover.
‘This isn’t me,’ says the voice in my head rather emphatically.
I find myself questioning myself and the way I work. One thing I realise fairly quickly is that I do strive for excellence. I expect high standards of myself and of others. I want to be the best I can be. Yet perfectionism is something out there on the horizon that I will happily leave to others to strive for.
I know when to let go. I know when enough is enough. I know when I have taken something as far as I can. I have also learnt to love the mistakes, especially in my creative pursuits; they usually add a dimension I never expected or envisaged to whatever I was working on.
I therefore have to ask: Does being committed to doing the best you can be at any given point in time equate to being a perfectionist? Does taking pride in your work mean you’re a perfectionist? Does paying attention to detail mean you’re a perfectionist? Does striving to work to your optimum level mean you’re a perfectionist? Does seeking out new challenges and always slightly raising the bar on your own expectations mean you’re a perfectionist?
I took an online quiz in search of answers to these questions. It turns out my gut reaction was right. I’m not a perfectionist, I’m a high achiever. Now this is a lot more palatable to me.
You’re A High Achiever
You strive toward perfection, but you have a healthy understanding of what is and isn’t possible, and you’re able to enjoy the journey without getting overly hung up on the results. Good for you!
I come as I am.
Please don’t label me without knowing me. Please don’t judge me without trying to understand me and what makes me tick. Accept me for who I am and what I have to offer. Know that whatever you ask me to do I will give it my all and do the very best I can. Don’t then put me down by criticising the very things you have come to expect me.
In turn I am learning to love the fact that I am perfect in my imperfection; as we all are. Be proud of who you are, what you do, and how you do it. If it feels good inside then it is right for you. Being true to yourself is what matters most. If you need to change you will work out how when the time is right. Don’t accept ‘okay’ or ‘good’ for yourself; go for ‘great’ and beyond, and be proud of what you achieve and who you are.
I was oblivious to the fact that today is no ordinary Friday. It is Friday the thirteenth; a day loaded with all sorts of superstitions and the unfortunate reputation of being an unlucky day.
There are many different theories about the origin of 13 being considered an unlucky number. Tracing the superstitions back, the earliest theories claim that in ancient religion, Valhalla, the home of the Gods, had twelve guests at a feast and a thirteenth, the God of Deceit, turned up uninvited. Others believe that the 13 started with witches’ covens having 12 members, making 13 when the devil appeared at satanic ceremonies, although this may have been an attempt by the church to discredit witches as, prior to Christianity, 13 was considered a sacred number, representing the 13 moons of the year.
For Christians, 13 was the number at the Last Supper when Judas betrayed Jesus. It is also claimed that Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden on a Friday, Noah’s flood started on a Friday and Christ was crucified on a Friday so it is likely these days and numbers combined were given the signal of bad luck.
When I arrived at work this morning I noticed one of my colleagues had a whole head of garlic sitting on top of his computer monitor.
“What’s with the garlic?” I had to ask him.
“Over the last few Fridays I have had problems with a particular computer program. I cannot afford to have it crash on me today so I decided to not tempt fate,” he said to me. ” I came prepared!”
Garlic is a wonder product. I use it extensively in my cooking. I had forgotten about its ability to ward off evil spirits.
Maybe every workplace should have garlic sprinkled around the place especially those environments that are toxic and stifle the growth of the individuals that work there.
I am in awe of Randy Pausch. Time is of the essence for this man, and his family, as he fights terminal pancreatic cancer; yet he is not wallowing in self pity. He is using whatever time he has left to leave a legacy that goes way beyond his professional achievements. This is a story of a man with dreams and a man who has managed to live his dreams. He has no regrets.
His Last Lecture was inspiring. I sat staring at my computer screen laughing, crying and generally overwhelmed by what I was seeing and hearing.
“Oh why didn’t I have teachers like this?” I wondered. I had no-one that believed in me or even showed the slightest inkling that there was any kind of passion flowing through their beings. Dry and boring are two words that automatically spring to mind when I reflect back on my formal learning experiences.
The book that followed this lecture is a special kind of read. It was written in conjunction with a writer, Jeff Zaslow, while Randy exercised on his bike for an hour each day so that the writing of it didn’t impinge on Randy’s time with his family. This little book is packed with stories and lessons of a life lived to the full.
On 18 May Randy reported that he and his wife Jai had been flown to Pittsburgh to attend graduation at the university where he had been teaching most recently - Carnegie Mellon. He was given the honour of giving the charge to the graduates at the end of the ceremony. As we have become used to, his message was short and to the point.
We don’t beat the reaper by living longer.
We beat the reaper by living well, and living fully;
for the reaper will come for all of us.
The question is what do we do between the time we are born and the time he shows up;
’cause when he shows up it’s too late to do all the things that you’re always gonna kind of get around to.
Randy’s advice on living well is:
It is not the things we do in life that we regret on our death bed, it is the things we do not.
Find your passion and follow it. You will not find it in things or money. Passion must come from things that fuel you from the inside.
It is the relationships you have with people, and what they think of you, that will matter most when your time comes.
His final words were:
I hope you can all find passion and love in your life.
The wind is howling outside. I love the sounds it makes as it weaves its way through everything and everyone that crosses its path. It moves with such ferocity and is completely unrelenting, yet I find it invigorating and energising. As the wind blows through you it clears out the cobwebs and you know you’re alive. When the wind blows itself out there is a calmness, a crispness, and a sense of relief that you survived intact. It is like those hurdles we come across daily that seem insurmountable. Once you’ve worked out how to get over them, and managed to do it, you look back and feel an enormous sense of achievement.
The wind in Wellington is legendary, hence the nickname of ‘Windy Wellington’, although I believe it has become significantly more tamed over the years. When I was younger I remember having to hold on to lamp posts to stop myself being blown on to the road as I was walking to school. It used to be such a funny sight as you looked up the street and you saw all these people clinging to these bits of wood positioned strategically along the footpaths. Everything was flying in all directions and you had to decide what to cling to and what to let go of.
Some streets were worse than others to walk along – they became transformed into high velocity wind tunnels and we humans merely objects to be dismissed and moved out of the way. I remember certain streets in the centre of the city having ropes strategically placed for people to hold on to.
Then there was the day of the Wahine Disaster – 10 April 1968. School was closed (such as rarity as you can imagine), we had no power, only the brave ventured outside. We sat huddled together with family and neighbours wondering and waiting as the wind took hold of our city. A neighbour had a gas stove so they boiled water for everyone to make drinks. Everyone rallied around to help one another. My father couldn’t get home to us because he was stuck at his workplace after having completed a night shift. Everything that could be stopped, or closed, was. We were oblivious to the tragedy that was unfolding in our beloved harbour only minutes down the road. This is a day that people still talk about and remember vividly.
The Wahine was a ferry travelling from Lyttleton on the South Island to Wellington. During the night while the ferry sailed north the wind increased dramatically. Cyclone Giselle, met another storm over Wellington and caused some of the worst weather in New Zealand’s history. The ship was driven onto Barretts Reef at the entrance to the harbour and subsequently had to be abandoned. Of the 610 passengers and 123 crew onboard 53 lost their lives. It is a poignant memory for Wellingtonians. Many remember the storm, their helplessness at the ship being so near but so far and the tragedy unfolding right in the middle of where the normality of life is conducted on a daily basis. Acts of heroism and sacrifice took place against the backdrop of tragedy and loss. The official inquiry concluded that the storm was the primary cause but that some mistakes had been made. 40 years on watching some of the survivors reflect I was struck by three lessons …
The danger of leadership that does not appreciate what is actually happening.
At this very moment the wind is merely a sound in the background. I haven’t got out there and braced it yet. I am being bathed in the glorious light beaming through the curtains of my bedroom. The dappled effect this light has on the room is inviting, especially as I sit here in my bed all toasty and relaxed. Unfortunately the light’s intensity changes and its magic seems only momentary. As the light appears and disappears I am alerted to the fact that the weather is changing outside. As has been predicted, a southerly is on its way! This usually means ‘batten down the hatches’ and ‘brace yourself’ for an icy blast originating from the icy continent to our south.
I have an overwhelming sense that things are percolating within me and externally. I feel change is in the air; like the wind blowing away the debris and clutter, bringing with it clarity and focus. 2008 started in a blur for me. I didn’t feel able back in January to reflect on the previous year and look ahead. Now, six months later, I feel ready.
This seems incredibly timely because it connects perfectly with another New Year – Matariki – the celebration of the Maori New Year which begins on the sighting of the first moon after the appearance of Matariki.
The star cluster Matariki (the Pleiades) will first rise on 23 May. The best time to see it will be on 31 May as there will be approximately 30 minutes between Matariki rising and the Sun coming up. The Māori New Year begins with the first new moon after Matariki’s reappearance. This year, the new moon rises on 5 June so the Māori New Year starts on 6 June. Source:Matariki 2008, Te Papa web site
There are lots of traditions within Maori culture that I really love and one of them is the singing of waiata. Listen to this one dedicated to Matariki from the Te papa web site.
So people in my part of the world of Aotearoa New Zealand are in celebration mode for the next month. This seems like the perfect time for remembering the past, celebrating it, and starting anew. Actually any time is a good time but this seems to be an especially significant time to spur myself into action.
Matariki atua ka eke mai i te rangi e roa, e roa, e
Whāngainga iho ki te mata o te tau e roa, e.
Matariki rising in the broad heavens
Nourish those below with the first fruits.
We all need nourishment. Let’s be there for one another. Let’s support each other and encourage each other to be who we were born to be. Let’s dump mediocrity and let’s strive for excellence. Let’s make a difference to ourselves and others by being true to ourselves and by following our dreams and passions. Let’s jump over hurdles and push back at fear. Let’s not accept the ordinary as the norm but push ourselves to see the extraordinary, in whatever way works for you. Let’s care about each other; this may mean helping people into lifeboats or it may mean being there in whatever capacity you can. Let’s wear our hearts on our sleeves. Let’s fill the world with love (yes, I know I am idealistic). Let’s plant lots of seeds and hopefully some will survive and grow. Let’s all believe in miracles; they can and do happen.
Happy Matariki one and all. It’s a pity that it is too windy for Lynsey, Damian and I to go and fly a kite. They’ll have to stay put in the basement until the wind dies down a bit and we can give them a whirl.
Last year I attempted a project where I committed to taking a photo a day for 365 days. If you look at my Flickr page dedicated to this project you will notice there are not 365 photos for you to look at. Some sceptics (including myself) would not be surprised by this. I still haven’t updated the site with all the photos I did take. I have hundreds of photos sitting here on my computer, and my external hard drive, waiting for something to happen to them. I managed to write reflections on about two months worth of photos and I have copious notes written about others that I have never published. I got behind. I let the days, turn into weeks and then it got harder to catch up. I made it difficult by setting unrealistic expectations for myself. I got carried away with my reflections. I agonised over whether or not what I had written was worthy of being posted on my blog. I allowed everything else to become more important. This project became a burden and yet it was energising and incredibly exciting.
Technically you could say my Project 365 was a failure, yet this couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality this project has had a profound impact on me and my life. It has opened my eyes and my mind to a world that I was amazingly oblivious to before. Everything is now different. I notice things. I stop and enjoy them. I never go anywhere without my camera and a journal. This project has been the impetus for me to make profound changes in my life like changing jobs and even beginning a new career. I also discovered new passions - photography, writing, and poetry - as I learnt how to ’see’ with my whole being.
Keep on beginning and failing. Each time you fail, start all over again, and you will grow stronger until you have accomplished a purpose - not the one you began with perhaps, but one you’ll be glad to remember. Anne Sullivan
I want to try again and see if I can actually achieve a photo a day for a year, or even longer. To me this is a goal worth pursuing and I am trying to work out how I can make this work for me. Taking the photo was the easy part. I discovered that writing the reflection on what I had seen through my camera lens was the most time consuming aspect yet this was the icing on the cake - it made the photo, and the experience of seeing, meaningful. How do I fit all this into my hectic days where I often don’t take lunch hours and I come home exhausted and feeling brain dead? I need to make changes or work out how to fit this project into ‘me’ time on a daily basis. This is about my health and well being after all.
I am not quite ready to begin my second attempt at Project 365 but that time is drawing ever closer. After reading about Jamie Livingston’s project where he took a Polaroid photograph a day from 31 March 1979 through to the day of his death on 25 October 1997 I am feeling even more inspired.
When that itch surfaces to revisit all the big moments in our lives (the proms, weddings, births, European vacations), we naturally reach for the photo album. But where are all those other days — that Tuesday in March, say, when, as far as we can recall, nothing happened? The New York–based cinematographer Jamie Livingston found something worth photographing that day, and the next, as he meticulously (and miraculously) chronicled twenty years of his life in Polaroids before succumbing to cancer in 1997, on his 41st birthday.
Photo of the Day is the beautifully sad website erected by Livingston’s friends to catalogue his prodigious output, with 6,697 captured moments ranging from the mundane to the sublime.
This is so incredible. When you look at the individual photos they seem so ordinary and yet they talk to me. I don’t know the man behind the camera but I do connect with these images. They turn the ordinary into something extraordinary. All that effort is worth it. I need to remember this. I feel that second attempt is going to begin sooner rather than later!
I was standing in the shower this morning luxuriating in the transformative power of the streaming water as it enveloped my body. My whole being is invigorated by this daily activity. It is so much more than a cleansing ritual. Being warm and relaxed always fuels my mind into action. I find that the words for something I have been wrestling with suddenly appear, ideas take shape, and more often than not decisions are made as I am showering.
For as long as I can remember water has had a way of casting a magical spell on me - it doesn’t matter whether I am looking at it, immersed in it, reading about it, or thinking about it - the reaction is always the same. Water transports me to someplace where things become clearer.
My thoughts this morning moved to a book sitting on my beside table - Not Quite What I Was Planning. This book contains a selection of six word memoirs by famous and ‘obscure’ writers.
This book is a glorious mishmash … it’s a thousand little windows into humanity - six words at a time (p. ix).
The original six word story is believed to date back to Ernest Hemingway when he wrote, For sale: baby shoes, never worn. In November 2006 SMITH Magazine decided to take Hemingway’s form and slightly alter it by suggesting people create their own six word memoir. Before they knew it memoirs were being created and shared like a rampant viral infection, especially online using Twitter and the blogosphere. SMITH Magazine received thousands of submissions on their web site and the first book of these was published and another one is in the pipeline.
SMITH is a home for storytelling of all forms and kinds, with a focus on personal narrative. We believe everyone has a story, and everyone should have a place to tell it.
Storytelling has never been easier, more democratic, and, on the good days, interesting. It’s an amazing time for media makers, one in which content is often bottom up rather than top down, aspirational, populist, forward thinking, and most of all, participatory. SMITH is both a place for professional and never-before-published writers, artists, and photographers, bound together by a passion for storytelling.
SMITH is the most popular surname in America. It represents us all, each of us living our extraordinary lives—day by day, story by story.
“What is your six word memoir?” I asked myself as I stood in the steamy shower cubicle.
As ideas came to me I wanted to write them down, but I was in the shower! For a long time I have been meaning to buy a chinagraph pencil so I can record all these thoughts onto the walls of our shower before they are lost into the ether. As I still haven’t bought one of these pencils I have no choice but to revert to more traditional tools. This generally means me racing out of the shower, naked, dripping wet, desperately in search of pen and paper; a sight to definitely be avoided!
You might be wondering what I eventually came up with?
Here is my six word memoir. It speaks of my life so far.
To illustrate my six word memoir I chose this photo I took of a lily from the pond in our garden. This bricked fish pond sits at the entrance to our home. Our home is a special place full of love and energy. This lily plant has its roots in soil sitting deep beneath the surface of the water. It is murky down there but this plant still grows and produces the beautiful flower. It just keeps pointing towards the light to guide its path. The long, cylindrical stalk emerges from the water and stands straight and tall. As I looked at this lily I admired its strength and its delicate colour drew me to it.
The leaves break the bandage of the green stem, stretch themselves and form a green pool with untidy edges. Now the flower comes from out of the vast surface of the water, just like a very beautiful woman coming gracefully from her bath. Old Chinese Poem
If everyone has a story, what’s yours?
I have a challenge for all of you. Why don’t you write your own six word memoir today. It would be fantastic if you were prepared to share your memoir by posting it as a comment to this post and/or by sharing in on the SMITH Magazine web site - you might even feature in their next book. I can’t wait to read your story.
Danced in Fields of Infinite Possibilities. Deepak Chopra
On the morning of 10 December 1996 she awoke to a pounding pain behind her left eye due to a blood vessel exploding in the left half of her brain.
Oh my gosh, I’m having a stroke! I’m having a stroke! And the next thing my brain says to me is wow this is so cool, this is so cool! How many brain scientists have the opportunity to study the brain from the inside out. But it crosses my mind that I’m a very busy woman. I don’t have time for a stroke.
Within four hours she was no longer able to walk, talk, read, or write. In this TED lecture she describes this experience and the impact this has had on her.
Jill encourages everyone to purposely choose to step into the consciousness of the right half of their brain. She believes the more time we choose to do this the more peace we will project into the world and the more peaceful our planet will be. She thought this was an idea worth spreading and I agree with her. I found this an awe inspiring lecture. I sat there stunned the first time I watched it. I have seen it a number of times since then and I still feel the same depth of emotion each time.
Jill is yet another example of a person who has chosen to use the challenges life has thrust upon her as a way of learning and growing. As a part of this process she has also made a difference to the rest of us through her courage and her willingness to share what this experience has meant to her. This is a personal story from the heart which we can all learn something from. Exploring the ‘other’ half of our brains is an experience worthy of our time. It could transform our entire lives as it has done for Jill. The difference is that we are fortunate because we don’t have to wait to have a stroke to be able to learn this lesson.
The following images are from TED BigViz and they are a visual representation of this lecture - a very right brain thing to do!
At the moment I am reading one of the journals of May Sarton: Journal of a Solitude. In it she writes of the dichotomy of needing to be with people while at the same time needing to be alone with her thoughts in an aesthetically pleasing environment.
I am here alone for the first time in weeks, to take up my “real” life again at last. That is what is strange - that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life unless there is time alone in which to explore and to discover what is happening or has happened. Without the interruptions, nourishing and maddening, this life would become arid. Yet I taste it fully only when I am alone here and “the house and I resume old conversations.” (Journal of a Solitude, p.11)
As I read Sarton’s journal I discover a woman who views people as interruptions because they take her away from her creative pursuits. Ironically her “solitary” life is filled with interactions with people. She acknowledges that her relationships with others are both an emotional imperative and an emotional drain. What matters most to Sarton is her writing, and she needs to be alone for her muse to appear and for her to be able to create. I can certainly identify with that sentiment. After all isn’t that a key requirement of any kind of reflective practice or creative process.
For a long time now, every meeting with another human being has been a collision. I feel too much, sense too much, am exhausted by the reverberations after even the simplest conversation. But the deep collision is and has been with my unregenerate, tormenting and tormented self. I have written every poem, every novel, for the same purpose - to find out what I think, to know where I stand. I am unable to become what I see. I feel like an inadequate machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to a dreadful halt, “won’t go,” or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person’s face. (Journal of a Solitude, p. 12)
There is no doubt that solitude is a challenge and to maintain balance within it a precarious business. But I must not forget that, for me, being with people or even with one beloved person for any length of time without solitude is even worse. I lose my center. I feel dispersed, scattered, in pieces. I must have time alone in which to mull over any encounter and to extract its juice, its essence, to understand what has really happened to me as a consequence of it. (Journal of a Solitude, p. 195).
My great love in life is people - yes, even the ones that irritate me and make life difficult. People inspire me in different ways. Some leave lasting imprints in my heart while others I would rather forget. The resultant emotional response our connection evokes in me is a constant reminder of our uniqueness as human beings.
I love connecting with people. I love spending time with people and finding out more about them and their lives. I love learning from others and learning with them. I love having the ability to listen and to share with others. I believe being there for others through thick and thin differentiates us from other species. We nurture and support each other in ways that connect deeply to our inner core; with our hearts, minds, and souls. Why else would we care so deeply about people we have never met before when tragedy strikes, for example? Why do people lend a helping hand when they are not being asked to do so? Why else would we care what happens to anyone that is not associated with us or close family?
I always feel energised through my interactions with others no matter what medium we are using to communicate. When I am fortunate enough to be able to see people’s faces I learn so much about who I am communicating with. I believe there is a story behind every face. A story that connects to who that person is.
Definition of face
The front part of the head that in humans extends from the forehead to the chin and includes the mouth, nose, cheeks, and eyes Source:Merriam-Webster Dictionary Online
Over the last year and a half I have been taking photos as a way of seeing my world and experiencing my place within it. The process of taking these photos and reflecting on them has elicited major changes in me, my life, and the lives of those connected with me. Yet as I look at all my photos I am shocked as to how few are actually of people. The typical reaction (especially amongst adults) when I asked if I could take a photo was an unequivocal ‘NO’.
As I now spend time exploring photography further I have come to realise that my real passion lies in taking photos of people because I’m interested in the story associated with that person. Yet in my experience people can be very elusive subjects even on an impromptu basis.
Why is it we are so afraid to be seen as we really are? What is so wrong with us as we are? Is it because we don’t really ’see’ each other in a face to face situation; do we merely see what we want to see whereas a photograph picks up on everything and therefore we feel exposed and open to the criticism of others? Is it that a photograph is capable of penetrating beyond the mask we are so busy trying to present to others? Is it because we think we look old or we are not beautiful enough? Is it a privacy issue? Is it simply because we are dealing with people and we all know how complex we human beings can be.
The face is the soul of the body Ludwig Wittgenstein
Maybe Pablo Picasso has the answer. We don’t want others to see our faults so we make every effort to present ourselves in a way that others will see us as we want to be seen. However, a photograph could tell a completely different story; the one we don’t want told and this makes people uncomfortable.
What is a face, really? Its own photo? Its make-up?
Or is it a face as painted by such or such painter?
That which is in front? Inside? Behind? And the rest?
Doesn’t everyone look at himself in his own particular way?
Deformations simply do not exist. Pablo Picasso
About a month ago I undertook to help a colleague prepare for an upcoming family reunion by creating a movie for him from a series of about 50 family photos. He gave me this pile of photos with no other information or guidance. I first had to scan them all and convert them into digital files. Some were really old and damaged photos. I then had to look at them carefully to see how they fitted together and how I would organise them. I knew none of the people in any of the photos, apart from my colleague, but as I worked on this project I became deeply moved by what I was doing. I felt I was an outsider starring into a window of their family home and I was sharing many important moments in their lives. The faces staring back at me evoked so much emotion in me. There were so many stories in those faces. Some of the stories were really obvious whilst others I could only guess.
Memories more often than not include faces. When we store these pictures in our minds they tend to stay with us and we can recall them as needed, but this is not true for everyone. I remember when I first heard about prosopagnosia (the inability to recognise faces commonly referred to as face blindness). As this Wired article points out prosopagnosics can see your eyes, your nose, your mouth – and still not recognize your face. Imagine that!
I can vividly remember the first time I heard about this brain problem. I was doing a paper at university in neuropyschology. The lecturer related a story of a young client who said to him at the end of a therapy session that he wouldn’t recognise her the next time she came to see him. He asked her why and she told him in a matter of fact way that she was getting new shoes and she would be wearing them the next she came to see him. It was then that he discovered that she was unable to recognise faces. This young girl sorted all the people in her life by the shoes they wore.
Cecilia Burman has always had a problem with faces. As a child, she struggled to pick out her own face in school photos, and she is hard-pressed today to describe her mother’s features. Over the years she has offended countless friends, passing them on neighborhood streets or in office hallways like strangers. “People think I’m just snobby,” says Burman, 38, a computer consultant in Stockholm. “It makes me really, really sad to lose new friends because they think I couldn’t bother to say hello.”
For the vast majority, the problem is not so much about detecting a face … as it is about recognizing the same set of features when seeing them again. It’s a disability that complicates everything from following a movie plot to picking a perp out of a lineup. While mild prosopagnosics can train themselves to memorize a limited number of faces (it’s said to be like learning to distinguish one stone from another), others grapple with identifying family members and, in extreme cases, their own face.
Source: Sora Song, Do I know you? Time Magazine, 10 July 2006
Then today I came across this TED Talk from February 2008 where Siegfried Woldhek reports on his attempt to uncover the true face of Leonardo da Vinci. Apparently no one really knows what he looked like. Siegfried explains the process he used to deduce the face of Leonardo.
Please don’t let this happen to you.
Don’t leave people guessing as to what you looked like. Future generations will want to know. It may be really important to them. Photos of you will be their legacy. As people look at these photos they will see the story of you. They won’t look at you and say “gee she was fat” or “gosh look at her wrinkles” or ” wasn’t she ugly?” They might laugh at your haircut or what you’re wearing - so would you if you were still around. The reality is though that they will see the beauty of the person emanating from the photo. You will become real even though you may be long gone. They will connect all their stories they have heard and all the information they have gleaned and they will look at the photo and focus on the treasure of the wonderful you.
See that wonderful you for yourself. Don’t deny yourself this. Let people take photos of you and use them to reflect on who you were, who you are now, and who you are becoming. This is the journey of life.
There is one more thing I want to say. If I cross your path with my camera in my hands please don’t shun me. If I ask you if I can take your photo please say “yes”. Our paths will have crossed for a reason and me wanting to take your photo may have implications that neither of us ever imagined. Be open to possibilities that go beyond the here and now.
Every day we learn something new whether we realise it or not. Through words and images I am purposely exploring my learning, and sharing my stories, as I meander my way through life.
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