1/17 Remembering the past, exploits, from the air.... these second-hand memories, once removed, like unfamiliar second cousins.
I sit in my bed remembering an airplane ride, which in turn, reminded me of three previous trips. Memory within memory within memory—everything reshaping to fit the current turn of events. Reality vs. memory.
As I write about this, what is real? What becomes the synthesis for my poetry? Or my art? When I can record so little during the actual experience? I am so absorbed, so involved in the new experiences, it leaves little time for reflection, and recording of observation.
Even my photography falls off the wagon. At least I do it, but I forget to use the tools. Also, a part of me doesn't want to disrupt the absorption process with the intrusion of my camera.
Behind the camera, I become an organ, sensing only light and shape. I lose contact with where I am and what I'm doing.
At the Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, after I'd shot a roll of B&W kid shots for John's book, I said I wanted to go back in to see the Mayan exhibit. John said, "But we've been in the Mayan exhibit for the past 20 minutes!"
POP! ZIP! A strange scrambling of perception as I take a few minutes to refocus on my surroundings. Oh. Of course.
To photograph, sometimes my other senses retreat. My eye, the part of the brain that sees shape and light comes forward, becomes dominant. Nothing else exists. Speech is laborious. Exhaustion falls off. The world exists only in a dimension of light, shadows and shape. I am always dazed, and somewhat exhausted after an hour of shooting. It is so intensely absorbing. Utterly so.
I believe the Indians who said that he camera takes a little bit of their soul. It takes something of the photographer's soul too.
I did some charcoal pastel drawings of an Edward Curtis print of an Indian holding up a buffalo (bison) skull to the sky. In the second drawing he holds a box camera up. In the third drawing, he becomes the buffalo with the camera.
And in the fourth drawing, he becomes a shape in contrasting colors. Red and green, like a color negative. Horribly naive drawings. The four pieces are not particularly successful as far as art goes, but I like the idea that spurred me to do it. I destroy them. Baby and bathwater. The art is a byproduct of the experience, a symbol of the thought process.
Sometimes it takes on more, or other meanings beyond the original intent. But for the most part, the finished product is only the tip of the iceberg. What leads me to art is a long, and complicated process. A jumble of memories, conflicting sentiments, and ideas pour into a piece.
When a piece is completed it takes on a life of its own. All that underwater ice. The subconscious, if you will, is no longer relevant, or important. Ghostlike, it's both there, and not there.
added 9/17
- Baja Journal from the air: Lagunas Hanson, Salada,...
- Baja Journal from the air: Bahía Concepción from t...
- Mexico City Journal
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