It can't be done, of course, but why does it take some of us so dang long
to figure out!
Repetition aside, I was born into a preacher's home, #3 of 8 kids, where
everything we did was under scrutiny of Dad's congregation and community (or so
he thought). There were many things we were not allowed to do
because we were preacher's kids. What would people think! Add
to that the #3 positioning and I became what John Bradshaw calls a Golden Child in my family. I did everything right. I
was a people pleaser. [I wasn't dumb!]
First, I studied hard and was Salutatorian of my high school class. I
graduated from the well-respected Univerity of Michigan. Then I became a
missionary-linguist to a tribal group in Peru whose language had not yet been
written. After coming back home to marry Bill, we worked in a ministry to
college students for 16 years. It was all like clockwork. Doing
what everyone expected from me. High up on a pedestal. Beaming
people all around.
Then I fell from grace. Kaboom. After 21 years of a good marriage,
Bill and I divorced because my being gay just wasn't going away, no matter how
hard I tried. So we did the right and fair thing for each other...but in
the process, the Golden Child became Humpty-Dumpty who fell off the wall and
couldn't be put back together again, at least not in the same way.
When Preacher Dad found out, sister Nancy told me he nearly had a heart
attack. Immediately, and without giving it a second's thought, I
exclaimed to her, "Shame on him!" Instinctively I knew in that
moment that if anyone in the world should have been there for me, it would have
been my preacher dad who supposedly knew about the love and grace of Almighty
God! But I shocked myself. Did I say that? Suddenly I knew I
was figuring it out. You cannot please all the people all the time, not
even the ones you love the most.
So the Journey began. The Journey of being me, myself and I, no matter
what people thought. I was 45.
Now fast forward. When I first started posting my images on Shutterchance 4 years
ago, I had no clue what I was doing. I had never taken a photography
course and barely knew how to use my camera other than to point and shoot and
upload my pictures. Within the first two weeks I received a couple
comments that "criticised" what I had done. I was so devasted I
almost quit. Thankfully, I DIDN'T but swallowed hard and paid attention
to what was being critiqued.
What I have discovered, however, good critisms and critiques notwithstanding,
is that photography, like life, is something where you simply CANNOT please all
the people all the time. "It's too dark. I don't like how you
cropped it. You shouldn't have cut off the top. It would look
better in color. I don't like your texture." Etc., etc.
I am learning to curb my tongue, graciously accepting the "opinions"
of others, even if I don't agree with them. I don't say "shame on
you," nor do I even wince that much anymore. I do better if the
criticism isn't harsh, but the older I get, the more I pay attention to what
daughter Amy told me when I started: "Mom, it's YOUR blog and you
can do whatever you want!"
Having said that, I still die for at least some of you appreciating my
images! [I'm not dumb!] How's that for climbing back up on the pedestal
wall! :)
On our
recent trip to France, we had one goal in mind (besides general
sight-seeing): to see Mont Saint-Michel with our own eyes. Not Paris, mind you,
or anything therein. Just Mont Saint-Michel. Next to Paris, it's
apparently France's biggest tourist attraction. You can understand why.
But after it was done, Astrid and I both said to each other: we've done
it once; we never need to do it again!
Please explain that to me. How is it possible to see something so
incredibly unbelievable and never need to see it again. A wonder of the
man-made world. One of the top attractions of a country...or a
planet. And once is enough!
But see something like fields of sunflowers (which were in bloom all over the
southwest of France), humble stone churches from the 12th century (in almost
every village), Chambres d'Hôtes (Bed & Breakfasts) made out of ancient
stone...and...I can't get enough of them! I'd go back and see every one
of them over and over again.
It's the same with photography. Look at the images we see almost every
day on the Internet that blow us away. Macro shots of honey bees and
flowers. The smile of a little girl in a swimming pool. The
barefeet of a newborn grandbaby. The character of a wizened face.
Dogs frolicking together in ecstasy. Tell me those aren't wonders of the
world. Tell me they don't take your breath away. And do you have to
pay one red cent for them? No.
We all know this, of course, that life is short. There's only so much we
can see and do. Most of us will only check off a few things on our
"bucket list," if we're lucky. Some of us more than others,
perhaps. But all of us can pay attention and figure out what's important
and what "wonders" us...sometimes right before our very eyes.
I wish it for all of us...the Bucket List and
those wondrous things waiting for us right here and now. Which reminds
me: I need to go take a walk again past that windmill right around the
corner from me!
[On my other-other blog (besides Shutterchance, that is),
you can see various other images in collages of the Mont Saint-Michel
experience we'll never forget. We climbed all the way to the top and
wound our way throughout the Abbey maze of ups and downs, back-n-forths.]
This past week on my photography blog I did a series of these 3 rural Dutch scenes here in Holland, utilizing
the PhotoShop craquelure texture to make them look like oil paintings.
When Astrid and I are out-n-about on our weekend car trips, I get inspired by
what I see and sometimes can't help but "mess around" with my images,
if I can get away with it.
But here is where it gets embarrassing (and shame on me for never taking an art
appreciation class in college!). I had heard the names of many painters
all my life---like Rembrandt, Picasso, Dali, Vermeer, Degas, Monet, Van Gogh,
Cezanne, Matisse, Da Vinci, Raphael, Rubens, Botticelli---names that had
meaning to me even if I couldn't tell you whose painting was whose.
However, it wasn't until later in my life that I ever connected "The Dutch
Masters" to a country called Holland/The Netherlands...where I now live!
DUH! Can you explain that...the disconnect we have sometimes between
language and meaning. How could I not connect that there are great
painters from The Netherlands who are therefore called DUTCH masters!
That reminds me of something from my early Sunday School days when we sang the
"We're going to the mansion on the happy day express" song.
"The letters on the engine are J-E-S-U-S" but what I always heard was
"the letters on the engine: R-J-E-S-U-S." When I finally got it
later, I just laughed and laughed. DUH! Of course I know how to
spell Jesus.
See, language plays tricks on us. And I'm talking about our own
Mother Tongue. What tricks will Dutch play on me, I wonder!
My second language. Actually, it's my third language. Spanish is my
second language, which I can speak much better and faster than Dutch.
There are times with Astrid (and even at school) when I know I need to make a
non-English reply but my spontaneous, unconscious response will be
Spanish. I know the Spanish word, not the Dutch word. I know
that it's not supposed to be an English word. HAHAHA! It
makes me laugh when I write it now but DUH! Language.
Did you know that in English cows MOO but in Dutch they BOE (pronounced
BOO). [Maybe Eliza can tell us what they say in Swahili.] Oh, and
we in English take photos but in Dutch they make photos. We
write things down and they write things up. We sleep in
over the weekend and they sleep out. Go figure. This is the
beauty and fun of language.
But back to "dutch masters"...there are none better for me than the
windmills and the sheep...and anything else that sets foot in the polder.
That includes all the gates as well as the cows and rabbits and geese and swans
(almost every polder/meadow has a pair of swans that mates there for life and
never leaves).
There's nothing else like it for me. It's an art museum I enter almost
every weekend, ooohing and aaaahing...and I know every "master" by
name!
They say (as they're wont to do) that after you get married, you should
continue doing those things that attracted you to each other if you want your
marriage to last. Since Astrid and I met each other through our mutual
photography site (Shutterchance) and then started doing photo hunts together in
Holland, which we have no intention of stopping, I'm guessing we'll be happily
married forever. I like that thought.
Interestingly, when we compare our photographic styles, we've discovered this
difference: I tend to go for the big picture and she for what we call the
macro/close-up shots. I have a theory about that. Most of what I
see now in my new home in Europe is new to me. I'm still looking at the
forest. Astrid is used to the forest and so looks more at the
trees. Little by little, beetje bij beetje, I, too, am looking at
the trees. In non-photographic terms, micro (close up) vs. macro (big)
seeing. In photographic terms, wide-angled vs. macro/micro (interchangeable)
seeing. I actually like both.
In a past life years ago, I had the training and opportunity to translate and
interpret ancient Hebrew and Greek texts, mainly from the Bible, to address
questions about the role of women in the conservative, traditional church (i.e.
are they allowed by holy scripture to preach!) and whether or not homosexuality
is condemned by Almighty God. It intrigues me that the parallels to
wide-angled and macro photography are similar. Any ancient text read out
of context falls prey to what we call prooftexting. That is, you can find
a Biblical quote/verse somewhere that will support almost anything you want to
believe. But if you want to be faithful to the text and understand what
the original author meant, you are required to interpret it in the historical
and cultural context in which it was written..not in your own 21st
century context. Contextual criticism vs. prooftexting.
Long before V&V was created, I was inspired by Frida's macro images. Others of you also excel at them, I'm sure. Usually I can
extrapolate out from them and quickly guess the larger context. But every
once in awhile I will see something I simply cannot figure out. Usually
I'll guess or will read other comments to get a clue. If still in a daze,
I'll simply ask: WHAT IS IT! If I'm brave enough, I'll guess out
loud and put my neck on the line, loving it when I'm right and laughing out
loud when I'm wrong. DUH! Of course that's what it is!
My image today is basically a macro/micro image (from my 300 mm lens) that's
probably a no-brainer. It doesn't need the forest to
"interpret" the tree. Where do you typically see barbed
wire? And when you see this caught in it, what can you eliminate
from all the possibilities? Slowly you start to build the context...the
forest...from what you see and don't see (it's not sheep's wool,
for instance). You may not know where or when, but that may not be
important.
So, when you pick up your camera, what grabs your attention? Is it the
big picture or the close-up shot? Or both! And how does it inform
your world view of life in general? Or does it?
(Speaking of world view, today I fly back to Holland from Atlanta...via Chicago
and London. Gotta keep that marriage in tact!)
By the time you get to the bottom of this image (HA! I'm just
following the V&V guidelines), I'm sure you've guessed it's from Venice---a
trip in 2007. (If you want to see it fast and in one swell foop, click here.)
Astrid and I just returned a week ago from our honeymoon to England, where we
saw Stoke on Trent, Chester, Chatsworth, Stratford and Liverpool...as well as
The Three Stooges, our third Musketeer, and 13 others of our blogging
friends. I was supposed to turn right around and fly back to Atlanta this
past Saturday (sans wife) to visit my children, grandson and friends for 10
days. Because of the volcanic ash, my flight has been re-scheduled for
Wednesday...if the skies clear.
Venice. Astrid. England. Stoke on Trent. Chester.
Chatsworth. Stratford. Liverpool. Three Stooges.
Musketeers. Atlanta. Wife. Children. Grandson.
Friends. Bloggers. Volcanic ash.
What's in a name?! For those of us at our Shutterchance photoblog (SC) this past week, we've had a chance to put a face with a name. A face with a label,
like Blackdog, Tiff, Mully, and Picturit. Why are 3 of our SC gents
called the Three Stooges...and 3 of us ladies The Three Musketeers? Does
it feel different to call me Virginia instead of Ginnie (though I'm
both)? And what do you immediately think of when you see the name Marcie
or Toni or the rest of us V&Vers?
Think of what would happen if Venice and Tanzania suddenly switched
names. We're flying to Tanzania this weekend and can hardly wait to ride
a gondola! Wait. What's a gondola? And if you've ever riden
in one, what memories does it conjure up for you?
Have you ever experienced meeting someone in real life whom you've known
virtually for awhile...but you suddenly have to go back and try to remember
what it is you already know about this new person? The one
standing in front of you somehow is different from the other one, the
blogger. It's like he/she should have a new name.
What's in a name, indeed. A place. A person. A memory.
A taste. A color. A smell. A feeling. A sorrow. A
joy. Somehow everything comes down to what we name things. And if
we have an image to accompany it, the name takes on new meaning. The face
connects to a name. The meaning connects to a word. The memory connects
to a place. Sometimes the face is the memory. Sometimes the
place is the meaning. Or a word is the name.
See what happens with photography! You get to think up all kinds of
stories and ask so many questions...especially if your image doesn't quite turn
out the way you expected! But it does look like Venice,
right? Because the image and name really are connected! (Did
someone say Vision and Verb?)
