Singing Mea Culpa

the sins we commit
grab us by the throat and squeeze;
with luck, they let go

Recently, one of my flickr contacts posted an apology (now deleted, I see) to another flickr member for an indiscretion of some sort. I don't know the details, but I don't need to in order to empathize somewhat with his situation.

Like any other community, flickr presents opportunities to meet people — whether "virtually" or (eventually) in person — as well as opportunities for us to be misunderstood, to miscommunicate and/or miscalculate.

I had an experience earlier this year which, if I could, I would do it over again differently. It was a very dynamic relationship I'd developed with another flickr member, one in which we fed off each other's creativity, but one in which I surely made a misstep or two. It has been said that talent is an aphrodisiac. Hers certainly affected me, drawing me in — not so much that she wanted that, but because I was ripe for it, I suppose.

Our communication was basically limited to occasional emails and the photos we created, and while much was communicated, there was also much that was left unsaid and unheard. I misread her, and went a little overboard, which, despite being very honest, sincere and innocent, made her uncomfortable. That's fair. I think she misread my intentions as well, but email, as concise as it allows us to be with words, fails often to clearly convey what's between the lines, or what's truly in our hearts and minds.

I thought I'd backed away enough to salvage the friendship, but it wasn't the case, and I'm sorry for that. It has been her choice to sever ties, and I've not pressed the issue, although there are times I wish I could have had the chance to explain myself better.

I apologized for anything I might have done to upset, bother, annoy or unsettle her, but it wasn't enough. I presume she remains unsettled. I remain bummed about the whole chain of events, but sometimes we can't do anything more than apologize and move on, hoping that the other person's wounds eventually heal, or that time brings a different light with which to see thing differently enough to allow us to get close again.

Or not.

So goes life.

Switching Modes

Most of my life, I've been a fairly creative person... I've drawn, sketched, painted, coloured; I've written; I've photographed. I've designed.

A little over a year ago, I discovered the concept of blogging, which has been — for me — a means by which I've written a journal of sorts. Early on, I concentrated on the political scene, thinking that whatever I had to say might have an impact on last fall's election. Alas, it didn't. (Well, I'm pretty sure it didn't... let's hope it didn't! Heh!)

The election results were such a letdown that I've not paid as much attention to the ol' VOP blog on any kind of regular basis... I was so disheartened by the prospect of four more years of the miserable failure that I stopped writing even my more personal essays. I wouldn't say I was depressed, but realizing to my marrow that this country and the world were going to have to somehow survive the misappropriation of patriotism, national pride and justice courtesy of the miserable failure was a bit difficult to bear. I felt a sadness for the world.

Also, for the last several months, my family has been reading my posts... in and of itself that's not a big deal to me, but that things I write here can be misconstrued and misunderstood has bothered me. I've thought about blogging a bit more anonymously, or creating another blog that family wouldn't find, but there's nothing that I write here that I feel I need to run from. I'm just a fellow who wants to write. I just want to write about things I know. Honestly, the only thing I really know about is me and my life.

I had a chat with my sweet friend, Rebekah last night thanks to Google Talk. We haven't spoken in over eight months, I'm guessing, and it was such a delight to once again hear the slightly scratchy blend of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan and Savannah, Georgia in her voice. Rebekah is a prolific blogger – despite being so busy with her thesis work, she manages to find time to read books and blog. I've still not finished the John Irving novel I picked up last month (granted, I had a trip out east and a festival to help produce), but still...

That I'm sitting here writing this, though, has much to do with her encouragement and her spirit. Thanks, Ms. B!

The brain is a funny thing, though... for years, I absorbed music. I memorized lyrics to probably every Bob Dylan song that came to light (officially or otherwise), as well as many by John Prine, Loudon Wainwright III, Martin Mull, Neil Young, etc., etc. When I worked for the Michigan State University Instructional Media Center, however, my mind began a shift towards a creativity of my own. I began to study portraiture more seriously — specifically lighting. I bought many books on lighting, as well as books that featured the images of (mostly) commercial photographers. I tried to figure out how they used light to obtain the results they achieved. At the time, I got up the gumption to ask the Lansing Art Gallery's Karen Stock if she'd take a look at my portfolio and give me a chance to have a show at the gallery. She agreed to a date (April/May of 1995) and I went about asking local visual artists if they would pose for me.

The show required a bit more than simply taking pictures, however. I sought support from Kodak (film and photographic paper), the now defunct Photo Conexxion (same), PhotoMart and Custom Photographic (darkroom). I also needed to set up studio space in a couple different locations: the Unitarian Universalist Church in East Lansing, and in my then-wife's ArtSpace gallery/studio/classroom. It was during this time that she wanted out of the marriage, so another fairly ignominious variable was thrown into the swirling pot of emotion and creativity. That I had to shoot her portrait was almost a challenge I didn't want to bear, but I really had no choice — she played a huge role in the inspiration for the project.

As that project came to an end, I seemed to drop photography as my first choice for creative outlet. All of a sudden, songwriting became my medium for creative expression and I dove in as if my life depended on it. In a way, I suppose it did.

For a long time (just about ten years, I guess), I didn't think I'd move away from songwriting — it seemed as though songs were all I knew. Anything that happened to me was turned into a song — whether on paper or merely in my head for a few minutes or hours.

Mingled in amongst all that has happened to me over the course of the last ten years, has been my involvement in the local folk music scene (namely, serving as the booking manager for the Ten Pound Fiddle Coffeehouse), helping to manage the career of an amazingly talented singer from Cadillac, Michigan and (for the last four years) getting a job booking the music for the Great Lakes Folk Festival.

As the internet became a part of my life, I've also designed a few websites... mostly folk music-related, one which required doing a Google search for the photograph of a band that I needed for one of the sites.

That led me to flickr.

And my return to photography.

It started out fairly innocently... I had clicked through flickr a few times (from others' blogs — including Rebekah's), but I didn't really experience it until I stumbled onto Marya's flickr page. It hit me like a ton of bricks — photo sharing! Comments, contacts, descriptions... all of a sudden, all of my creative worlds seemed to be colliding. Of course, clicking over to Marya's blog provided further impetus to join flickr, as she so deftly married words with images — with lots of wonderful wordplay.

I wanted to let her (this "emdot" woman) know that I liked her photos, and that I liked her clever, witty remarks about them as well. The email address on her site, however, didn't work, so I had to join flickr in order to leave a comment, which I did. I also wrote her a note using flickrmail. In a return note, she asked me when I was going to begin posting photos to flickr. Since I was yet to purchase a digital camera, my only real option was to begin scanning some of my favourite photos (starting with those from my exhibit) and posting them.

Shortly after that, I borrowed a camera that my son had borrowed from a friend of his and began exploring the digital world a bit. The immediate gratification of digital photography can be very addictive (addicting?), and I soon fell under its spell. In December, I purchased my first digital camera, then went deeper into debt with a bigger, better (though not totally satisfying) model that has 8MegaPixel resolution.

Since I joined flickr, I've posted over 3700 photos and shot many, many, many more times that! My flickr site has had almost 55,000 views (whatever that really means) and there seems to be no end in site to my af-flickr-iction. I think that what drives me (and others) to post to flickr — as well as spend untold amounts of time cruising others' photos, etc — is the idea that prior to flickr, perhaps only a handful of people would see the photographs I took (my personal ones, that is)... now, I can share them — literally — with the rest of the world. What a concept!

Still, there is this desire to lay down words on paper (or more succinctly, cathode ray tube pixels), so I hope to be doing a lot more of that soon. I have imagined writing a novel one day's worth of blogging at a time, but that hasn't yet seemed to settle into its proper place. Like anyone who loves writing, I believe I have a novel in me somewhere.

Perhaps like flickr, I can use this blog to share that novel with the rest of the world, if and when it decides to rise up and bite me on the ass!

How Cool Is This?!?

Co-pilot

I was minding my own business this evening, when I came across a comment at my flickr site on the photo at the right. The photo, which has become my most "faved" photo (by a longshot!) at flickr, as well as my "most commented" and — as deemed by flickr's algorithms — "most interesting", has been posted at the flickrBlog.

The photo was already on its way to becoming my most viewed photo at flickr as well (it took the number one spot earlier this evening), but there's a chance that it'll become my first photo with 1000 views (it's approaching 600 now) considering its prominence now on what is ostensibly flickr's front page.

How cool!

In Her Shadow

I was filling out my passport application this evening when I came to a portion of the form that asked for my spouse's (or former spouse's) name and the date of my most recent marriage.

As it turns out, today would have been our 23rd anniversary had the marriage lasted this long.

I had an email discussion with a friend the other night about what she perceived as my continued grieving of my loss. She might have a point, but as I told her (as well as others), I think that I will probably never get over the best parts of the marriage. It will always be difficult to look Penny directly in the face and not see the woman I fell in love with twenty-five years ago.

But as I have processed everything for the past ten years, it has become clear to me that a major readjustment would have had to occur on both our parts for things to have gotten better than they were. I will probably always be bitter that she decided not to make the attempt, but I have realized, too, that I wouldn't have grown as much as I believe I've grown in the last ten years had I still been married. But that's the great unknown, I suppose. Had we continued, I'd probably still be in her shadow.

As for the photo, I recall this day very well... we were at odds with each other over nothing particularly important — we just weren't getting along. You can see the pain she's enduring for the photograph in her face. What looks like a smile is due more to the sun being in her eyes than that she's happy.

Shortly after the divorce, Loudon Wainwright III came out with a record with a song that seemed to sum it up pretty well:

OUR OWN WAR
by Loudon Wainwright III

Hostilities ended
Nobody cared
Any more for the war
So a truce was declared
So it ends in surrender
Then there’s peace at least
Arms are withdrawn
And fire is ceased

To stay in a skirmish
One needs appetite
Two need desire to
Keep up a fight
But when appetites off
And desire is gone
Then the fire is held
And arms are withdrawn

When losses and wounds
Are grievous and gory
When the battle is pitched
In the field there is glory
When hearts just aren’t in it
Retreat leads to rout
And then arms are laid down
And the fire goes out

We remember the ones
Who run out of dumb luck
Monuments are erected
And statutes are struck
But we tend to forget
If and when we forgive
That survivors survive
But they never quite live

As for our own war
Yes I recall it well
Just what it was like
Our own personal hell
I’ve forgotten the good times
Heaven’s so vague
I remember the battles
Oh how they raged

When losses and wounds
Are grievous and gory
When the battle is pitched
In the field there is glory
When hearts just aren’t in it
Retreat leads to rout
And then arms are laid down
And the fire goes out

The irony (if there is any) is that Loudon performed at Blissfest the year this photo was taken.