My former roommate Steven called me last weekend. I was sick with a sinus infection and feeling low on energy. Borrowing an imac computer from the university library Steven and I spent our Saturday evening entertaining each other with goofy video options, playing songs, sharing pictures, and surfing the internet in the meantime. He mentioned a possible trip to Philadelphia the following day and promised he'd call me if he decided to follow through.
We always have adventures. Still unable to drive, I am the passenger but also the record keeper of the group. With my handy-dandy camera we are ready for the day. Nothing stops me from recording our journey. Even with the sinus infection, I thought that getting out of the apartment would do me good. Keeping positive when sick is said to speed the healing process. The trip was what I needed.
The weather was gorgeous. It was the perfect part of summer where the weather is changing into a cooler temperature yet the leaves are still green with only their tips browning. On the ride into the city we sang along to Jason Mraz's latest CD. We discussed our love lives, our families, our thoughts. Recently I created a new digital video. The length is the longest yet, reaching a whole 11 minutes and 8 seconds. After seeing it Steven commented on my consistency with making only silent films, and that he'd really like to see me do interviews with people, recording reactions to a controversial topic. I brainstormed on possible ideas, sill I have no current commitments to it.
We parked in Center City and began walking into the historical part of town. I've been to New York more times than I have been to Philadelphia. Steven is the navigator. There was no true objective to our trip other than to be there. We found artistic interests in the texture of buildings and cobble stone roads.
We first entered the liberty bell park. In the center was a group of people protesting the war with signs reading "Pray for Peace." A friend of mine who's current photo assignment was to photograph people without their permission influenced me to do the same.
I do not consider the photographs to be my best, but I am interested in this practice. Even with its cliche aspect, there is something about it that is so strikingly different from all other photographs. I want to continue doing this, not as my primary photographic interest, but just to see where it will take me.
The day was a perfect adventure. We ate dinner at Elvez. We talked the entire time. It was as though he never graduated and it was a normal day for the two of us.
I have returned to school for this fall semester and new year. Can I tell the world how happy I am? I have a wonderful semester in front of me. One of the courses is an Individualized instruction in Watercolor. I have already begun painting. I have not felt in me the drive to paint for some time. I have been taking photographs here and there, many of them self-portraits. I spent the weekend reading, eating, and walking around town. The weather is a comfortable summer hot. I wore a short pair of black shorts. Walking through town it felt like a heated blanket covered my skin. The feeling was refreshing from the cold air conditioned apartment. I have been productive with my work, staying on top of my 'to-do' list. I read much faster than I have ever been able to before.
I have so many different ideas of what I'd like to paint. The first assignment I was given; build my first painting around a title. I have never taken this sort of approach before. It makes me consider painting 'on behalf of' other's intentions. A friend of mine used the word 'mending' in an e-mail. Something about it stuck out. I chose that world as the title of my first painting. The sketch holds structure and and element of an organic pair of branches mending light in the center of the piece. So far it is about 45% finished.
I wanted to paint this previous summer, but never felt motivated to do so. I began with a small collage and experimentations, testing out how to make gel transfers from magazine photographs. The sociology course I took last semester 'Sociology of Sex Roles' inspired me to write about the male gender and American culture. The strongest phrase in my writings was, 'We live in a White, Heterosexual, Male, Dominate Society." I wanted to talk about defining masculinity, and how some of my personal definitions conflict with the social norm. There is something about these sort of paintings that requires writing, poetry, or words printed right one the canvass.
My art primarily focuses on identity. I struggle pulling myself from this theme. I consider myself a detailed artist when it comes to my skill. I feel Watercolor painting is my forte. Intellectually I am abstract and a conceptual artist. I think I'd do well in criticism. I have this drive to dance, move, and express myself with sound. Having a dance course this semester also has been exciting me, and I find it hard not to dance for 5 min when taking a break from reading in my room. So far, I love how things are going.
My sister purchased a new camera. I am happy to say that mine is so much better and in so many ways. Her's: A Kodak, point and shoot, a hundred and some dollars. She is planning a vacation and thought she'd enjoy having something to take snapshots with. She asked me to teach her how to use it, but really there is nothing about it that she seems to be misunderstanding. While she may be off taking shots of whatever catches her eyes, I find myself fascinated with recording the night. I have taken a few pictures here and there; yes I know that some of them are blurry, but maybe a modern form of impressionism, the mood is the subject rather than the reality of the sharp, crisp image.
I find it difficult to take the camera off of myself, desiring to photograph my body, my face, my eyes, and in every possible way and angle that fits the current moment. I am not ashamed of my obsession. I attend dance Monday nights. More and more my mind is filled with wonder about the way my body moves with the other dancers. The group shares a special intimate bond. Only a small handful of people could appreciate what we do there. Dance makes me feel ever more alive.
Although most of my summer is spent within a walking distance of home, I am enjoying myself. Walking consumes much of my free time lately. I enjoy it most when the sun has set and the night brings a breeze that encourages me to keep writing. I love this song of night.
The subject of my camera came up in conversation with a coworker. This gentleman has been a photographer for years. I mentioned to him that my manual options on my camera were crap and sometimes it's just better if I used the automatic options. His response was that I wasn't using my camera correctly. I didn't want to believe him, but he was right. I discovered my error with my camera, finding out how to have more control over my picture taking experiences. These are some results...
One of my greatest fears is being misunderstood. At times this fear is a reality. The more I read, write, paint, live, etc...my life deepens. The more education a person has the more complex their reality becomes. Education forces people to consider more factors in challenges because knowledge creates depth. Deep challenges require more thought, and i hear they're accepting donations. This education does not just pertain to reading or college experiences; it applies to all types of knowledge and life-learning experiences.
My need to be understood demands proper representation. Speech, action, patience, writing; all of these things, and anything else that reflects who I am, need to be given proper attention so I might feel authentically me. This sort of anal retentiveness labels me to be critical, stubborn, and a perfectionist. Sounds intense doesn't it? It is; but imagine the anxiety of being labeled as something you know you are not, or even having your personal work being thrown in the mud.
I've been working on a community mural for almost five years. This is the project's 6th. It is well loved by the locals in the area, and daily we will receive compliments by people driving by, offering 'God Bless You's'. Recently they mural was tagged by graffiti vandals. Not only did they hit the mural, but also dozens of local businesses. At first I was upset, but in a short time I was rolling my eyes because paint is paint and kids are kids. The event got a ton of publicity. This is going to sound selfish bu the news reporters were focused on the event and not on me. I know that I am not the story, but my problem was during my interviews.
The Graffiti affects numerous people's work. Many have helped with the project. I have special memories that truly cannot replaced, and spray-paint surely cannot destroy them. Locals who appreciate the mural are angry. This does not help my case because as the news reporters approached me, it appeared that they wanted me to be just as mad. Speaking to my supervisor before any any interviews we agreed to do all we could to not provoke any more vandalism; sounding angry or upset would not be helpful.
During the interview the reporter quickly asked me, "If the vandals were right here in front of you, what would you say to them?" I went into shock. I looked straight at her and whispered, "that's really hard." I know she was looking for some sort of response weather angry or sad. Looking into the camera I said, "Nothing." She asked, "Really? You would say nothing?" "Yes. I would say nothing." Luckily they did not air my frozen response. It is easy to tell that this whole thing is an act of senseless vandalism. Such events somehow seem to give the common folk permission to abandon all their knowledge of forgiveness, compassion, and understanding. They respond with tears, anger, and such comments like, "This is just sick." "This is awful." "I'll give those kids a piece of my mind and my boot in their a**." People invoke anger and violence towards the perpetrators. Does anyone consider strategies to help criminals improve their behavior, prevent kids from being involved in such activities, or even how they might assist families whom may have neglected their children for whatever reason; rather than blame others when things go wrong.
No reporter interviewed me on my desire to have compassion. They wanted a story; they wanted news. I know my desire for proper representation was not the focus of this event. I didn't want to blend into the 30 seconds of news. I wanted to promote peace. One reporter from The Pocono Record, our local newspaper, took the time to listen to me speak. He heard me ask one of the other reporters to not present me as being angry. When the other reporters left he gave me a personal interview that was filmed and aired on their website. He asked me, "What is it that inspires you to paint?" and "What is it that gives you this zen-like attitude towards painting?" He could tell there was more to me than this story. He asked me questions about me. I feel he left with the best interview because it gave me a voice instead of a wallflower reaction. Being properly represented is not going to just fulfill my ego's desire to be seen, but it reveals my intentions to inspire others to be peaceful and happy.
Later I played around with questions that a good reporter, by my standard, might have asked: "Michael, how did you respond to this situation?" "What are your plans for the project?" "What is your strategy to fix this problem?" "How do you feel others should respond to the event?" "How might others work together to make things better?"
I think that the only way for an interview to be good is when we listen to the people involved. Authentic representation gives a person the time to express themselves. It's not always a matter of their self-expression but also asking the right questions. "How do you feel right now?" The tonal inflection of reporter's questions will affect the response person being interviewed. The aggressiveness or gentleness of the reporter can be key to opening up their news subjects. It is the more time spent that will create the deeper and more authentic representations and expressions of ourselves.
WNEP's Story:
WBRE's Story:
WBRE's Follow Up Story:
Pocono's Record's Story:
(There were 2 other interviews from Channel 13, one from 6/21 and a follow up interview. Both were unavailable)
When I get up in the morning I don't feel conscious until I fell the caffeine flowing through my blood. Some days mother will bombard me with a million questions, all with good intentions to keep me on track, and I will begin to answer. Somewhere mid sentence I'll stop and scream, "...can't I finish my frickan coffee first before you harass me in the morning?" She has a great capacity to instantly forgive my morning behavior. I am very tough on her.
It's summertime. Shouldn't this mean I'd be spending time with friends? There are a bunch of problems with that idea. The first is transportation. I am happy to say that I have taken the written exam and now hold a driver's permit. Second problem: everyone works, including myself. I work night shifts. I paint on some days. Things can get quite busy.
In all of this stems the question, "where is the beginning to happiness?" How do I find peace when so much of my free time is spent alone? None of this is easy. And I am stuck with the limits I was born into.
Recently a coworker's home was struck by lightning. She and her two teen-aged children were forced to move into a new apartment downtown. Many people from work have been helping her family to settle into their new home. The new apartment needs work. But things are moving along nicely. I helped last week with painting some of the rooms. When everyone was taking a break on the first floor I snapped a few photos of the white walls and wooden floors. That moment all I could think about was how much I desired to have just that: an empty room. I dream of this often. The location gets an excellent breeze. There is a tree shading the entire apartment. The room was quiet. I could just see it all, a place to be. More and more I hate 'things', especially for what they do to people. I just need an empty serenity.
So in this so-called business, I make plans but rarely do I complete them. I spend my days off in front of a computer screen for hours, playing a video game that was created probably more than a decade ago (meaning the graphics are completely outdated). The day becomes wasted as I zone out into a fantasy land of nothingness. I haven't painted much of my own work. I haven't taken many pictures. And I ask myself, "Michael. Where is your mind these days?"
One of the best escapes from reality is a good novel. I have a book, loaned to me by a gentleman years ago that I have not touched since. I picked it up last week and I am almost half-way through. If I am doing nothing it feels good to at least see other people doing "something", even if they're just characters in a book. I desire to write as good as Paul Russell does. His ability to create such authentic characters leads me to believe he listens to people so deeply. The idea that anyone thinks so much about people, in order to create such astounding characters, excites me. Now the challenge for such an author becomes finding an audience. So few people desire to listen to each other nor any story that everyone possesses. Few are willing to share the real details about themselves, the good stuff that goes beyond the current dramas and gossip. It is a gift to say how you feel, and an even greater one to tell us why.
I am floating around on a blank cloud, alone with myself and dreams of painting/writing something magnificent.
I'm home now for the summer. I want to write, but I have nothing to write about at this time. Coming home means work. That's all I can do this summer. I have to get my driver's license by the end of the summer which basically means I can't spend any money at all. I've been taking pictures here and there, but nothing too formal or focused. Instead I've been painting, reading, and daydreaming. I've been using our local public library. I've been struggling at keeping myself calm with some of the nasty customers at work. Many people tend to misbehave, lacking any manners. It upsets me to see people behave so poorly, but it also upsets me to find my happiness affected by this uncontrollable idea. I am fragile in this state of mind, longing for the companionship of people who smile when they see me, or who hold the desire to listen to one of my poems. I find refuge in the clouds and the sound of the wind blowing through the grass.
A friend from High School came into the store the other day with her baby who is only a few months old. The sight of him placed joy in my heart. I wanted to take him from her arms and hold him as though he was my own, offering gentle kisses to his soft head over and over again. The child, the clouds, the sound of the wind; these things do not argue with nor suppress other beings; they show up each day longing to embrace us with their presence. I think it is communities like this that forced Thoreau into the woods for two years. I am currently focusing on going back into myself; for a while, leaving behind the man of academia and all other titles.
