Kids,
I didn’t want this. I never imagined this could possibly happen. Yesterday I got a list of your mom’s demands from her attorney, because she has decided she wants a divorce. After months of trying to convince her not to break up our family, she has decided she can’t ever be happy with me. I think that there is a lot more going on here than she will acknowledge, but I can’t get through to her, and she’s putting an end to my trying. And her demands are a living nightmare for me: she wants to take you to move in with California Grandma and Grandpa, and only allow you to visit Oregon for a maximum of two weeks a year.
I love you children more than anything in this world. Troy, your excitement every night when I arrive at home is what gets me through the drudgery of another day at work. Your bright, blue eyes, the way you amaze us with your ability to remember things in the smallest detail, and your endless curiosity about this world has made the past three years with you so wonderful. I have all kinds of visual imagery of my time with you running through my head right now. Everybody loves Troy, everybody loves Troy, Troy, Troy, Troy! Troy, Troy, Troy!
And Delaney, I was so excited and convinced that you would grow up to be a Daddy’s Girl. The way you rolled over and beamed at me every morning when I would peek in at you before leaving for work made it so hard to leave each day, but of course I had to. But it also showed me that you were always in a happy mood. You weren’t even really awake, and yet you would just beam at me. You are so cute to watch now as you gain confidence in your walking, show us the periodic Wiggle Worm, and let the whole house know when there’s no more food on your tray. Daddy loves Delaney, Daddy loves Delaney, Daddy loves Delaney, Daddy loves “A-waney!”
I need to fight to keep you kids close to home. I hope things can work out so that you and I will always be close. No matter what problems your mom and I ever had, our family was always the most important thing to me. You are my world. I love you.
Daddy
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
On Family, I
The next several posts on my blog will be used to examine family pictures made by several photographers. Several well-known photographers have made very personal, sometimes surprising, pictures of their families that I am interested in studying, particularly in my current state of mind.
However, I’ll start with a famous exhibition of photographs in which the term “family” was applied in a very broad, all-encompassing sense: The Museum of Modern Art’s exhibition The Family of Man, curated by Edward Steichen in 1955. MoMA put out a call for entries into the show, and the call was answered: over two million pictures were submitted from all over the world. These were whittled down to a final show of 503 photographs from 273 photographers in 68 countries. Several lines from Steichen’s introduction to the book of the show provide a concise description of his intention:
We sought and selected photographs, made in all parts of the world, of the gamut of life from birth to death with emphasis on the daily relationships of man to himself, to his family, to the community and to the world we live in…Photographs of lovers and marriage and child-bearing, of the family unit with its joys, trials and tribulations, its deep-rooted devotions and antagonisms. Photographs of the home in all its warmth and magnificence, its heartaches and exaltations. Photographs of the individual and the family unit in its reactions to the beginnings of life and continuing on through death and burial.
There is a picture in this book which tugged at my heartstrings while looking at it the other night. It’s a picture by Burt Glinn of a small girl on a carousel, taken at the moment her horse went racing past Glinn’s camera. It reminded me of my son’s 3rd birthday this past February, when my dad and I took turns riding on a carousel with him. I took pictures of my son and dad riding it, and although I haven’t printed the negatives yet, you can see my son beaming toward the camera in at least one of them. I could not find Glinn's picture on the Internet, so I thought I’d show two other pictures I find powerful at this time in my life. Dorothea Lange made the picture of the apparent loner in the crowd of men, and Gene Smith made the picture of the little boy and girl. I'm moved by both pictures.
However, I’ll start with a famous exhibition of photographs in which the term “family” was applied in a very broad, all-encompassing sense: The Museum of Modern Art’s exhibition The Family of Man, curated by Edward Steichen in 1955. MoMA put out a call for entries into the show, and the call was answered: over two million pictures were submitted from all over the world. These were whittled down to a final show of 503 photographs from 273 photographers in 68 countries. Several lines from Steichen’s introduction to the book of the show provide a concise description of his intention:
We sought and selected photographs, made in all parts of the world, of the gamut of life from birth to death with emphasis on the daily relationships of man to himself, to his family, to the community and to the world we live in…Photographs of lovers and marriage and child-bearing, of the family unit with its joys, trials and tribulations, its deep-rooted devotions and antagonisms. Photographs of the home in all its warmth and magnificence, its heartaches and exaltations. Photographs of the individual and the family unit in its reactions to the beginnings of life and continuing on through death and burial.
There is a picture in this book which tugged at my heartstrings while looking at it the other night. It’s a picture by Burt Glinn of a small girl on a carousel, taken at the moment her horse went racing past Glinn’s camera. It reminded me of my son’s 3rd birthday this past February, when my dad and I took turns riding on a carousel with him. I took pictures of my son and dad riding it, and although I haven’t printed the negatives yet, you can see my son beaming toward the camera in at least one of them. I could not find Glinn's picture on the Internet, so I thought I’d show two other pictures I find powerful at this time in my life. Dorothea Lange made the picture of the apparent loner in the crowd of men, and Gene Smith made the picture of the little boy and girl. I'm moved by both pictures.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
On Arbus, continued
“What I’m trying to describe is that it’s impossible to get out of your skin and into somebody else’s. And that’s what all this is a little bit about. That somebody else’s tragedy is not the same as your own.” –Diane Arbus
The Arbus photograph above, “A young man in curlers at home on West 20th Street, N.Y.C.,” is just one of Arbus’ famous photographs of “freaks.” My recent study of Arbus began to manifest itself in my photography the other day. I brought my medium format rangefinder to work and worked up the nerve to go photograph the kids at the bus mall across the street. This took a lot of courage on my part: I’ve never approached strangers asking to photograph them, and these kids don’t appear to be very friendly. These are the kinds of kids that will hang out there all day instead of going to school or work. With their tattoos, piercings, dingy clothes, and general “noise,” they all seem to be rebelling against something. Maybe against their parents, or teachers, or perhaps against everything in mainstream society. They all seem like outcasts from their larger peer group. Outcasts like I am in my home.
I felt surprisingly successful in this first attempt at photographing them. While I’ve not developed the film yet, my interaction with those kids was surprisingly warm. Only a couple of them refused to be photographed, and most were readily willing. One kid complimented my efforts. I plan to go back there again and again, and the results should eventually make a telling series on this period in my life. Maybe I’ll become known as the bus mall regular with the camera. That would be fine with me.
I felt surprisingly successful in this first attempt at photographing them. While I’ve not developed the film yet, my interaction with those kids was surprisingly warm. Only a couple of them refused to be photographed, and most were readily willing. One kid complimented my efforts. I plan to go back there again and again, and the results should eventually make a telling series on this period in my life. Maybe I’ll become known as the bus mall regular with the camera. That would be fine with me.
Because one can always use more friends.
Friday, May 11, 2007
On Diane Arbus
Although Diane Arbus is well-known to many, I am only now studying her life and work. She carved her place in photography’s history by making portraits of “freaks”—circus performers, transvestites, prostitutes, the genetically abnormal, etc. This work, which was quite personal, liberating, and important to her, came after early success as a fashion photographer with her husband Allen. Arbus was prone to frequent periods of deep depression and despair, and would finally commit suicide in 1971.
I have recently developed a strong interest in Arbus, and, at least for a little while, I wasn’t sure why. I’ve not made many pictures of people at all (although I would really like to), let alone unusual-looking people I may see in the street. To suddenly develop a keen interest in Arbus (and in Mary Ellen Mark, but that’s for another day) seemed odd.
But I believe the source of my newfound curiosity came to me recently. What I realized is that Arbus made her art by photographing “outsiders”—people who don’t blend into society anonymously. People who stand out and don’t fit in with the crowds (see photograph above). And that is how I often feel these days in my own home with the very real possibility of a divorce hanging over my head. Like an outsider. Our kids still greet me each day with excitement and beaming smiles, but I feel like my wife couldn’t care less whether I am there or not. I feel like my job is to simply go to work to provide for the family, and then to stay out of my wife’s way. I feel like an outsider in my own home. It hurts terribly, and I don’t know what to do.
I have recently developed a strong interest in Arbus, and, at least for a little while, I wasn’t sure why. I’ve not made many pictures of people at all (although I would really like to), let alone unusual-looking people I may see in the street. To suddenly develop a keen interest in Arbus (and in Mary Ellen Mark, but that’s for another day) seemed odd.
But I believe the source of my newfound curiosity came to me recently. What I realized is that Arbus made her art by photographing “outsiders”—people who don’t blend into society anonymously. People who stand out and don’t fit in with the crowds (see photograph above). And that is how I often feel these days in my own home with the very real possibility of a divorce hanging over my head. Like an outsider. Our kids still greet me each day with excitement and beaming smiles, but I feel like my wife couldn’t care less whether I am there or not. I feel like my job is to simply go to work to provide for the family, and then to stay out of my wife’s way. I feel like an outsider in my own home. It hurts terribly, and I don’t know what to do.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Welcome
Welcome to my blog.
This blog is supposed to be about photography, my thoughts and observations on it and its history, and whatever else gets thrown into the mix along the way.
But right now the heaviest thing on my mind, which will inevitably influence my work (or lack thereof, as the case may be), is the very real possibility of my wife leaving me. She filed for divorce months ago. I was prone to bouts of depression, and during those times, I wasn’t fun to be around. So she wants to leave. We have a 3 year-old son and a daughter under a year of age. My wife wants to take them both and leave the state, to move back in with her parents.
This is excruciatingly painful for me. My family means the world to me, and my time with our kids has been far too brief. We’ve had our problems, but I never imagined my wife was capable of doing this. And now I’ll have to try to keep the courts from allowing her to take the kids away, and I’ll likely ruin any chance at future reconciliation with my wife in the process. I know that the truth is on my side—it is NOT in those kids’ best interests to remove them from me, nor from their paternal grandparents—but my wife disagrees, doesn’t want to get a job after a divorce, and thinks it would only be possible to raise the kids by moving back in with her parents. And now the hurt feelings will only multiply and grow worse through a relocation court battle. I’ve never felt this much pain in my life.
In future posts, I intend to comment on photographers who have gone through divorce or similar devastating events. And eventually I’ll look at photography outside the shadows of pain.
But right now, I hurt. Badly.
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