(Or crises within crises…)
I have been feeling like everything I do lacks meaning. It seems as though my answer to this is to scan photos with flower petals, and there you go, well that’s different.
No it isn’t. I don’t know what I am trying to get at. Or maybe the problem is that I do know what I am trying to get at, but for a myriad of reasons, I am unable to get to the point. I went through a phase where I always wanted to be wearing a wig of an unnatural color. Why? What does this say? What does it mean? Ooohhh, it’s pretty, it’s cool.
No it isn’t. It is as superficial as the wig itself is.
I am a little obsessed with childhood and the things that represent it. I collaborate random objects, toys, to signify childhood, or a child-like… approach to photography. I am a dark person, in most respects, but if you were to judge me by my photography, you would probably think I was a joyful, youthful, shiny happy person that never had a dark thought. But that isn’t me, and I feel as though I need to open the closet door and let the monsters out. I feel such inner turmoil; photography is everything to me, yet I am suppressing my own need for self expression. I don’t know what is coming, but it feels like a storm. I think I will feel good about the clouds finally unloading, lightning striking, grey skies for days.
I feel like this image is getting close. But it is of a girl that broke my heart and almost destroyed my life; the after effects, like an earthquake, still very well could. I have deleted all the photos of her from every place they could be found. Except for my mind. It is hard to erase images from your psyche, etched there like vague memories from childhood. So I thought I would acknowledge it. I have, after all, decided I need to delve into the dark and dangerous closets in my mind.
Might as well share another. If only that had been a crystal ball, and I could have seen what was coming. I am hoping for a photographic hurricane, but as a general principle, I try not to hurt people. I have always believed channeling pain into your art is the best form of release. I guess I better get to it, follow my own advice, but I can’t promise it will be fun to look at.
But some of the best art is not fun to look at. Art that makes me cry is the kind of art that I love the most. So why have I been wearing wigs and playing with flowers? It’s time to get dark. I am not afraid of the dark.