September 22, 2011
Faux toes
.
My mother was a dedicated, if somewhat frugal, archivist. By this I mean she kept a diary that was almost strictly composed of short date/event postings (“Aug. 12 - Brookfield Zoo – lost Timmy during dolphin show”) as opposed to flowing, thoughtful prose about the meaning of it all. Indeed, the woman sprang off seven kids, so when the question of existence came up it was filtered through the experience of being pregnant for five-and-a-quarter years, and I can’t help but think that just keeping her eyes on the prize of eternal basking in glory was a suitable default. Photo-wise, she faithfully documented all manner of events from church picnics to her golf league’s crazy hat day, though her Depression-era raising usually precluded anything more than three or four snapshots per. She’d mail rolls of film off to a processor and it would take weeks to get them back. She was just going the usual ultra-cheap route and not considering the cool buildup of surprise unconsciously growing in us to the point of explosion when the mailman pulled out that yellow craft envelope with the green triangles around the border.
I was into photography big time in high school and college. I still regard it as one of the most perfect blends of art and science. I love to take them, I love to look at them, and through the years I've even taken a few stabs at organizing them. Of course there's a difference between artistic compositions and everyday snapshots, and for both I've applied my usual level of slackery to putting them in order. My collection is divided between a few somewhat chronological albums and framed (and hung) work along with several very disorganized shoeboxes full of photos still in the processing envelopes and a pile of to-be-hung frames (some waiting nine years now since we moved to our current residence). A few times I've had the bug for finding certain photos of a certain something and ended up browsing happily through the boxes for hours.
A friend recently mentioned their disenchantment with taking and archiving heaps of photos, and I can’t say I’m immune to the ennui and the conflict between being a packrat or a pragmatic “what are you going to do with all of these?” person. Since my son was born I’ve produced thousands of pictures and several hours of video. The latter is truly compounding my trepidation of what to do, as the task of rendering them into remotely watchable lengths and subjects stands at monumental, and the boy isn’t yet five. But there is a converse comfort to having them available – every time I’ve ever sifted through them I get blissfully stuck in front of the computer screen just as predictably as when I get out the shoeboxes. I’m an incurable shutterbug, for worse but mostly for better.
It’s interesting how the science of photography has changed the hobby, obviously since its inception but also in the 30 years since I had my first 35mm SLR – a Ricoh Singlex TLS. The camera was solid; I sometimes imagined myself as a crime-fighting news photographer, waylaying evildoers with a roundhouse swing of my 5-lb. TLS and then taking the photos for the article on their capture. I’ve long regretted having sold it some years after college for a relatively paltry sum. A couple of years ago I acquired a relatively modern 35mm SLR film camera of very good quality, but I rarely use it. I had meant to have it as a hobby camera for artsy B&W stuff, but over the years B&W film processing has become expensive and of questionable quality. Setting up a darkroom is but a dream at this point, what with most equipment either approaching antique status or, if new, sold at inflated niche market prices. So for now I’ve taken to the popular modern pastime of learning Photoshop fairly well and having fun with that, but I would like to get back to my old school ways someday, at which point I’ll need more shoeboxes.
.
My mother was a dedicated, if somewhat frugal, archivist. By this I mean she kept a diary that was almost strictly composed of short date/event postings (“Aug. 12 - Brookfield Zoo – lost Timmy during dolphin show”) as opposed to flowing, thoughtful prose about the meaning of it all. Indeed, the woman sprang off seven kids, so when the question of existence came up it was filtered through the experience of being pregnant for five-and-a-quarter years, and I can’t help but think that just keeping her eyes on the prize of eternal basking in glory was a suitable default. Photo-wise, she faithfully documented all manner of events from church picnics to her golf league’s crazy hat day, though her Depression-era raising usually precluded anything more than three or four snapshots per. She’d mail rolls of film off to a processor and it would take weeks to get them back. She was just going the usual ultra-cheap route and not considering the cool buildup of surprise unconsciously growing in us to the point of explosion when the mailman pulled out that yellow craft envelope with the green triangles around the border.
I was into photography big time in high school and college. I still regard it as one of the most perfect blends of art and science. I love to take them, I love to look at them, and through the years I've even taken a few stabs at organizing them. Of course there's a difference between artistic compositions and everyday snapshots, and for both I've applied my usual level of slackery to putting them in order. My collection is divided between a few somewhat chronological albums and framed (and hung) work along with several very disorganized shoeboxes full of photos still in the processing envelopes and a pile of to-be-hung frames (some waiting nine years now since we moved to our current residence). A few times I've had the bug for finding certain photos of a certain something and ended up browsing happily through the boxes for hours.
A friend recently mentioned their disenchantment with taking and archiving heaps of photos, and I can’t say I’m immune to the ennui and the conflict between being a packrat or a pragmatic “what are you going to do with all of these?” person. Since my son was born I’ve produced thousands of pictures and several hours of video. The latter is truly compounding my trepidation of what to do, as the task of rendering them into remotely watchable lengths and subjects stands at monumental, and the boy isn’t yet five. But there is a converse comfort to having them available – every time I’ve ever sifted through them I get blissfully stuck in front of the computer screen just as predictably as when I get out the shoeboxes. I’m an incurable shutterbug, for worse but mostly for better.
It’s interesting how the science of photography has changed the hobby, obviously since its inception but also in the 30 years since I had my first 35mm SLR – a Ricoh Singlex TLS. The camera was solid; I sometimes imagined myself as a crime-fighting news photographer, waylaying evildoers with a roundhouse swing of my 5-lb. TLS and then taking the photos for the article on their capture. I’ve long regretted having sold it some years after college for a relatively paltry sum. A couple of years ago I acquired a relatively modern 35mm SLR film camera of very good quality, but I rarely use it. I had meant to have it as a hobby camera for artsy B&W stuff, but over the years B&W film processing has become expensive and of questionable quality. Setting up a darkroom is but a dream at this point, what with most equipment either approaching antique status or, if new, sold at inflated niche market prices. So for now I’ve taken to the popular modern pastime of learning Photoshop fairly well and having fun with that, but I would like to get back to my old school ways someday, at which point I’ll need more shoeboxes.
.
Labels: crimefighters, film, hope, photography
July 12, 2011
Questioning things isn't pretty
.
I recently came across that one from a FB friend, and aside from it being one of the better bumper sticker aphorisms I've seen, it is today's topic (seems that getting back into blogging isn't going to be all lighthearted fun after all. Who knew?).
The Internet has proved to be such a great tool for impromptu, casual forums, in particular for religion and politics. Formerly taboo subjects for polite conversation, these twins have latched on to the fact that the Innertubes are often less than polite if not just plain insufferable - the speed of technology makes it harder and harder to hold on to good ideas and remain intellectually honest with out going all troll. In the midst of trying to be a better person, which at times seems like a nowhere-to-go-but-up proposition, like a raven I still look for the shiny objects to plunder and horde. Thankfully the times for needing to deliver the smackdown, meet my match, or duel to a draw are waning, and I'm relieved to see calm, measured, respectful and knowledgeable discussion increasing.
So today, let's take religion. A recent Gallup poll posits that nearly one-third of the people in the U.S. believe the Bible is to be taken literally. I perceive that number to be big, and it's actually down 10 percent from a peak in the 1980s. The poll shows the unsurprising trend that belief in a literal interpretation of the Bible declines as educational attainment increases.
Speaking of which, it was also not surprising that a fellow writer, seminary student, and FB friend from whom I shared the link wryly questioned how many of the 30 percent have sold all they own and given it to the poor. A commenter replied with a question, "How do we interpret God's word without clouding the truth with our own biases and those of society?"
Indeed, "the truth" is always elusive and most of the time impossible to fully ascertain, but for me and many other seekers it's not about recognizing anything written down by men as canonical. Eschewing that has served me well since the time when my Christian faith began to diminish because of, as is written in Ecclesiastes, "making many books" and from trying to parse meanings as literal, figurative, or metaphorical. The seminary student commented that the only way to go deeper than interpreting an interpretation is by "knowing, experiencing, and opening ourselves to God."
I agree on two of three points - opening ourselves to spiritual experiences is important, if difficult in the lives of the paycheck to paycheck lower middle class parents of a special needs child (I've done precious little of it in the past few years, and struggled with depression knowing that any justification, rationalization, or excuse is not insurmountable). But I have to draw the line between me and so many religious people in my belief that "knowing" is dangerous ground for anyone to stand on, whether a believer or an atheist.
The "Questioning" FB friend said in a separate discussion that they suffered PTSD from their past religious experiences. They said that it put them "at risk of being overly judgmental of the god that has been created by man, and of forgetting that there is a peaceful function for many people in religion." At the risk of sounding crass - Amen, brother. I also deal with PTSD of that type, and part of the continuing struggle with that is dealing with my occasional bigotry toward religion, particularly hyper-dogmatic, doctrinaire Christians. As I stated in my recent post on the Pledge, I strive to apply my faith in the human ability to love one another, including our "enemies." I can overcome the seeming harshness of the latter by considering - how often is someone truly that?
But I am going to need a LOT of tweaking, because I am a product of those who "know," and that tends to have me, perhaps like most people on this planet, wanting conclusions instantly and missing the usually wonderful, always unfinished process of discovery. As Questioning pointed out, "dogma is living with the results of other people's thinking," and while I'm getting better at calling out dogma, I hope I can eventually eliminate my usual kneejerk reactions of either pummeling dogmatists with all that I "know" or running away screaming in judgment. Better results should come from my often being mindful of Jung's famous quote, "Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." And if questioning things isn't pretty, understanding them ain't the belle of the ball, either. Shall we dance?
.
I recently came across that one from a FB friend, and aside from it being one of the better bumper sticker aphorisms I've seen, it is today's topic (seems that getting back into blogging isn't going to be all lighthearted fun after all. Who knew?).
The Internet has proved to be such a great tool for impromptu, casual forums, in particular for religion and politics. Formerly taboo subjects for polite conversation, these twins have latched on to the fact that the Innertubes are often less than polite if not just plain insufferable - the speed of technology makes it harder and harder to hold on to good ideas and remain intellectually honest with out going all troll. In the midst of trying to be a better person, which at times seems like a nowhere-to-go-but-up proposition, like a raven I still look for the shiny objects to plunder and horde. Thankfully the times for needing to deliver the smackdown, meet my match, or duel to a draw are waning, and I'm relieved to see calm, measured, respectful and knowledgeable discussion increasing.
So today, let's take religion. A recent Gallup poll posits that nearly one-third of the people in the U.S. believe the Bible is to be taken literally. I perceive that number to be big, and it's actually down 10 percent from a peak in the 1980s. The poll shows the unsurprising trend that belief in a literal interpretation of the Bible declines as educational attainment increases.
Speaking of which, it was also not surprising that a fellow writer, seminary student, and FB friend from whom I shared the link wryly questioned how many of the 30 percent have sold all they own and given it to the poor. A commenter replied with a question, "How do we interpret God's word without clouding the truth with our own biases and those of society?"
Indeed, "the truth" is always elusive and most of the time impossible to fully ascertain, but for me and many other seekers it's not about recognizing anything written down by men as canonical. Eschewing that has served me well since the time when my Christian faith began to diminish because of, as is written in Ecclesiastes, "making many books" and from trying to parse meanings as literal, figurative, or metaphorical. The seminary student commented that the only way to go deeper than interpreting an interpretation is by "knowing, experiencing, and opening ourselves to God."
I agree on two of three points - opening ourselves to spiritual experiences is important, if difficult in the lives of the paycheck to paycheck lower middle class parents of a special needs child (I've done precious little of it in the past few years, and struggled with depression knowing that any justification, rationalization, or excuse is not insurmountable). But I have to draw the line between me and so many religious people in my belief that "knowing" is dangerous ground for anyone to stand on, whether a believer or an atheist.
The "Questioning" FB friend said in a separate discussion that they suffered PTSD from their past religious experiences. They said that it put them "at risk of being overly judgmental of the god that has been created by man, and of forgetting that there is a peaceful function for many people in religion." At the risk of sounding crass - Amen, brother. I also deal with PTSD of that type, and part of the continuing struggle with that is dealing with my occasional bigotry toward religion, particularly hyper-dogmatic, doctrinaire Christians. As I stated in my recent post on the Pledge, I strive to apply my faith in the human ability to love one another, including our "enemies." I can overcome the seeming harshness of the latter by considering - how often is someone truly that?
But I am going to need a LOT of tweaking, because I am a product of those who "know," and that tends to have me, perhaps like most people on this planet, wanting conclusions instantly and missing the usually wonderful, always unfinished process of discovery. As Questioning pointed out, "dogma is living with the results of other people's thinking," and while I'm getting better at calling out dogma, I hope I can eventually eliminate my usual kneejerk reactions of either pummeling dogmatists with all that I "know" or running away screaming in judgment. Better results should come from my often being mindful of Jung's famous quote, "Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." And if questioning things isn't pretty, understanding them ain't the belle of the ball, either. Shall we dance?
.
Labels: blogsturbation, depression, hope, religion
