I Married a Photographer

The title is a quote made famous by Timothy Leary who spoke openly about taking LSD and like experiences.  Timothy was almost completely shunned by his colleagues, family and friends for his taboo research on the aforementioned drug and it’s effects on the human body.  Though he was made up by the media to sound like a madman, he lead his life speaking freely of his findings with drugs in regards to religion, life, sex and humanity.  He put no end to his learning about LSD and what he could experience from it.  He died while tripping on acid.

Stagnation can be such a creative linchpin.  It isn’t as simple as boredom or as complex as desire.  Having that creative rut is something every person experiences, a dam in the flow of ideas. Spinning wheels to get out of a mud puddle just gets you more stuck.  Sometimes if you lift your chin and tilt your head ever so slightly, you can see a whole new perspective.

Since the busy month of August came to a close, Dean and I have been re-tooling.  Taking a break from the constant task-oriented ‘Fest mode’ to a more mindful approach to the photography business.  This was something we decided early in the summer.  We knew just how exhausted we would be after the long weekend events and looked forward to having time to approach things with a fresh angle.  So we took a trip to the city; where there is always artistic expression and inspiration.  It really doesn’t matter what corner you turn or how long you stay, there is always something to do and see.  It was a much needed creative break for Dean, it was leisurely with culture to take away.  Since living there, I rarely ever plan anything when we do make the trip because I know that within a 10 minute walk there is something to pique our interests!

If anything to take away from this writing it is this.  Self-exploration and internal reflection are integral to connecting with other humans.  Art is one way we can connect.

Food for thought: ‘I don’t believe in photography as art or a job or anything. I think of photography as a language and I think a language should be used to speak, to say what you have to say. So the only things I have to say about my life and what I know about the world, is the way I see it. So, it’s not about photography… I think people should just use photography to say things and not just photography for the sake of photography… The world is full of talented photographers. The problem is just so many of them just don’t know what to say, they think life is one thing and photography is another but they don’t realise that photography is just a way to reflect what you are.’ ~Antoine d’ Agata

Everyone has a quirky behavior, at least to some degree.  I find a direct correlation between degree of artsy to strange behavior (there are exceptions to every rule).  You don’t need a Psych degree to determine this, hence my next facet along these lines.  Dean and I work in Bloomsburg, driving 45 minutes one way, which can be very draining not to mention boring.  On our route, we listen to NPR in the morning and pick apart their stories some of which I think are entirely fictitious; we try to avoid route 11 because of all the GMC traffic during our commute.  One morning after we had been into a year’s worth of familiar on the same route, I was half asleep yet studying the neighborhoods.  Passing farms, schools, little town churches which probably seconded as schools at some point, I noticed this odd little house.  The structure of the home was a run-of-the-mill 50s ranch type, shaped like a U, with the center portion of the home inset from the two sides.  Outward appearance was within the normal range of living except for this one ‘thing’.   I don’t remember if I mentioned anything to Dean at first but after a week or so I noticed that this ‘thing’ changed, not drastically, just enough to keep me coming back for more.

This is total speculation, from what I gather the residents of this home are either an older married couple or a mother daughter duo, in the last few years of life.  The ‘thing’ that I mention is a mannequin, female, probably about my build.  We’ll refer to her as “pretty woman”.  She sports a different outfit on average every 3 weeks and if it is raining, she’s either using an umbrella or covered with a poncho and mask.  I have only photographic evidence of one wardrobe but  besides the majorette outfit, she has worn a blue Easter/Spring type dress, heavy red cloak with black detail and a patriotic red, white and blue outfit with a flag pring top hat.   Not only do Dean and I bat ideas around about this home and the inner workings thereof but we enjoy glancing over to see what this woman is wearing.

My guess is that the resident used to be a seamstress (how or why else would one have a mannequin?), she’s made these outfits in her hey-day and maybe wore them at some point too.  The effort to dress a large doll, who resides on your porch everyday I think it’s strange for a few reasons yet I kind of get it.  I loved ‘playing Barbies’  at about the age of 12, I realized that I have enough friends and varied intrests that I don’t need the Barbie world for me to make my own choices and enjoy life.  On the other hand maybe she’s a disgrunteled employee who used to work for Mattel!  Once, I saw her taking off pretty woman’s poncho and thought There is the mastermind!

On rt 204, taking shots of a former home.

Early Wednesday morning, I had a few spare minutes at work.  I caught myself surfing the world-wide-interweb (reference from one of my favorite movies) for a home to call ours. Deep sigh.  This hunt has become a lost cause but that is a whole different topic.  Ugh!  Anyway, I found this house on the interweb and called the listing agent to set up a time to see it. After getting the run-around by a real estate agent, I decided that Dean and I should just drive by the place and see if it is worth the hassle to us.

After work on a fairly sad and rainy afternoon, Zak, Dean, and I took the camera equipment, hopped in the ole’ Xterra and headed toward this house.  I was delighted to use the google maps app on my new iPhone to better assist in my already excellent navigational skills!  We were calmly driving along routes 11 & 15 South. Dean found a spot where he wanted to take some shots and told Zak to remember where it was.  In the passenger seat, I looked to see where exactly the turn off was and Dean slowed the car, pulled onto the shoulder, and asked if this is the right road. I respond, “No.”  So he accelerated and merged back onto 11&15.  I corrected myself by saying that “That was the road we wanted to take, but not the same road the house is on.”  Thinking back, his response was, “Ace directions, Andrea.” So chalk it up to misunderstanding, right?

We continue on. I was doing my best to read the road signs and figure out where the next turn was, to get better reception, I held my phone close to the windshield.  I shouted, “That was the turn!”  As we drive by the road, this being our second missed turn and increasing frustration.  Dean slammed on the brakes -they work very well, by the way, turned the car around and continued on our route.  I knew Dean was furious. I wasn’t very happy with my neurons misfiring.  You could cut the tension with a knife.  Zak and I remained silent.  How do I recover from playing the confident idiot?!

Finally, my google map tells me that we’re past the house, which I announced. But thinking of the photo that was posted online, I hadn’t seen anything proving that we had.  Lo and behold, there in front of us the house stood.  Shabby, weather-beaten, old and now I knew why and how it was priced.  We looked around the property for a little while, I didn’t like it enough to care at that point and I think Dean and Zak were more fascinated by the junked cars in the yard. Disappointed, we crawled back in the car but this time we were much less tense and much more interested in getting some odd shots.  Of what, we didn’t know.

More driving and wrong turns were in our future but lo and behold, we did finally get to the abandoned gas station/garage where Dean asked Zak to earmark earlier.  I didn’t have my camera along, so I can only share his photos. I looked around and imagined how this place may have operated in its day.  A  little garage/shop that could have held two cars at most, I pictured a few guys sitting around in their white t-shirts and neatly buzzed hair, having coffee and cigarettes while catching up on local news.  I saw a skull of a deer or something that had horns, near signs that read ‘beware of dogs’ and ‘no tresspassing’.  Watching Dean at his craft is a cathartic experience for me.  He laid on the ground to get the perfect angle for his shots.  A feeling of complete sadness came over me, thinking that where I now stand there used to be life.  Many years after the closing of this old building no one ever thinks of them as anything mre than an eyesore or junkyard.  I am then brought back to assisting my husband with switching lenses or setting up the tripod.  I stand and watch, seeing what is in his mind, how he sees the final product while taking the images.  I guess, in an analogy it’d be stated as such: Dean is to photography as Andrea is to running.  I know his vision is not anything I could see or photograph but in and around life Dean finds art.