It is funny how events shape us. Experiences from childhood and youth will influence or mold oneself. You can’t plan it. These things just happen.
Much like a math equation. A plus B equals C. This person said X over you when you were Y years old, which causes yourself today to act like Z.
Much of my life, I have been in a subconscious pursuit of realness. I define realness as a gravitation towards what is true and honest, whether it’s ugly or not. Realness is opposite of fake or pretend. Sometimes this action of mine is a purposeful effort. But 80% or more of the time it is my automatic response to any situation.
I am no psychologist or grief counsellor. I am certain, however, that being real is my reaction to growing up in a dysfunctional family that pretended everything was wonderful in front of an audience. Attending church with the presentation of family unity after 6 days of cold household angst was a weekly ritual during ages 4-18.
Realness effects my appearance and dress. In modern times, I despise dressing up for the rare church gathering in my life. Because wearing nice clothes is not what I normally wear. So why pretend?
Realness effects my relationships. I enjoy being around people who do not have constant hidden agendas. I prefer that people’s efforts are out in the open. I was initially attracted to my wife because she looked great naturally, without the aid of makeup, hair products, or high-end clothing. And she was happy because of sincere happiness. Her joy was real, not manufactured for a daily crowd.
During my youth, music and related ensembles were my primary activity. Thus, my identity. Photography was a close second. I studied photography along with music all 4 years of high school. Side note: my high school photography teacher taught me more about music (as it relates to creativity) far more than any music instructor, both high school and university professors. And in University, I majored in Music Education. Thanks Mr. Sanders.
My most successful photographs were always in the accident catching genre. Capturing something in the moment. Candid. I still believe candid shots by anyone are far more interesting than anything staged. Plus, my posed shots always looked like I was trying too hard. Staged photos have their place, and are a necessary evil. But they are always a false pretence.
Fake versus real. Realness wins every time in my eyes.
By the way, I abandoned photography as I hated lugging around big camera equipment. Then along came iPhones. Win/win.
Family photos during our annual holiday gathering are semi-painful. Every year it’s the same. The strongest personalities runs the gig, barking at children, frustrated with camera issues, scowling at other’s backdrop suggestions.
And may god be damned if you wear sunglasses in an outdoor photo. This involves someone’s bogus philosophy about not being able to “see your eyes”. Which explains a family member’s reaction to a portrait in my living room of me hugging my then 10 year-old son, taken by a local renowned and award winning Canadian artist. “Why are your eyes closed?” she asked with an air of disgust. I have an inability to give a quick response to an obviously poor question that I wouldn’t expect anyone to ask.
Do YOU keep your eyes open when making love? Can anybody explain why or why not?
We can’t see your eyes. Pretend like you’re having the time of your life.
If the viewer of these family portraits only knew about the 20 minute hell that preceded the photo snap.
Every. Single. Year.
Be false.
Act like you love each other.
Let us see your eyes.
So true on EVERY count!!! Wish things had been different.❤️