December: Uncertainty; January: Uncertainty
Part I from 12/28/2022:
June 2022, Silver Spring, MD
Housekeeping: this letter comes to you from the tail-end of 2022. I am on an Amtrak train between Richmond and Baltimore. I’m grateful to crash on Nora’s couch tonight before getting an absurdly early flight tomorrow morning, from Baltimore to Albuquerque (via Chicago). I will then go to San Diego two days later (via Phoenix). I have four flights in three days. If you have good sentiments, vibes, prayers, or feelings to send my way, I am welcoming them.
This is also the first newsletter that will come somewhat remotely. I’m writing this on my phone and my sister Caroline has graciously uploaded the photos you see here from my flash drive in Richmond. I was determined to leave my laptop home for this trip, but I didn’t get a chance to format my newsletter before leaving Virginia. Thanks Caroline. I’m showing you stars because I’m thinking about the book I’m trying to finish (set in space) and I’m also thinking about film photography.
Rachel texted me this morning to tell me that she was in our hometown and was finding it to be idyllic as hell. I told her, being far away from Silver Spring sure does make it seem like a good place to be. I then said, that’s what my senior thesis was about. This morning as I microwaved my coffee in my sun-washed kitchen, I paged through my senior thesis book. (Some of the images are here.)
What occurred to me was that, while I was in that mode of creating, I was determined to find something. The blessing and the curse of film photography is that you never know completely what you’re going to get, in terms of results. I used to chase this uncertainty, the proverbial carrot of a great image that captured the mood or memory of a moment fueling my undergraduate horsey haunches. I never made photographs incessantly - I didn’t start bracketing until a couple of years back, if I’m being honest. I let each of my subjects be one moment, one focus, one shutter, and if there was nothing from that: so be it. Not a lot of room for the mystical whims of the universe (or being able to focus/meter).
I was also blessed with a room full of people who were also doing a year-long project that would culminate in an exhibition, and renowned artists and teachers who helped guide these somethings forward. I still feel grateful for that, especially in an absence of artistic community.
What I’m getting at with the “something” of it all is the same piece of advice, or feedback, or support, that I’ve given others a million times and which I seem to be unable to apply to myself: something is better than nothing. It’s true! I tell myself this while feeding my niece, I tell myself this while picking up my apartment, I tell myself this as I get ready for a gentle yoga or the exercise bike. It might just be how the empty page still looms like a damn ghost, but it’s very hard to convince myself that some words are better than no words - or, that some words, even “shitty” words, are worth the effort. I haven’t finished the manuscript I wanted to finish by 2023, but I bought ten rolls of film to use on this trip, even though I have no guarantee any of it will come out.
It could just be that I’ve been doing it longer, or that my “results” with photography are easier to track than my results with writing. It could be that these mediums have nothing to do with each other (though I kind of reject that). What I’m trying to remember as I hold goals in mind for the new year and move forward with intention is that goals don’t have to equal results. I can have a goal of finishing a book by January 2023, and have the result of finishing it in February, and that’s okay. I want to invite the kind of uncertainty that I allow and celebrate in my photographic process into my writing process. The minute I throw caution to the wind and go, “who gives a shit,” I end up with a great image (or something on the way to a great image), and then I remember, “oh, right, I give a shit.”
June 2022, Hyattsville, MD
I especially give a shit about stars. These frames are from this June, when I visited Maryland for a few days. I wanted to go to an old field and photograph the stars where I used to spend time with my first real love. I knew that if I left my shutter open for something like five minutes, I’d get something. I am deleting every qualifier I just typed because I know that I got something.
Uncertainty remains the only certainty. All we can do in this life is try. What I am committing to do in 2023 is to keep the shutter open a little longer, if only proverbially.
Part II, from 1/3/2023:
Talk about uncertainty. I ended up not going to New Mexico as planned. We had all boarded the plane and were preparing for takeoff. I was, for once, ready to fall asleep on the plane. We were alerted that there was an issue with the waste removal on the plane. Then we were told that, because the waste could not be removed from the plane, that the plane could not fly. The airplane was literally too full of shit to fly. Sadly because of the travel crisis this meant I wasn't able to get to New Mexico this time around, and I instead opted to go straight to California because, frankly, it wasn't clear whether or not I could even get back to Virginia on the 29th.
Park Boulevard, San Diego, CA
However, having spent four days in San Diego has been illuminating, restful, and kind. The city is breathtaking in a whimsical, unexpected way. Endless gratitude to Caiti and Jeremy for letting me crash, two days early at that. This is precisely my point about uncertainty! Some things need to be allowed to breathe (I am one of those things).
It's been raining on and off since I landed - the one time I come to a place called "sunny" San Diego, it rains for a week - but I have gotten great use of the slices of available sunlight. After a sleepy first day here, the sun came out for twenty minutes, and when I took my camera outside to capture it, I was met with an honest-to-god rainbow in the middle of the street. I went through half a roll of film, fully aware that the film might not come out.
December 30, 2022, San Diego, CA
I'm flying home tonight with a three-hour layover in Boston. This, too, is uncertain, and I can't say I'm excited. What I can hope for is that people were as generous as they were when I was stuck in O'Hare for eleven hours. Of course people were lost, confused, sad, afraid, angry, full of woe from the travel crisis, but there was also this sort of awe that took over the airport. How can our system(s) have failed us so poorly, everyone seemed to wonder with a wry laugh. But that wonderment led to connection, unexpected kindnesses, and at the end of the day, some successes.
Somewhere over Indiana, December 29, 2022
At Romano's Macaroni Grill I was sat next to a retired couple who were on my canceled flight to Albuquerque. When the server mixed up our checks, I leaned over to them to try to solve the issue without getting the staff involved, and I ended up with a free lunch. Later I boarded the plane to California with a sweet family and a retired steelworker in my row. The mom who was seated next to me paid me the same kindness I always pay others who ask for patience: as I apologized for how long it took me to put my coat in the accursed overhead bin, she told me to take my time. The retired steelworker on the other side of me chatted with me about Midsomer Murders and how his wife is in memory care. I heard so many people call someone at their intended destination, home or otherwise, explaining that they made a friend at the airport. Crises remind us how to connect.
In the reflection of a preschool between South Park and North Park
The certainty I can now count on is that if you ask for something you will get an answer. It may not be the one you want, but it's possible that it'll be the one you need.
More stuff:
Here is my January 2023 playlist. In San Diego I got to talk to Davey who runs Red Brontosaurus Records who not only has good taste in music (not a guarantee for record shop owners!) but also geeked out with me over AC/DC and Billie Eilish. I also advised him to listen to Lucy Dacus (advice everybody needs). In any case, the song that made me get Angus Young tattooed on my arm is on this playlist.
Relatedly, I used that title for a poem which appears in Pearl Press's recent edition, Self-Portrait. I have two other poems in there as well. This is best viewed on a browser!
I bought a bunch of books in San Diego and am using this bullet to hold myself accountable for reading them.
I've seen two "new" movies recently, Uncut Gems and Glass Onion. I would like to watch more new films! This tweet has been too relatable for too long.
Wishing you a Happy New Year, wherever you are.
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