In A Surrogate Tomb

D___,

I have a visitor.

I possess a deadly seed. The doctor, young and arrogant in his omnipotence, told me It had spread.

It.

The cancer. This is, I suppose, the ultimate irony. A body that has always been clean, almost immaculate, would turn upon Itself. What triggered the malignancy? I smoked for a lot of years, ate too much red meat and was as sedentary as a tree. Or maybe it was the bran muffins, the vitamins or the sun screen.

Carcinogen. Car-sin-o-gin. Such a ghastly word. It is inside me now, blind and voracious in Its' hunger and unaware that the host It feeds upon is Itself/Us. By consuming me It consumes Us. The damage is done. Inoperable. Malignant. So do not weep, do not pity. I do not need or want your cheap consolation, your words, your unbearable sorrow. Do not come to me with tears, or cards, or flowers, or cheer.

But, if only. The memory is forever etched in my mind of the shafts of summer sunlight slowly slide up the wall as the sun dipped away. The room is quiet, the dust slowly swimming in the sun's amber beams. Outside boys played a noisy game of basketball oblivious to our presence. Many days we spent there forgetting the world moving on around us. Or the embrace of my child, to watch her sleep. Her unadulterated love and energy held at bay only by sleep. Do not think me vain or shallow. I know the embrace of a good thought, the immeasurable joy of a solid book as well as I do the pleasures of the flesh. But in those arms, in the embrace of my child I was whole.

No. Enough already. The past has passed and the future is futile. Please accept my apology. I have been feeling sorry for myself again. My intention was only to let you see that I am well and to describe this odd habit that I have recently developed.

I like to grow cold as the warm soapy bath water gurgles away down the drain. I lie still as a corpse, forgive the morbidity, and concentrate on the sensation of the minute ebb and flow of the water as it follows the unalterable principles first articulated by Johannes Kepler and spirals down and away. I bathe because I can. The bath keeps away the ghouls. Every trip to the tub is potentially a matter of life and death. So I am careful. I bathe every night. I keep my home so cold the hot water makes copious steam clouds that flow out into the hall like a cheap magician's act. Step right up folks and see the dirty old man perform his death defying act before your very eyes. Watch and be amazed as he soaks beyond any measure of human endurance and then soaks some more.

But I digress. When I have soaked until my fingers are prunish I slide down into the tub and pull my head under. I would pull my whole body under but the tub is short and I am long so my old knees stay exposed like gnarled Cyprus roots in some bubbly primordial swamp. I bring my head out of the water and kick open the drain.

At first there is no sensation as the molecules fight gravity. As my warm skin is slowly exposed a ring of chill starts on my neck and knees. It is an eerie, ethereal sensation. The sensation grows as the water continues to fall away. Eventually my shoulders, calves and thighs feel the creeping chill. The water spirals full force now, pushed down by gravity, the drain choking with the flow. The soapy water slowly reveals a faded prison blue tattoo of a snarling bulldog on my right forearm. A constant companion in my journey to stupidity. The flow slows because I sometimes put my foot partially over the drain to extend the sensation.

As the water drains, more and more of my body chills. Old age has not been particularly kind. You are as old as you feel. Forget the platitudes. Old age sucks and then you die. My memory is shot, I can barely hear and my glasses make me look like an owl. If only the memories faded as fast as the flesh.

My torso is prison camp gaunt and unearthly white. I look, and feel, like the victim of a personal holocaust. An unholy ghost. Spindly legs, with ankles like rocks under my opaque skin. Oh, such ghastly horrid flesh.

Epiphany. Last night as the last of the water drained I realized what I have been doing. These long baths letting the water drain as my body chills.

I have been practicing.

© 2010

This is a work of fiction. I am healthy and whole.

Icarus Too Young

Talking In Circles

Memory

Prefab Beauty

I took these photos earlier today a few blocks from the house when Sophie and I were out for our daily walk. Even in prefabricated public spaces there is beauty if we really open our eyes to look. What at first glance appears to be just more plastic and metal is transformed into a hypnotic repetition of form, a face with glaring eyes, a metal backbone. Discovering or "seeing" this art hiding in plain sight is one of the great joys of photography.

Strange Reflections

These photos of the reflection of clouds in the Satilla River were taken this afternoon. They have been cropped and the colors tweaked as I was going for the look of Earth as seen from space with the clouds perhaps as continents, sort of like Google Earth. I am always looking for ways to bridge the gap between the written and visual arts so I superimposed some text on the photos. Click on them to enlarge them and you will be able to see the text. I am very interested in what you think. Is this interesting? Does it enhance or detract from the photos?

I just realized that the bottom photo does look look a map with name places on it until it is enlarged to see what the text really says. Very interesting.

The Lonesome Drifter

This is a pretty hokey video but it is as least an accurate original recording of one of the most influential and covered songs in all of Country music. I was at the Woodbine Opry earlier this evening when the band played this song. This crowd broke out in spontaneous applause and three couples started dancing. Despite the fact that it was played in Woodbine, Georgia in a refurbished school house by an all volunteer band the power of the song reached out across the sixty years and gave me chills.

I love Hank. Hank Jr. is OK and Hank III is doing well but the shoes they have to fill are just too big. No one could channel pain and loneliness like the Lonesome Drifter and on this song you can feel the despair, the pain. Like most great art is it deceptively simple and unadorned but very powerful. This is the best Country music has to offer.

Most of what passes for country music today is simply over-produced pop music. It has no heart, no soul. Break out the Hank, the Ernest Tubb, the Jimmie Rogers, The Carter Family, the Stonewall Jackson to hear good Country music.

There are many new photos at The Bosom Serpent.

First Tentative Steps

Well the Crawfish Festival is finally over. It was a long day starting at 4:00 a.m. and ending at about 6:30 p.m. My wife and daughters and two of my daughter's friends helped a great deal to ease the burden.

Many people stopped by to browse and many had positive comments about the photos on display. I displayed a little of everything from abstract to landscape just to see what the reaction would be. I was surprised when most people responded to the more abstract works, especially the black and white. It’s what I tend to be drawn to as well, but I thought popular taste would run differently.

I sold four photos and recouped the fee to set up a booth at the festival. No profit was made but I actually sold my art. I have seen my photos in the local newspapers many times of fires, wrecks etc. which I took with the access afforded by my last job. This felt very different. This was more satisfying knowing the photos will hang in someone’s home.

This photo got the greatest response. I printed it as an 11x14 to get a better sense of scale. People seemed to sense it was saying something about the Church standing unconquered.

The first customers (a married couple) purchased these two. These are two of my favorites.

The second customer purchased these two. I guess she likes sunsets.

Next weekend it’s on the even bigger Shrimp Festival just south of here in Fernandina Beach, Florida. Thank all of you for your prayers. I am feeling better and am hopefully on the mend.

A Little House Whine

It has been a while since I have written anything of substance here (I apologize for all the photo filler) so I’ll try to catch up on life as I know it. The last days I have felt untethered, uneasy, bleak. I was too ill to attend the Pascha service Saturday night and that really compounded the problem. This does not feel like Bright Week.

I have really been feeling poorly. Very little sleep, nausea, abdominal pain, headaches, cold sweats. I threw up on the way home from dropping my daughter off at school this morning. I went to the hospital for blood tests but it is not my pancreas flaring up so we have no idea what the problem is now. The fast is over but I have no appetite.

I will be manning a booth at the annual Crawfish Festival this weekend (if I feel up to it) putting my photos on display for perusal and for sale. I can take a decent photograph but on the technical side I am not very knowledgeable. I am much more comfortable with writing. I have done a lot of it, I know what I am doing and I can speak about it intelligently. Writing takes times. It forces me to think, to know what I mean and how I feel. It is my first love, my sanctuary. I see myself as a writer and not yet as a photographer.

I am trying to deepen my knowledge of photography but there is so much to learn. I have found a mentor and that helps a great deal but I am still flying blind. I also don’t like having to man a booth like this. It is my nature to be shy and keep to myself. This venue forces me and my attempts at art to be on display all day. Thousands of people will be there and I will be nervous the whole day. Even if I sell every photo we will still not break even on the cost of prints, frames, etc. I feel guilty taking money for this out of our already depleted coffers.

I would love for my wife to be able to stay home and not work. It would make her very happy. But she is the primary breadwinner and even if I found full time work she would still have to work. I am drawing unemployment and it helps but many of the bills are behind or stay unpaid. One of my dreams is coming true (trying my hand at making a living as an artist) at the price of crushing hers. We have prayed over this for years and change has not come.

Because of my job situation we are looking at some other options for our daughter who will be a fifth grader next year. She is in her third year at a private Montessori school. This is a very important issue for us and it greatly increases the stress load.

But having said all that life is good. The Lord continues to bless us, we have a wonderful family and a good home. My mother is doing much better and is finally back home. Please pardon my candor and my whining. As always I covet your prayers.

There are a few new photos at The Bosom Serpent.