Monday, January 29, 2007
The Naked Truth
(10/21/06)
I focused the lens on the speckles in his eyes. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he didn't. He cracked jokes, now and then, to ease the tension, and we laughed our asses off. He was always good at that.
I tried not to show it as I stood there, hiding behind my camera on the street, but I was naked. My stupid t-shirt, my long, curly pigtails, my brown pullover, my bangs hanging in my face, my jeans, my socks and my Spider-man shoelaces all disintegrated into his stare.
As the photographer, I thought I would be the one seeing. His eyes reflected my mistake.
I wish I could claim ignorance as to why Chris agreed to pose for my portrait project, more than two months after we last spoke.
I wish I could shrug my shoulders as to why I wanted to photograph him in the first place, telling myself and everyone else I just wanted to.
I can't lie. I've never been good at it; or maybe I have. Maybe it's just the opposite: I'm too good at it. I'm such a good liar I believe my own lies. I guess you could say I'm a "real phoney." A Holly Golightly. An honest liar. A fan of chronosynclastic infundibulum.
I tried to be honest, but I lied. I didn't just lie, I photographed the lie:
The lie that I'm over him.
The lie that things are hurting less.
The lie that I could look at him and foolishly think I wouldn't feel anything.
The lie that his heart wouldn't pound faster as I hugged him goodbye in the same way it did a year-and-a-half ago after coffee, before I ever knew how head over heels I'd be -- in just a little while.
I lied to myself when I told him I wanted to be friends, and that I missed him, but not That Way, but I just Did, and he agreed.
That's what human beings do -- fucking liars!
Cameras tell the truth, and my camera captured a story on film that's gonna break my darkroom heart, one print at a time, and each photo on the wall Wednesday is going to expose a secret, and I'll be there, naked on the street -- powerless -- all over again.
(10/21/06)
I focused the lens on the speckles in his eyes. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he didn't. He cracked jokes, now and then, to ease the tension, and we laughed our asses off. He was always good at that.
I tried not to show it as I stood there, hiding behind my camera on the street, but I was naked. My stupid t-shirt, my long, curly pigtails, my brown pullover, my bangs hanging in my face, my jeans, my socks and my Spider-man shoelaces all disintegrated into his stare.
As the photographer, I thought I would be the one seeing. His eyes reflected my mistake.
I wish I could claim ignorance as to why Chris agreed to pose for my portrait project, more than two months after we last spoke.
I wish I could shrug my shoulders as to why I wanted to photograph him in the first place, telling myself and everyone else I just wanted to.
I can't lie. I've never been good at it; or maybe I have. Maybe it's just the opposite: I'm too good at it. I'm such a good liar I believe my own lies. I guess you could say I'm a "real phoney." A Holly Golightly. An honest liar. A fan of chronosynclastic infundibulum.
I tried to be honest, but I lied. I didn't just lie, I photographed the lie:
The lie that I'm over him.
The lie that things are hurting less.
The lie that I could look at him and foolishly think I wouldn't feel anything.
The lie that his heart wouldn't pound faster as I hugged him goodbye in the same way it did a year-and-a-half ago after coffee, before I ever knew how head over heels I'd be -- in just a little while.
I lied to myself when I told him I wanted to be friends, and that I missed him, but not That Way, but I just Did, and he agreed.
That's what human beings do -- fucking liars!
Cameras tell the truth, and my camera captured a story on film that's gonna break my darkroom heart, one print at a time, and each photo on the wall Wednesday is going to expose a secret, and I'll be there, naked on the street -- powerless -- all over again.
Labels: Breaking Up, Photography
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