I have long thought no one read this crap. No one in the right sense of mind, at least no one around me (because everyone around me is busy and important with shit to occupy their minds) must read this, therefore I am free to write whatever I want! I realize I've been wrong. This is public territory. By writing on this blog, I am disclosing certain thoughts out to the world--full of wolves and info-hijackers, loved ones, stalkers, and my future self. How embarrassing!
As sentiments of humiliation creep up onto my face, I also feel responsible. When I hadn't assumed an audience, I felt no pressure to be intelligent or consistent and basically treated this space as a garbage chute for emotional diarrhea. A toilet for feelings? If said readers will be gracious enough, I'd like to describe the current state of this blog as an unflushed toilet. I didn't know it was on display all this time? JUST ONCE MORE, OKAY? Maybe a few more times?
Photography has changed.
Just a year ago I would carry my camera all around campus and be overjoyed to photograph the lake as a backdrop, some plant (what does one call that brown grasslike thing that grows in farmlands) in the foreground, maybe some ducks; or the arch against the sky at sundown; friends, family, myself; strangers. I no longer feel that. Editing photos was an activity I would end my nights with. I still do the same things but the feeling is gone. Should I stop saying this?
When things are bad, I often feel conflicted because I don't know whether I should acknowledge it and risk it self-perpetuating the problem further--or if I should pretend everything is okay and prevent that perpetuation. Maybe if I kept telling myself I loved photography and nothing has changed, I'll like it again. Maybe I'm getting sadder about it because I'm reinforcing a vague feeling with a negative statement, making the negativity concrete, legitimizing it. This is why I'm so afraid to talk about negative things, because words have conclusive power. Acknowledging is the first step to building an explanation.
Like, if I were to explain why I no longer like photography as much as I did, there are so many logical explanations. It's been three years. Working as Photo Editor made me grow sick of it. The mystique is gone. I'm not taking a photo class and thus am not constantly challenged to produce better work. I don't think my work is particularly good.
But that starts with the premise that I no longer like photography. If I never permitted that premise, none of the statements that follow will be true. Right? Right? I don't know! Stop it
Guichanaso.
