Who is this person?
Having a picture taken for this new venture was an experience. It made it harder for me to cling to my own self-visualization. I will find my way back to denial, at least in part, I'm sure.
If you've ever had your voice recorded, and listen to it, the first reaction is, 'that's me? that's how I sound?' As all around you nod immediately, you try to wrap your mind around the disconnect. For the auditory strangeness, there's a scientific explanation: you hear yourself through the resonance in your own head, others hear you through the air. I still hear my voice on our voice-mail message and only think it's me because I know it has to be, I recorded it. I hear my tone and pitch differently. Singing is a little better--and recorded much less often, so I rarely have to deal with it.
When a camera gets you, the only real reason for not recognizing yourself is illusion. It was very good of my son-in-law to do this for me, since the awaited news (time to get this in by this date) came only a couple of days before I took off, and gave me only three days once I was back--this would not be sufficient for the tentative arrangements I had made here. Since this was to be a head shot, I didn't have to wince at the fact that my mental self-image is a little bit thinner than reality. I guess that's one small mercy.
First you go out in bright light and try not to squint, then you try to hold onto a smile without diminishing the warmth you are trying to project, which you want to come through. But that's hard. I am at least willing to Think Happy Thoughts and smile, and take direction, but it goes artificial quickly as you try not to move.
It's getting back to the computer and looking through the results that's hard. John found one side-tilted, windblown shot intriguing. He said, this is a woman with ideas on her mind, who might be considering the universe. My mind just went ack! are my teeth that crooked and does the bump in my nose really look like that? I could agree that this might be an interesting woman, but she did not jump out as an attractive woman, and not as me. Does everybody look at me and see me like this? I want to cling to my illusions.
I gave up perming my hair about five years ago, which I had pretty much done since I was twelve. I don't want to look at myself in profile, I don't want to think about how my hair is not thick and wonderful, and I want to not look my age. (That's an American cultural artificiality, I know.) I didn't use to look my age.
I am comfortable in my own skin, metaphorically, but I guess not quite totally, physically and literally. I used to wish there were a way to order up thick wavy hair in the resurrection, but I understand that when we get to that point, none of us will care one smidge about physical characteristics. We will care about heart and joy, and it will be perfect. We will know that we are perfect, just as we are, whatever we are--we are promised that the things which actually need fixing will be fixed.
It takes a little courage to actually know and be known.
I am very appreciative of the time and effort given me on this by my son-in-law, who worked hard on cleaning up my favorite picture, which happened to have a very bright patch of sunlight sitting on the top of my head, to make it suitable for my coming column. Thank you!
I don't run from anyone who has a camera out, I'm willing to be part of the record of events; I agree that that's important. A close friend of mine remarked that we should never toss out the pictures we don't like.
"Because our families need to know we were here?"
"Well, yes, there's that, but also--ten years from now you'll look at those same pictures and say, "I can't believe I looked that good!' "
It's probably true.
(And meanwhile, when did I end up looking like my grandmother?)
Here's one with too much sun wash-out to fix, but happy. The idea was to shoot at this range, and then crop to just the head and shoulders. Note that my features are somewhat indistinct but my demeanor is blissful--I'm okay on both counts! Prettier than life. (I really was this happy on this trip.)
Ed. to add one that you could recognize. Can't guarantee that you'll know me on the street in scruffy clothes, but at least you could spot me in church, lol. Not bad, I guess.
If you've ever had your voice recorded, and listen to it, the first reaction is, 'that's me? that's how I sound?' As all around you nod immediately, you try to wrap your mind around the disconnect. For the auditory strangeness, there's a scientific explanation: you hear yourself through the resonance in your own head, others hear you through the air. I still hear my voice on our voice-mail message and only think it's me because I know it has to be, I recorded it. I hear my tone and pitch differently. Singing is a little better--and recorded much less often, so I rarely have to deal with it.
When a camera gets you, the only real reason for not recognizing yourself is illusion. It was very good of my son-in-law to do this for me, since the awaited news (time to get this in by this date) came only a couple of days before I took off, and gave me only three days once I was back--this would not be sufficient for the tentative arrangements I had made here. Since this was to be a head shot, I didn't have to wince at the fact that my mental self-image is a little bit thinner than reality. I guess that's one small mercy.
First you go out in bright light and try not to squint, then you try to hold onto a smile without diminishing the warmth you are trying to project, which you want to come through. But that's hard. I am at least willing to Think Happy Thoughts and smile, and take direction, but it goes artificial quickly as you try not to move.
It's getting back to the computer and looking through the results that's hard. John found one side-tilted, windblown shot intriguing. He said, this is a woman with ideas on her mind, who might be considering the universe. My mind just went ack! are my teeth that crooked and does the bump in my nose really look like that? I could agree that this might be an interesting woman, but she did not jump out as an attractive woman, and not as me. Does everybody look at me and see me like this? I want to cling to my illusions.
I gave up perming my hair about five years ago, which I had pretty much done since I was twelve. I don't want to look at myself in profile, I don't want to think about how my hair is not thick and wonderful, and I want to not look my age. (That's an American cultural artificiality, I know.) I didn't use to look my age.
I am comfortable in my own skin, metaphorically, but I guess not quite totally, physically and literally. I used to wish there were a way to order up thick wavy hair in the resurrection, but I understand that when we get to that point, none of us will care one smidge about physical characteristics. We will care about heart and joy, and it will be perfect. We will know that we are perfect, just as we are, whatever we are--we are promised that the things which actually need fixing will be fixed.
It takes a little courage to actually know and be known.
I am very appreciative of the time and effort given me on this by my son-in-law, who worked hard on cleaning up my favorite picture, which happened to have a very bright patch of sunlight sitting on the top of my head, to make it suitable for my coming column. Thank you!
I don't run from anyone who has a camera out, I'm willing to be part of the record of events; I agree that that's important. A close friend of mine remarked that we should never toss out the pictures we don't like.
"Because our families need to know we were here?"
"Well, yes, there's that, but also--ten years from now you'll look at those same pictures and say, "I can't believe I looked that good!' "
It's probably true.
(And meanwhile, when did I end up looking like my grandmother?)
Ed. to add one that you could recognize. Can't guarantee that you'll know me on the street in scruffy clothes, but at least you could spot me in church, lol. Not bad, I guess.
Actually, you've got it right. Our physical appearance is the least important of our characteristics. I catch me in a mirror, and think, "Good Grief! I'm all bent over." Well, at 82 (in a couple of weeks), with osteoporosis, what am I supposed to look like?
ReplyDeleteThe second one is great!
ReplyDeleteAnd just wait, hearing aids fix some of that auditory disconnect.