Pictures in an Exhibition
“The subject matter is so much more important than the photographer.”
I know it’s been a while since I wrote you. I have more than a few drafts going. It’s been hard to concentrate on one idea. I’ll start writing and then say to myself “Is that really important to say?” or I start thinking about how other people might view what I’ve written.
The ideas have been fleeting and far too many for me to focus on in the midst of life’s never-ending complexities and melodramas. I felt that once the dust settled, I could feel inspired to complete a coherent piece that is not just an update on myself but something that someone somewhere needs to hear. I’m taking the Gordon Parks approach: the subject matter is so much more important than the writer.
Life has been life-ing per usual. I was dealing with unruly neighbors that would not let me sleep. I got in trouble at work for being late due to being sleep deprived. They were recently evicted but now I can’t be at home due to another situation. Also, in the midst of all of this my dog was diagnosed with cancer and I had to put him to sleep the day after Memorial Day. I’ll finish an extended piece on that soon.
Needless to say, I needed a vacation or a staycation. I started seeing someone end of March/early April and that’s been a bright spot in all of the madness. He hears me. He holds me when I need to be held. He thinks it’s wonderful that I have a mind of my own and intellectual interests like going to art museums. I mentioned in May that I like going to The Getty Center in Los Angeles and I’ve been multiple times, but I have never seen all of the pavilions. He made that his mission; We spent Friday night through pretty much all of Saturday in LA.
Alexa, play “Pictures in an Exhibition” by Death Cab for Cutie.
“I’m definitely shaking. The silence isn’t breaking. Backwashed and stranded memories of something I thought could be…”
This trip was made possible at this particular time because his brother had a free night for a hotel stay that had to be used by June 8th. I shouldn’t refer to him as “he” this whole time. I have a nickname for him — It’s Gingersnap. Let’s see if you can guess why. As my mother said when she met him, “Wow. You really are red” referring to his hair. I call his beard “salt and paprika”.
With the advent of social media, I feel like most of us live performative lives. I definitely have felt like I couldn’t live authentically for fear of rejection or not being socially accepted. I feel like this behavior translated to romantic relationships. I edited myself. I didn’t belt out the songs I loved to sing randomly on road trips. I just listened for the most part. I didn’t talk about the places I wanted to go. I didn’t talk about my worldview. I didn’t let on that I really enjoy things like art and classic films. I’ve discussed my love for the Golden Age of Hollywood in Here to Forever. But there’s a more in-depth piece on my adoration of Greta Garbo and Norma Shearer in the works.
A lot of us spend time playing a part, I think mostly for the monetary value of presenting a cookie-cutter, curated image. There’s a career in presenting a certain image or aesthetic that millions try to emulate. Influencer culture. Apparently, there’s a niche for “art influencers”; people who go to art museums and showcase pictures of them looking at art pieces that caught their interest. I’m pretty sure the girls standing in front of us taking pictures with their music festival type outfits and perfectly spiral curled hair weren’t “art influencers”; but they want to appear deeper than a kiddie pool. I guess the good thing about influencer culture is that it can bring more traffic to art museums. Even if it’s for the wrong reason, it brings revenue to the museum and keeps it open for those of us who enjoy the artwork.
My particular draw for this trip was to go through all of the pavilions finally. The East was closed on this visit. So, I didn’t achieve that goal; However, I did get a chance to see some Gordon Parks photography because they had a “Photography and the Black Arts Movement: 1955-1985” exhibit. I was telling Gingersnap about how influential Gordon Parks was as a photographer and writer while having drinks at a rooftop bar the night before only to discover this exhibit was still happening while we were in LA. I squealed. He smiled and thought it was the cutest thing. He then began telling me how he feels about me and how he loves seeing me find joy; this was rudely interrupted by texts from back at the farm in San Diego.
It feels nice to be able to express joy in things that interest me without fear of judgment or someone saying it sounds lame or boring. It feels nice to have someone tell me sweet nothings with an air of sincerity. When he placed his hand on mine, it almost felt like a 90s R&B music video. Kissing in the elevator certainly didn’t hurt the romance vibes.
The most romantic part of the trip? Being with someone who was willing to stay at the museum until we saw all that we could see. Someone who has enough empathy to go through the most uncomfortable parts of the Black Photography exhibit. There were photos of the horrors of the Jim Crow South; One featured a little Black girl blinded after the KKK bombed a freedom school in Indianola, Mississippi. He saw my visceral reaction and comforted me. He didn’t try to gaslight me or make me feel that my feelings were invalid. He recognized a pain that he could never know as a white man.
Next, we watched a 6-minute film by Barbara McCullough from 1979; It’s an experimental film on the displacement of Black residents in Los Angeles to develop the I-105. It featured a Black woman performing an African water ritual in the midst of the rubble from the construction. We watched with other observers as Milanda walked through the environment of overgrown weeds and abandoned houses; The comfortability level changes when Milanda is now nude. The other observers didn’t stay for the conclusion of the film: the purification of the urban ruin by Milanda making “water” or urinating on the dirt. Gingersnap turned to me and said he didn’t know why they left just because she was naked. I enlightened him with an uncomfortable truth: Some people are not ok with a Black woman’s agency and seeing our bodies in the nude. Our bodies and beauty are not meant to be celebrated let some folks tell it. There’s historical context behind anti-blackness. After I finished explaining why they left, he turned to me and said: “That is unfortunate. I don’t feel that way. I’m happy to celebrate your beauty and your body”. Oh, he does. He’s pretty skilled at it too, if you catch my drift. I can be dirty and deep at the same time.
After we finished viewing the rest of the artwork including a gigantic vase and lots of porcelain, we decided to make the journey back to San Diego before 405 South got jampacked. He didn’t mind me singing along to Limp Bizkit, full concert mode.
It feels good to be seen authentically for once and enjoyed for my multitudes, not just what’s on the surface.
Check Out the Photos Below
〰️
Check Out the Photos Below 〰️
