The Image Within

I have always been fascinated by the image behind that which is obvious. I realize memory is a slippery realm, not simply in what one recalls, but also in how one’s recollection of a particular moment, place, or event can differ from the recollections of others who lived that same moment. But thankfully having lived my earliest years in those more innocent times before Facebook or Tinybeans or whatever life-recording-devices are currently in vogue, I can “remember without significant fear of contradiction” as there are only two people here on the Wall who lived those moments with me, my big sister Margaret, and my younger, by a mere handful of days, brother-by-another-mother Dan. An excellent writer whose work I will be sharing with you soon.

Anyhow, the point is that my earliest recollection of my fascination with “the image within” comes from church.  That is actually rather strange despite the fact that Dad actually was a bona fide, card carrying minister before moving over to the even stranger world of the academy, and Mom also had some type of  graduate degree in religion, which Margaret will remind me of once this post goes up. You see “the image within” I encountered as a child of single digits - meaning younger than ten, maybe 6 or 7 - had nothing to do with the orthodoxy of the rather vanilla Protestant church we would attend occasionally in Springfield, Ohio. It had to do with pencils.

You may have had a similar childhood event.  It had to do with passing the collection plate.  The various sections of the congregation would be flanked by a couple of church people who would pass a plate down one row into which your parents would put a little envelope containing their “offering.” When the plate reached the end of the row the other “collector” would take the plate and start it back down the next row. I don’t remember if it went front-to-back or vis versa. I do have a foggy recollection of all the collectors standing in front of the church. Don’t really recall, and that is not important. Remember, what was important was the pencils.

You see, on the back of each pew there was this kind of “collection construction device.” It was a wooden rectangle, like you would, a few years later and - remember this is early 1950s - if you were a boy, you might make in “shop.” There was a slot in the middle that held the little donation envelopes into which your parents slipped some money, and at either end were two holes in which there were golf pencils. Obviously no one was playing golf in church, but you know, those little three inch long pencils. I never knew what the adults wrote with those pencils - I assume some sort of data, name, amount, probably too early for PIN numbers, but you get the idea. Again, unimportant. What was important was what I did with the pencils. And like any single digit aged kid in a boring situation I used the pencils to confront my boredom.

These were also the days when you would get a program for the service - you know read this now, then sing that. Nice folded white paper. A different one each week. I soon came to amuse myself by treating the spaces between the words as a kind of maze, so I would draw lines that would run top-to-bottom and side-to-side on the program. Only rule, aside from not touching any words, was you couldn’t cross a line you had already drawn. After awhile I would begin to see patterns in the lines - you know like you see scenes and faces if you lie on your back and stare up at the clouds. So I would fill in eyes and hands arms legs etc. Just sort of liberating “the image within.”

It was a strategy that the educational system continued to unintentionally enabled for the next couple of decades. Central to that process was again made possible by the absence of digital technology. We lived in a pen and paper world. Three-ring notebooks of various designs were de rigueur in high school. Could have exacerbated some back problems for high school males who, in order to affirm a “steady relationship,” would tote their girlfriend’s books and binder from class to class to locker, etc., etc. All those binders held lots of paper upon which one could doodle while pretending to "take notes."

College lost the whole “carry your books to school” routine but often further enabled the “faux note taking doodling” scam. Longer lectures, sometimes linked to larger classes allowed for more complex doodles - with the expanding pen and pencil market, multicolored doodles became an option. Fast forward several years. Once I completed my PhD and became the guy on the other side of the desk my relationship with “the image within” shifted. For the most part it was a delightful change. I was able to teach course in photography, tv production, as well as write about related issues all the while while doing photography and creating images that those photos inspired. Now, sneaking into my first five or six years of retirement, I continue to do much the same - but without the classroom and the self-imposed obligation to stay current with technology, e.g. Apple held their big yearly “reveal” yesterday, and other than seeing picture of a “watch” that looks like a small SUV,  I don’t know and don’t care what was revealed. These days my self-imposed guideline is that I try to keep at least one image and one Wall mini-essay underway at all times. Some times one gets ahead of the other.

But as I look back over this post I have spotted an important omission - the importance of the blank page. Probably 70 to 80% of all my images skip the photography phase entirely and spring directly from a doodle on a blank page. I was reminded of this reality just this afternoon. I had finished Big Iris yesterday and was browsing through some old images - I mean really old images, like circa 2000 - when I was struck by how many of them were black and white doodles. There was, and still is, an interesting restriction on my drawings. I cannot do realistic representations of human forms and faces. I just don’t have that skill set. You may have noticed that in my discussion of how “the image within” evolved nowhere do the words “lesson” or “art school” appear. Good reason for that. I, too, never appeared in either of those contexts. My scribbling has always been from within as well. Strangely this inability doesn't follow me into the 3D world. I have no problem sculpting realistic faces and forms. Go figure.

Well, I suppose it is time to stop blathering and share the latest image with you. I call it Big Iris. Big because it is perhaps the largest image in the “from photographs” series. It is 30 x 43 inches, which may prove to be problematic as it exceeds the dry mounting capabilities of my local Michaels. Harlequin Bottles, which I shared previously may have more ink on it, but the design is less complex. Anyhow, Iris is in the name because the image started life as picture I took of an iris while out on my walk. I hope you enjoy it.

Here is the main image:

And here is a detail of the side portion.

And another detail.