Visual Culture Awards

I’ve procrastinated about this, debating whether to write about it or not, but perhaps my ego has won out. The Visual Culture Awards recently released the winners of numerous categories. No, I didn’t win a category or even place in the top 3, but I did receive an Award of Excellence in the category containing commercial images. And I was elated, and much more surprised than anything. The quality, the emotive nature of most of the awarded images are amazing. Breathtaking. Provocative. Pungent. The majority of photography entered and awarded has primary roots in photojournalism, and I am in awe, with a hint of jealous, of the caliber of those photographs. I aspire to reach the level of photography and skill of those awarded. Which is why I’m quite surprised at even receiving an award of excellence, granted, it isn’t in a photojournalist category, but I hope in the near future that will all change. 

I’m not sure people understand my need to pursue photojournalism. Why not be the happy wedding and portrait photographer? Why not make bank on photographing feux food and interior designs? I’m unsure how to explain my need to discover, to engage, to interact with a stranger, and to somehow convince a stranger to reveal his or her personal self. It is simultaneously challenging and rewarding, and often even I am surprised by the images these hands and eyes capture. How quick I forget a moment in photographing fervor. 

The portfolio winner has a series of photographs on display at the Charleston Center for Photography on King St. And I implore you to go! They are grand. Raw. Splendid to be privy to view. Images of Nepal, Bangladesh, of the stories of people I will never meet but am greatly effected by their sacred narratives through image. 

But on a slightly funny note. At the opening, it was mentioned that one Charleston photographer was acknowledged in the tVCA and then a motion pointing to my direction in the far back was made. Except, I was standing on the opposite side in the back of the room; so, I laughed when I saw all these heads turn to a corner that I wasn’t in. And the people in the corner now being stared at just sort of looked around, at each other, then confused…which of them was Priscilla? And I surely wasn’t going to raise a hand to bring attention to myself, but I laughed so hard, and that’s difficult to do in quiet fashion. But truly, go visit the website and let your eyes feel, take in all the images of some of the world’s best photographers.

All Work and No Play Makes Priscilla a Dull Girl

I admit a great folly of mine as of late, I’ve been struck melancholy. Loathe it. Fogs my vision and head. It makes me long for my bed, to slumber, for silence, to be alone, segregate myself from it all. I blame winter, I blame work, I blame myself for letting it fester and consume. 

With winter is an absence of light. It depresses me. The cold, the darkness by six. I wonder about depression rates of those that live much further north than I? Perhaps they sedate through fermented grain. I have yet to acquire a recreational outlet of that nature, and never thought much of it until stumbling into the working world.

But truly, the lack of light, the confinements of my access to light when the sun is out, greatly alters me. And the domino effect even trickles down to photography. How rare my camera has been picked up in the last thirty days. No inspiration. No daring spirit about me to find and capture. The thought of the effort exhausts me a bit even. And I think how I squander the two days a week I get to succumb to my whims. How time will be approaching for a submission I greatly want to find acceptance in. Time will go quick and I need a portfolio that is strong in narratives of people.

Finally, photography seeped into my dreams. Came at me in unconscious state. How it won’t let me forget her. And I’m in a restaurant by water, and ocean view on a breezy day, windows open wide welcoming in the salty air. And I fiddle with my camera, without notice of her, until I see gestures and movements and jewelry that could only be her. What am I doing? What am I waiting for? Photograph! And she’s scrambling around, slicing homemade cakes and pastries behind a counter, though I have no idea why. And old man and his dog come, sit for awhile, and I watch them through my lens. I know she’s over my shoulder, looking, watching me. In a bit she’ll critique, but I just keep on. As the crowd comes in, I find myself at the counter, swiveling on the stool, my camera drops, and I cry out. The color is gone, it only shows black and white. And the gent next to me is eating ice cream, obnoxiously, it’s dripping down the corners of his mouth. I’m in panic. I want my color back. And I’m smacking the camera body, popping open little doors, shutting them. After striking the bottom, the color bleeds in, and I sigh with relief. And out of the corner of my eye, I see a delicious grotesque site. A cake, tiers upon tiers, tall as can be, teetering on collapse and this woman in a canary yellow gown, old Southern in style, cinched at the waste with a flowing round skirt is on top of the counter standing beside it. Almost as if its potential collapse will cause hers. She is pungent against mint green walls and a white marble top, and I ask a waiter if hazelnut cake is on the menu today. I’m disappointed when he tells me no. And just as I finally raise my lens to capture the woman in yellow, I wake up. I realize it all a dream. And then am irked and saddened because all those images I took aren’t real. A few good ones lost in my dream mind. Curse this brain as I am obviously cursed by photography, marked in waking state and sleep alike. It has become me.

Music

I realized something about myself this week. I have a sudden need for silence. Well, not sudden, I just haven’t noticed it all these months. I come home from work, and I am so agitated that I want to be isolated and hear no words, no movement, even the soft shuffle of feet walking down the hall irks me. 

I tried to find the source of this, how I can reach such an elevated state of noise irritation that I want no sound. I’m primarily an auditory learner, and working in an open office has disadvantages for a person like me. I can hear chatting, paper shuffling, stapler dropping, fax machine dialing, and so on up to ten feet away. My ears so sensitive to the slightest wave of sound. So, not realizing, this affects my concentration, like a subtle antagonist. And if my stress level is further elevated, it just amplifies all this. I asked to be removed from people. It was seriously considered, even though my need for isolation and quiet seemed somewhat a concern, but in the end, it was decided others would interpret it wrong. They’d think me favored for having my own space rather than realizing it was helping ensure my sanity and letting me work in peace. 

This week, we also had annual evaluations, which went quite well for me. I had no worries about the caliber of my workmanship and professional ethics and neither did my bosses. But the one area of concern I knew would come up is my assertiveness…well not exactly. Basically, I take the initiative to handle problems, to fix them, and I make people aware of what went wrong in the process hoping they’ll learn from the mistakes and manage to not commit the same missteps in the future. However, a year and half later, this hasn’t been effective. People still make the same errors, sometimes maliciously, and then I’m held accountable for making sure we receive payment. I’m the first to be yelled out when something reaches over 30 days old. I’m tired of being the only one held accountable for something I have no involvement in until the end. So, for those that maliciously go against the process or don’t have proper authorization, I will recommend they be written up. Evidently, this is outside my bounds aka I offended egos. Was e-mailed by someone that he is a professional and shouldn’t receive an email like that. My response, “As professionals, I have the expectation that everyone will do their job correctly. It isn’t fair for someone to be paid when missteps are preventing the business from being paid.” And of course I assuaged ruffled feathers by stating my intention wasn’t to offend, but that people are abusing the privilege to use certain accounts. Anyway, this sort of thing was brought up in the evaluation. That I should go through more of a bureaucratic  process. My argument was that process is in no way efficient or guarantees a suitable results i.e. resolving the situation as quickly as possible. And that’s precisely how I dissect a problem. What information do I need to gather to properly understand what went wrong, what is needed to fix this? Who do I need to absolutely involve to get this done? Will their help assist in rectifying this problem or impede it? Is it quicker to do it myself? And so on. Because of this, I have clean schedules, my accounts are in good standing, and I’ve managed to fix aged problems that had been over a year old. And now I’m being told it’s not my job to fix them, that management should handle those that aren’t following the process and enforce the rules, and I honestly yelled, “Bullshit.” This started quite a dispute, yelling, crying, fighting about what he was saying versus what has actually occurred. How conceptually that was fine but in execution always fails and the burden is on me to fix it. I’m told we can’t change people; so, I should stop trying to. And I’m wondering if that’s the case, why bother asking me to change? So, in the end, an actually great evaluation took a horrid turn. When I felt we had reached a stopping point, I just walked out. 

They told me life isn’t fair. That they never thought they’d be in this business all these years. That they had other intentions and dreams. I just looked at them, and I said, “Twenty years from now, I don’t want to be saying the things you are now.” And I could see the cold shiver that went down the spines. 

So, my problem is I care too much. And I decided I’ll make the effort to comply to the bureaucratic process. I’ll go through the “chain of command” and will do nothing to personally resolve a situation even if I can fix it in a matter of minutes. My job is to find the problems, gather info, and make people “aware” so that they can fix it. And if stuff ages, fine, let it sit on that schedule for as long as needed. And I’ll just say, I followed your process, which works so much better than the one I was using. 

Anyway, since my disenchantment has reached new levels I didn’t think possible, my new tactic is to just do my job (or to the point I can now without stepping outside my bounds) and pushing out everything around me. I’ve managed to do this quite well with the help of my Ipod, which I hadn’t used since purchasing it over a month ago. I just crank it up, and do my work. I don’t pick up the phone unless I feel it’s necessary, I don’t chat with anyone unless they won’t leave from behind my shoulder, and I basically just ignore everything around me. Make notes of people’s mistakes and make the necessary copies and e-mails backing up my finds. However this isn’t helping my jadedness or cynicism for the work place. 

But I’m noticing I have an inclination towards certain tracks, and I’ll replay them over and over and over. 

Johnny Cash’s “Hurt”

The Weepies “No one knows me at all,” “Living in Twilight,” and “Slow Pony Home”

Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor  

Alkaline Trio “This Could be Love”

Udit Narayan “Dhadak Dhadak”

Billy Bragg & Wilco “Over Yonder in the Minor Key” 

I’m not sure what this eclectic collage of music says about my mindset. A mixture of folk, Indian, alternative, and classical. But in the several days I’ve tried this, it has helped me maintain a lower stress level at work. However, this hasn’t eased the concern of what my need for silence (silence from people around me) and isolation really means, or to what grave extent I’m being effected by my work environment that these two things have even become an insatiable need to just do my job.

Hodgepodge Thoughts

Last week, I got lost in Mt Pleasant. Somehow in a shortcut search for Chuck Dawley, I ended up driving over a bridge at night having no idea where I was going. After thirty minutes of being lost and then crossing over strange waters, I called a friend for help. But by the time I reached the end, I laughed at the site of the city sign: Welcome to Isle of Palms. Then, yesterday, having no obligations or desires to be productive, I decided to go explore James Island, to take roads I’ve never driven down, to drive beyond the “state maintenance” lines where tire tracks in dirt lead a path into woods and marsh. A mundane epiphany of the shared nature of Lost and Exploration. One in the same, but whose name of the moment is determined by perception alone.

Last Sunday morning, I was up early with a friend watching basic television. Any Southerner will know that Sunday morning stock channels are filled with Christian church services. I usually find most predominately “white” churches to have boring services. And my opinion comes from my church hopper days in middle and high school since I was never a member of a particular denomination. I’ve attended Presbyterian (most yawns in a pew), Southern Baptist, Baptist, Catholic (most awkward service attended was actually at Divine Redeemer), AME, Pentecostal, Evangelical, and so on. So, we opted to watch the African American church service, which was featuring local Christian artistic groups. One group of several men came onstage, but one was in white face. Just one, I was a bit confused, not having seen this before. At the sight of it, I said aloud, “What is this? Miming for Jesus?”

As for the New Year, I haven’t decided if I want to make resolutions or not. I’m not sure if there’s a purpose because if I had the motivation to do anything I would conjure up, wouldn’t I have already done it? But, I have decided one thing, by the end of 2009 I will not be in Charleston anymore. Well, one exception, and one alone, if paid photography gigs pick up enough where I could pursue photography full time, then I’ll stay. So, where will I go? What will I do? And if I don’t want to be in Charleston why have I been? Complex hypotheticals and reasons.

Close friends know why I stayed in Charleston and opted to turn down an offer to teach English in S. Korea. At the time, I was emotionally and psychologically destroyed. In fact, looking back at my thoughts and behavior during the last six months of 2007, I’d say I was in a state of depression. I had no motivation. I was completely lost. I felt quite alone and abandoned in many facets. I cried more in that period than ever in my entire life, my poor pillow during those months sustained many deluges. Extremely vulnerable, angry, quiet, hurt, I was a magic 8 ball of emotions, shake me and who knows what you’d get. So, I stayed because it was what I knew, and there is safety in the familiar.

For so long, I was angry at Charleston. This place reminded me of my failure, my weakness, my missteps, all the potential failed dreams suffocated me in my cubicle. I felt like I was dying in that space, that my desires, my creativity, my soul was being crushed under the weight of this place, of my choices, my rage, guilt, and shame. It was at the end of 2007, a year I refer to as my Kaliyuga year, that I realized the detrimental state I was in, and that no one could save me from this dark abyss of emotion but me. I knew the only way I could begin to save myself was to fall back in love with the world. Such a difficult thing for me to do at the time, I saw no beauty in this place or in its people. But I was permitting myself to live within nihilistic means, which would have inevitably produced a great void, a self void. At the time, I had no idea how I was going to go about this, but I found the answer in photography. 

So, I can no longer say my last year and a half here in Charleston has been a waste, that it did nothing to contribute to my life. This simply would be false. Had I not been here, then I would not have met my next great teacher. She would not have opened an emotive visual world to me that simultaneously provokes my emotions and heals me. My creative eye may never have reached the depths it has in this brief period of time. Never would I have met or captured such eclectic and complex souls, some of which I now call friends. All of whom unknowingly have helped me along my path of creativity, healing, and discovery. How grateful I am to have met them even if only once. 

And though there has been growth in this facet of my being, I feel quite stagnant in my field of work. I am fortunate that the women (and one man) in my office manage to be a civil yet dysfunctional family. The fault is not them in any way, though it is draining to have so much responsibility and trust vested in me by my head boss. What is often expected of me is not of others, and this exhausts me, and in some cases, has caused conflict within the office, even if passive aggressively by others. But the changes over the past year have revealed much about the people outside my office, the nature and caliber of their being, their intentions. And recent events prove to me all the more why this business is not for me. More than ever, I am acutely aware of my work self and my non-work self, how split in personality the two are, and the personal changes that environment is causing, that I’m letting it cause within me, is proving equally toxic as the depressive state I was in over a year ago. For these reasons, I have reached quite a desperate state. 

As of right now, my last contracted obligation is a wedding in mid May. After that, I am free to flee Charleston at the earliest convenience. 

Known to few, I applied for a program to teach English in Bangladesh that would begin in August 2009. I have yet to hear if I’ve been accepted or not, and may not until late January or February. This pending application has also been a reason for my resistance to change or move since I find it unfair to work for someone for a brief period of time. If I am accepted, I have several weeks to accept or decline the offer. I would need TEFL certification, and would only receive a monthly stipend of $350, which may not be enough to cover my loans and debt on a monthly basis. 

Other options I’m now considering (and feel free to chime in opinions or potential options I haven’t considered):

Move to Houston. My sister and her family are there. She misses all of us so much, as we do her. I could help with my two nephews and niece, temporarily have a place to stay, and from what I’ve seen, the job market in Houston hasn’t been terribly damaged by the economy. I may have a better chance with my photography there, or apply to a grad program in photography for the only reason to be able to teach at a college or university with a masters. 

Apply for a job with the United Nations. What is problematic is my experience is isolated to accounting and administrative fields, though my time in India may assist. I have no fluency in a second language and lack a master’s degree. So, I’d need to find a way to make myself look quite appealing.

Teach for America or Peace Corps. No elaborate thought here.

Perhaps pursue an auditing job with the main corporation. My experience in-house would likely replace my lack of an accounting degree, and I would have good references. Though still keeping me in the corporate world, it would involve traveling within the United States and a higher pay tier. 

Teach abroad through another organization. I have found programs that would pay more than the Bangladesh stipend, helping ensure my ability to pay off debt (because surprisingly I care and prefer to be responsible). My preferred locations are Thailand, Laos, Japan, or possibly somewhere in Central America. Though TEFL certification isn’t necessarily required, I’d still likely pursue it. 

Other options I’ve considered but likely won’t pursue:

- Say screw it all. Take up a part time job with no medical benefits but permits more time for me to pursue photography.

- Attend grad school for religious studies. Oh, hahahaha, what would I be with that? I love the study of religion, but really, a masters only leads to one inevitable path, actually two…1) a PhD program or 2) A perpetual enlightened wanderer who never really stays put and goes missing for long periods of time.

- Become a pirate.