“Travel becomes a strategy for accumulating photographs.”
Susan Sontag
Near Lancaster, UK – Molly Jarboe – Instagram
Looking to See
I encountered this scene a couple of summers ago when Allen and I were guests in the summer home of a colleague of his near New Palz, NY. It’s a modest little hideaway and serves as a quiet writing spot for our host who spends most of his time in Manhattan.
The house is nestled at the bottom of a hill, along side a serene swimming hole at Rondout Creek. You have to drive well into the woods, and maneuver down a winding dirt road that leads right to the front yard. The rushing water from the creek can be heard from every room inside.
We were there for a gathering of academics and creative types, and I busied myself much of the time taking pictures of our surroundings. We drank wine, dining by the fireside well into the nights. Every little thing seemed to take on a mysterious and rare light that remained even with each new sun. In looking over my images after the trip, I’ve settled on this one as a favorite. For me, this picture of a picture captures the light and context in a way that allows me to briefly suspend my disbelief. Each time I look at it, the frozen figures seem freed, if only for a moment.
We Have No Heads
“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” – Carl Gustav Jung
We Have No Heads, New Orleans by Molly Jarboe, 2011
Some Early Work
I was invited to give a talk about my photography in Lancaster, UK at the end of the Month. Preparation got me thinking about some examples of my early work. These three were all shot in Mexico for a project entitled Living on the Edge, 1998 which is a compare and contrast of both sides of the US / Mexico border. I’ll update this post with more info soon.
I Can See Clearly Now: An Opaque Post About Loss
I recently lost something dear to me. The loss didn’t come with a sudden absence; physical proximity remains unchanged. Instead, in an instant, years of ambiguity crystallized. As the only visitor in the group, I was afforded an outsider’s view and unwittingly, I glimpsed a monster. I recognized what it was immediately, even as it carried on, hiding in plain sight. In that momentary burst, I caught sight of the massive thing sulking in the shadows, feigning self righteous indignation and crying out, “Poor me!” It turns out the monster has been hiding there all along.
I’ve come to realize that blind loyalty to the hope of what could be is all that accounts for the sweetness I felt for so many years. But this possibility never materialized even in the shape of a small gesture from the other side, and so I must face the sadder realization that nothing has truly been lost. I’ve had to confess my own naivety at believing that it ever really was possible. At least for a short while, the loss of hope on this matter as a whole will burrow through the optimistic part of my heart like a tiny mole.
But I am an optimist and this too will pass. Thankfully, something can be learned from these things.
We Have No Heads, New Orleans by Molly Jarboe, 2011
(please imagine Bob Marley’s verson of “I Can See Clearly Now…” as a score to this post)