Inspiration comes when you least expect it.
Mine came approximately 20 minutes ago in the form of a friend’s status on Facebook.
She was considering authenticity and how not sharing every detail effects it.
I have the same issue when it comes to this blog – and it spills over into other areas of my life too.
The conclusion I came to was that the grey area would have to be. This is my journey and it is not fair to write about someone elses part in it.
But I loathe editing myself. I loathe it, and yet, I do it every day.
I know the following truths about myself:
I love with abandon.
I detest lying.
I have an artistic soul.
I am not as strong as people think I am.
There is so much you don’t know. Pieces of the puzzle that are necessary to make the picture clear are missing.
In the car, within a flood of thoughts and ideas, an image of a carnival came to mind.
I photograph everything. I love taking pictures. Snap shots – memories – art for art’s sake.. Whatever speaks to me is photographed.
Back at the carnival, I imagined lights and families – photographs of smiling children holding pink cotton candy. But that isn’t a fair representation of ‘the carnival’.
I would want gritty photos of the staff setting up the rides – dirt on their jeans, sweat running into their eyes. Pictures of parents with sad, tired faces – financial worry etched into their brows. The litter – the splitting seams of the cheap midway prizes.
All of it.
This need drives me. I stumble upon something I know nothing about, and I have to research to understand it. A book ends in ambiguity and I’m annoyed. A movie or documentary touches me and I must see ‘behind the scenes’.
I’m on a constant quest to discover the why. What makes people tick? When I ask questions of a friend or a stranger for that matter – I’m genuinely interested in the answers.
I question myself all the time too. What was my motive? What is this feeling? Why am I doing what I’m doing?
I need it like air and water, calories and sleep. I need it like dreams and love and knowledge.
I can respect the truth. No matter if I like the answer.
I’ve learned to call bullshit on myself. I am honest with me.
I had a thought this Summer that I wanted to bare it all – literally. I wanted to do a very tasteful nude photo session – somewhere out in the desert.
I was comfortable enough with my body and the place that my head and heart was in to strip down to nothing.
I was going to use some of the photos in a post about baring it all. But how can I? I withold information all the time. I haven’t earned the right to post modest nudes and speak about exposing every part of me (in writing, not the photos – that wouldn’t make them very postable would it?)
I used a photo in a post about ‘home’ that I edited. It was a topless photo I took myself. I wanted to capture the phase I was in of being free and naked – yet not completely there yet. The outside world was still … well, outside.
This is the original photo.
And it says so much about me.
I am comfortable in my skin, in comfortable environments.
And that’s not very brave. And it’s not very honest.
But it is my truth.
And if I can tell you that I’m not telling you everything, I think that puts me one step closer to baring it all.
I’ll keep searching.