There is Movement in Memory
I think, for years, I tried to capture that.
Memory moves-
It is revisited from different angles and different perspectives.
We did not know then...
What we know now.
It also warps time and morphs around our ideas and beliefs.
I will judge the “me” from THEN- with the information I have NOW, but did not have THEN.
It speaks to the perspective of the observer-
As well as the contents caught in that moving image.
Making peace with being someone else’s villain is a way of giving grace to the monster they call you.
I have always admired the stoic way that others are not consumed with that habit.
I generally fall apart when imagined a monster.
The people pleaser perfectionist - wishes to dictate the movements....
I recall when 4K photography really took my fancy.
The ability to take a whole section and break it apart frame by frame-
Image by image.
To select the one stand-out photo that encapsulated the whole movement.
There are hours of my life- trapped in surfing through thousands of takes to grab that single one that Told the WHOLE story.
Yet over time,
Certain stories don’t feel like being told.
Perhaps only the emotion-
The pain or joy, trapped in a Frame.
Oh-
But the urge to tell the story is so ever-present.
Maybe it’s a way of justifying it to ourselves...
Is it only me?
Wanting that snap-shot to be understood..
This...
“This” is who I am-
And what it was I was trying to say.
Only,
Age teaches us that some stories don’t need to be told.
They don’t need to be spoken to, or about.
They are allowed to be anonymous anecdotes that stay undefined.
Believe what you want,
It’s simply a fairy tale trapped in one photograph.
You,
Don’t need to understand to appreciate the sentiment behind it.
Our memories define our own reality...
And -
We have no business asking someone else to change their perspective because of our own.
I have often considered how “sane” a person might feel, while being judged “psychotic” by others.
An altered reality is crazy-
For those not in it.
Maybe that’s what expression is there for.
Creative expression rids us of our own cryptic dialogue, without oversharing or over defining someone else’s reality.
It allows us to judge an object without judging the person who created it.
I am allowed to feel my own feels about art.
Take Shakespeare for example...
How many have truly figured out the mind-frame of those stories.
Maybe he was expressing something so deep and divine about his own perspective-
Now,
Boiled down to other’s opinions of interpretation.
If Van Gogh always saw things the way he painted-
That may have been a depth perception problem.
Or perhaps near-sighted,
He only saw the forms of objects...
Oh man,
I’m super guilty of playing judge and jury...
It could be that very thing that has helped me to create space to hear others.
That -recognized humanity that exists in being misunderstood-
Knowing my own voice so well...I can silence and rule it out.
“What can I do-
To make this situation better for you?”
To answer in full, without even covering the bare bases.
What exploits one,
Defines another....and so on.
The one that sees and hears the emotion behind being misunderstood...
...and asks “why”?
As much as it is a language that clears up misunderstandings-
It is also language that causes it.
The space to hear clearly...see fully....
Outside of our own
Am I strong enough to do that with vulnerability?
Instead of expressing outwards,
Absorb, like a meandering trickle of a river flowing away from the waterfalls.
How water moves or exaggerates a movement-
Catching rays of sun and stone-shadow,
To pull away from the idea of freedom.
I like freedom of expression...
So how do I share that with others?
Don’t they have a right to express?
I like the memories of movement.
