Yesterday's Open House at the ICP went pretty well. I estimate that somewhere around 100 people showed up. The facilities there are top of the line and it seems like a place that has a very engaged and diverse student body. I was impressed.
After going on a tour of the school and then, listening to brief presentations given by faculty members, I had the opportunity for my portfolio to be reviewed. The review lasted for 15-20 minutes. Asked about my work, I told him the story that you're all too familiar with by now: of how about 14 months ago I began photographing the Harlem River Bridges and other interesting sites nearby the waterfront. This project, I told him, had become a journey of exploration and discovery for me. But my response was partly true. I had hedged the story a bit. Due to some sense of embarrassment or stigma, I didn't feel like sharing or going into what has been the spark behind this journey: my cancer experience. My photography of the Harlem River is a product of my cancer experience and I think that when, as in last night's review, I fail to weave the two narratives together I diminish the personal significance that cancer and photography have had in my life. Perhaps in some way too I subdue the courage, humanity, and resourcefulness of my own journey. Long ago, I understood that looking at my images are nice and all, but by themselves they tell only a passage or two of a much richer story.
The instructor liked many of the images. He told me that it was clear that I had an eye for composition and tightness (no unnecessary clutter in the images). He liked that they weren't all of the panoramic, landscape variety. While my portfolio has a healthy number of such images, they are interspersed with intimate shots of flowers, mosaic tiles, street signs, and architectural details. This, he said as I understood long ago, gives my story balance and greater strength. He also seemed to be impressed by the breadth of my portfolio. It was clear to him that I was really serious about this project. Though, of course, because of my reluctance to disclose fully he didn't understand why I was so serious about it. I told him that I think my documentation of the Harlem River is a story that hasn't been told before to which he responded, "Spoken like a true photographer."
I let him know that I felt that I was at the point where I needed a better camera and so, I've been looking to upgrade to a DSLR. He was in complete agreement about this, which I found very reassuring. He said that the difference in the quality of the images will be immediate. My Canon PowerShot A700 has served me amazingly well, but my skills have outgrown it. It is time for a camera that will strengthen my work.
In many ways, my reluctance last night to share the cancer part of my story is strange, since I'm so public about it. There are just times and situations when it feels far easier (and safer) to just not go into it.
The day before I was in another situation in which with regards to disclosure, I chose to not bring up the cancer. This time, however, it has to do with a girl which brings up new questions about which until now I hadn't had to think about. For a few weeks now, I've been participating in projects with someone whom I find attractive. Until this week, however, I hadn't (I don't recall) spoken about "what I do." I told her that I'm looking for employment right now. Back in '07, I graduated from grad school and since then, I said I had been playing the role of Peter Pan and that just when I was beginning to look for a job, the economic crisis started. But I was holding back. I felt defensive . . . restrained. Here was a girl, whom I found attractive and was interested in getting to know, but was concerned that bringing up cancer would perhaps kill the conversation, but moreover, end any real chances of progress. So, I just left out cancer and as a result had this huge gaping whole which I didn't know how to fill quickly. Therefore, I used "playing the role of Peter Pan" as I have done from time to time. I did mention my photography work and listed some of my past jobs, but in the end I feel like I came across as a goalless, underachieving vagrant. I was hide something so monumental from her and as a result, I felt defensive and unauthentic.
Like with the ICP instructor last night, I chose to leave out cancer from the discussion of my background. Though the situations are somewhat different, they raise many of the same questions.
How do I fill up that void? Or should I? Does it depend on whom I'm talking to? I don't want to scare off a prospective love interest by bringing up my cancer experience on day one or two or three or four, so what do I do? Am I just being too careful? Now that I'm meeting more and more new people, these questions are beginning to come up.
I'm sure I'll see her next week. I might not have made the best show, but I don't think my battleship was torpedoed. There's still hope, I think. We talked about the recent renovation of the medieval art section at the Met. I've been thinking about asking her next time if she'd like to check it out with me on Friday.
