i turn my camera on

one of the most basic modes of self-identification as a photographer is the requisite self-portrait with the the camera placed over one eye, the lens representing an extension of one's seeing being. i have stopped picturing myself thus. it's probably the reason why i don't take pictures anymore. i always imagine myself in large field looking sprightly and androgynous, with the strap of my holga or minolta 35mm cutting across my chest as testimony to some ephemeral vagrant existence. or i imagine myself hunched behind the bellows of a large format camera, my head covered with a dark cloth that bridges the gap between my body and the camera, performing my submission to a technology whose history outlives my own. two years ago i would have replied that i imagine myself sitting in front of the tripod in my best cindy sherman auto-reflexive pose. this is how i think we should think of cameras, and of our terms of vision--vision as something deeply embedded in our subjective physical and temporal experience. this may relate to the fact that, over the past four years, i've also learned very well to make my way in dark--i.e. sans vision in the name of analog photography.

on the flip side of the issue, i taught a new friend how to use his mamiya yesterday, and it made me really miss the process of taking pictures. i still fantasize about taking pictures of airports, train stations, and mosh pits. i had an attack of 'ohmygodihavesomuchaheadofmeinthislife' today. one day at a time...