Staying in touch these days can be a little overwhelming – everyone is there – all the time – tweeting and updating and while we know now that cyber breaks are necessary, it is sometimes sad to think about what has happened.
I hate change – it’s a bad trait…. The worst… I fear it and yet think about it constantly. Facebook is full of change- it can even document it for you and one can get lost in the change we see from people who were in our elementary school, high school or university.
Divorce is an ugly word for some and maybe a release for others. Having not had that experience, I write as an observer to how public our life’s have become and the need to explain everything via social media. I love social media, I really do – I operate multiple channels across various platforms and I delight in mentions, re-tweets, Likes and tags. But, I have also kept life-altering news from being the main headline of my feeds. I’m married, but you will see no wedding photos, I have a daughter, and probably post the least out of most people I know with a child / children, and I like it that way.
There has been a lot of talk about Facebook and Divorce, with Facebook as the cause, but what happens when you document these life events and the unexpected happens. Is there a “divorced” relationship status? It is such a personal thing – like the ending of a relationship on Facebook where you have to then remove the photos of you and your now-ex that were plastered across your wall.
We had a conversation over the holidays about people who had passed away, and how their Facebook pages became shrines/ memorials. It is definitely comforting to some, maybe is who have experienced the loss and uneasy for others.
It looks as though Facebook is here to stay, and our lives are forever changed – many would say for the better.
On June 6th, 3 Black women stood in New York’s Union Square holding signs that read,” You can touch my hair.” The photos were posted across social media and debated in the days to follow. (#youcantouchmyhair)
In 1810, Sarah Baartman stood on display while her buttocks and other parts of her barely covered body, were examined in a sideshow. Europeans flocked to marvel at her exhibition, pointing and staring at her exotic parts.
Sarah Baartman had little to no choice and was persuaded to make a “living” being on display until her death in 1816. She was posthumously on display and dissected in France until her remains were finally sent back to South Africa in 2002.
While it is clear from the articles and discussions in the past week that “Un-ruly’s” exhibition was meant as a social experiment and as a way of examining the “tactile fascination”, as they described it, with black hair – I was still (as many black women were and are), a little bit…disturbed.
Upon seeing the discussion on twitter and then viewing the photos on Instagram, I immediately thought of Sarah Baartman.
Black. Woman. On Display.
Voluntary or involuntary, they were being examined, just as Sarah was. They were being looked at and rented, as Damali Ayo might have put it.
You see, the other place my mind went after learning about this “phenomenon” was the bottom of a dresser drawer, where lay a t-shirt that read, “touch your own hair“.
Pretty simple.
I bought this particular shirt during my Afro days, my “say it loud, I’m Black and I’m proud” days when I needed everyone to know how Black I was. I purchased it from “rent-a-negro.com“, Damali Ayo‘s web-art-performance that allowed people to apply for rental Negroes. The site is now “out of business”, but the shirts are still available, as well as the book version of the site.
In another time (pre-motherhood), I might have stood alongside the women with my t-shirt juxtaposing their signs and behavior.
The best I could do as a response was to post a photo of the shirt.
Looking beyond race, how age appropriate is it for adults to run around touching each others hair. You don’t see 9-5 professionals groping each other at the office, in fact, there are rules against that.
My response to un-ruly might not be congratulatory, but I’m not furious at their exhibition. It did what I believe it was supposed to do. Spark Discussion. Most people might be shy to openly discuss Black hair when asked, so if an exhibit is in a public space and everyone else seems to be doing it. It must be ok…right?
In a time where Kim Khardashian’s baby is at the top of our lists, it was at least refreshing to see a more intellectual debate trying to surface for longer than a week.
Black people throughout the Diaspora are no longer for sale or rent. These days of putting ourselves on display should be coming to an end. I believe discussions of race in this country need to continue and maybe factor in other things, like economic status.
I believe the few non-Blacks that showed interest in touching Black hair were genuinely curious, but …curiosity killed the cat, and if you want to touch my hair, like I said – become a hair stylist.
On June 6th, 3 Black women stood in New York’s Union Square holding signs that read,” You can touch my hair.” The photos were posted across social media and debated in the days to follow. (#youcantouchmyhair) In 1810, Sarah Baartman stood on display while her buttocks and other parts of her barely covered body, were examined in a sideshow. Europeans flocked to marvel at her exhibition, pointing and staring at her exotic parts. Sarah Baartman had little to no choice and was persuaded to make a “living” being on display until her death in 1816. She was posthumously on display and dissected in France until her remains were finally sent back to South Africa in 2002. While it is clear from the articles and discussions in the past week that “Un-ruly’s” exhibition was meant as a social experiment and as a way of examining the “tactile fascination”, as they described it, with black hair – I was still (as many black women were and are), a little bit…disturbed. Upon seeing the discussion on twitter and then viewing the photos on Instagram, I immediately thought of Sarah Baartman. Black. Woman. On Display. Voluntary or involuntary, they were being examined, just as Sarah was. They were being looked at and rented, as Damali Ayo might have put it.
You see, the other place my mind went after learning about this “phenomenon” was the bottom of a dresser drawer, where lay a t-shirt that read, “touch your own hair“.
Pretty simple. I bought this particular shirt during my Afro days, my “say it loud, I’m Black and I’m proud” days when I needed everyone to know how Black I was. I purchased it from “rent-a-negro.com“, Damali Ayo‘s web-art-performance that allowed people to apply for rental Negroes. The site is now “out of business”, but the shirts are still available, as well as the book version of the site. In another time (pre-motherhood), I might have stood alongside the women with my t-shirt juxtaposing their signs and behavior. The best I could do as a response was to post a photo of the shirt. Looking beyond race, how age appropriate is it for adults to run around touching each others hair. You don’t see 9-5 professionals groping each other at the office, in fact, there are rules against that. My response to un-ruly might not be congratulatory, but I’m not furious at their exhibition. It did what I believe it was supposed to do. Spark Discussion. Most people might be shy to openly discuss Black hair when asked, so if an exhibit is in a public space and everyone else seems to be doing it. It must be ok…right? In a time where Kim Khardashian’s baby is at the top of our lists, it was at least refreshing to see a more intellectual debate trying to surface for longer than a week. Black people throughout the Diaspora are no longer for sale or rent. These days of putting ourselves on display should be coming to an end. I believe discussions of race in this country need to continue and maybe factor in other things, like economic status. I believe the few non-Blacks that showed interest in touching Black hair were genuinely curious, but …curiosity killed the cat, and if you want to touch my hair, like I said – become a hair stylist.
With Mother’s Day approaching – I thought it fitting to re-post this blog or “re-blog” this post from March. Motherhood has certainly taught me a lot and I have no doubt that this is a post I will constantly mentally “re-something” every couple months as a sort of reminder.
With Mother’s Day approaching – I thought it fitting to re-post this blog or “re-blog” this post from March. Motherhood has certainly taught me a lot and I have no doubt that this is a post I will constantly mentally “re-something” every couple months as a sort of reminder.
There’s nothing like a computer problem to put it all into perspective.
For nearly the last month and a half, I have been working really hard on my boutique photography business (Shameless plug… GarBaby’s Photos). I had some sessions over the weekend that really excited me and with the party I shot a few weeks ago – I was eager to finally post photos and share some sneak peaks. Everything finally felt like it was going to move forward in a very positive and successful manner.
Until…
I took a break.
I had a great photo to post for Earth Day, but when you spend your days and nights with Adobe Bridge, Photoshop and Aperture… isn’t a break allowed…
I left my desk and did some other non-photo / computer related things.
I came back to my computer to post the Earth Day photo and saw a message that the Time Machine Back-up Failed. I found this odd and then saw a yellow exclamation point on one of the photos I was going to edit. Odd. I noticed that the hard drive was that awful translucent blue/grey and then the dreaded message The disk you entered was not readable by this computer. So direct – so cold. I mean… what kind of a message is that. Seriously….
My husband, the professional IT man was equally as direct. It’s dead.
But no… that’s impossible, I thought. Because I – the non-IT-artistic-magical person want to tap my magic wand and have everything back – working again – in minutes…
There are a list of technical terms and jargon that no go with repairing hard drives: sectors, blocks, bad blocks, format… I could go on, but the words are too dry for me… So technical – not creative – MEAN!
I’ve dealt with hard drive issues before – in particular this hard drive… so I should have known. I had stopped using it once before… but now – I dumped everything on there. literally. The photos from this past weekend’s shoot that I was so excited about were on there in organized in folders for my editing delight. Talk about feeling hopeless… When all you want is to transform .ARW and .NEF raw images and you can’t – it’s an incredibly hopeless feeling. No one can do anything quickly and you have to wait… Patience is a virtue indeed, but when it’s your business and the only employee is you… this is potential panic mode.
After a melancholy dinner, I retreated back to my office in silence to plug, unplug and listen to the sounds of potential death that were emitting from my not-so-darling hard drive. How tragic this was – but why wasn’t I crying… I was sad, yes – but always hopeful…
Soon thereafter, my magical IT husband presented me with recovery software! HOPE! I smiled a larger than life smile as I downloaded it onto my computer. I read what I needed to read, all the while dreaming of my photos from upload sessions past.
The most frustrating part of this whole thing is that just when I felt like things were going to stabalize with this business and just when I felt like I had a flow going… a system in place… it imploded! It flashed a yellow alert and was over. Just like that.
The scan didn’t work. It was plugged in for nearly two days and no file was recovered. In fact, all I got was a message that MR. IT read to me this morning. It’s dead…like I said the other day.
Each night I dreamed that one file would appear— hope… but nothing appeared. My husband was obviously not nearly as hopeful.
There’s something about IT professionals. So factual. So matter-of-fact. Where’s the emotion… where’s the love…
While I was crying the tears of my soul last night over my lost photos and “failed” business, MR. IT was likely thinking of solutions… Thank Goodness for him!
The light at the other end of the tunnel was scanning my SD cards… where the photos came from in the first place… at least the ones from 2013. I had no idea how much was going to be recovered, but gave it a try!
2 disks and 2 recovery programs later, my weekend session photos are recovered.
I found a place in the city to take my “dead drive”. The commercial looks promising…
It makes me dream of the day when my lovely data is back on the sectors of another device that I will triple back-up!
For now, I will edit away and pray that recovery is possible and that the quote isn’t too high.
There’s nothing like a computer problem to put it all into perspective.
For nearly the last month and a half, I have been working really hard on my boutique photography business (Shameless plug… GarBaby’s Photos). I had some sessions over the weekend that really excited me and with the party I shot a few weeks ago – I was eager to finally post photos and share some sneak peaks. Everything finally felt like it was going to move forward in a very positive and successful manner.
Until…
I took a break.
I had a great photo to post for Earth Day, but when you spend your days and nights with Adobe Bridge, Photoshop and Aperture… isn’t a break allowed…
I left my desk and did some other non-photo / computer related things.
I came back to my computer to post the Earth Day photo and saw a message that the Time Machine Back-up Failed. I found this odd and then saw a yellow exclamation point on one of the photos I was going to edit. Odd. I noticed that the hard drive was that awful translucent blue/grey and then the dreaded message The disk you entered was not readable by this computer. So direct – so cold. I mean… what kind of a message is that. Seriously….
My husband, the professional IT man was equally as direct. It’s dead.
But no… that’s impossible, I thought. Because I – the non-IT-artistic-magical person want to tap my magic wand and have everything back – working again – in minutes…
There are a list of technical terms and jargon that no go with repairing hard drives: sectors, blocks, bad blocks, format… I could go on, but the words are too dry for me… So technical – not creative – MEAN!
I’ve dealt with hard drive issues before – in particular this hard drive… so I should have known. I had stopped using it once before… but now – I dumped everything on there. literally. The photos from this past weekend’s shoot that I was so excited about were on there in organized in folders for my editing delight. Talk about feeling hopeless… When all you want is to transform .ARW and .NEF raw images and you can’t – it’s an incredibly hopeless feeling. No one can do anything quickly and you have to wait… Patience is a virtue indeed, but when it’s your business and the only employee is you… this is potential panic mode.
After a melancholy dinner, I retreated back to my office in silence to plug, unplug and listen to the sounds of potential death that were emitting from my not-so-darling hard drive. How tragic this was – but why wasn’t I crying… I was sad, yes – but always hopeful…
Soon thereafter, my magical IT husband presented me with recovery software! HOPE! I smiled a larger than life smile as I downloaded it onto my computer. I read what I needed to read, all the while dreaming of my photos from upload sessions past.
The most frustrating part of this whole thing is that just when I felt like things were going to stabalize with this business and just when I felt like I had a flow going… a system in place… it imploded! It flashed a yellow alert and was over. Just like that.
The scan didn’t work. It was plugged in for nearly two days and no file was recovered. In fact, all I got was a message that MR. IT read to me this morning. It’s dead…like I said the other day.
Each night I dreamed that one file would appear— hope… but nothing appeared. My husband was obviously not nearly as hopeful.
There’s something about IT professionals. So factual. So matter-of-fact. Where’s the emotion… where’s the love…
While I was crying the tears of my soul last night over my lost photos and “failed” business, MR. IT was likely thinking of solutions… Thank Goodness for him!
The light at the other end of the tunnel was scanning my SD cards… where the photos came from in the first place… at least the ones from 2013. I had no idea how much was going to be recovered, but gave it a try!
2 disks and 2 recovery programs later, my weekend session photos are recovered.
I found a place in the city to take my “dead drive”. The commercial looks promising…
It makes me dream of the day when my lovely data is back on the sectors of another device that I will triple back-up!
For now, I will edit away and pray that recovery is possible and that the quote isn’t too high.
The craft of acting is to be taken seriously for those who can only dream of one thorough role a year, or every couple years – it is the difference, for example, between the original Millennium Series in Swedish and the Hollywood re-make.
It is talent and stamina. Mind and body – putting one’s energy into an exhausting role for that one “take” versus putting yourself into that one role over and over for weeks and months (even years) on end.
A “starlet” on Broadway is like reality television – except we don’t often spend an ungodly amount to watch those train wrecks.
Imagine for a (very) brief, unrealistic moment that Kim Khardashian decided to call herself an actor and found herself thrust upon a stage to do whatever it is that she does. Ticket sales would likely be through the roof if not sold out – but for how long before she and the audience wanted out. I don’t mean to diminish the actual work of Hollywood actors who have attempted to make a way for themselves among the greats of Broadway, but it might seem as ill a match as the above mentioned Ms.(...er Mrs… er…) Khardashian on the stage.
Hollywood doesn’t fit well in a place as honest as New York – where you can see imperfection on the stage – we like flaws here. New York also likes perfection… over and over again, something you only have to do in Hollywood once.
Elaine Stritch said it well on her “retirement”, “I’m just sick of the competition in New York, the feeling that I always have to rehearse to keep up my performance. […]” (Patrick Healey).
The starlets who flock here are maybe looking for a notch in their belt. The runs are usually limited because neither their stamina nor their persona could handle it for more than a few weeks. That “perfection” that Ms. Stritch spoke of achieving and being expected to achieve on a more than regular basis.
Unfortunately, Broadway is often about making money – New Yorker’s know that. While it may often be the tourists’ playground, as the box offices from many of the shows Isherwood mentioned demonstrated, even they tire of the letdown of seeing their favorite movie heroine up close and personal in a play they only came to see because he or she was in it.
I think casting Starlets or Hollywood actors is common because of the money the theatre community hopes to make. Plays are only so popular these days when everyone’s attention span is less than a macro-second. The theatre is not what it was and stars bring a boost. If we see a boost in “big names”, it might signal that the “money people” are looking to make a few more dollars or are low in the first place. Either way, it’s a money problem.
On the other hand, what Isherwood (and many of the comments) have shown is that this boost is only temporary because no one is really fooled and the shows close (even before originally being scheduled to end).
So Hollywood – Back to The Hill and “The Method” you go!
The craft of acting is to be taken seriously for those who can only dream of one thorough role a year, or every couple years – it is the difference, for example, between the original Millennium Series in Swedish and the Hollywood re-make.
It is talent and stamina. Mind and body – putting one’s energy into an exhausting role for that one “take” versus putting yourself into that one role over and over for weeks and months (even years) on end.
A “starlet” on Broadway is like reality television – except we don’t often spend an ungodly amount to watch those train wrecks.
Imagine for a (very) brief, unrealistic moment that Kim Khardashian decided to call herself an actor and found herself thrust upon a stage to do whatever it is that she does. Ticket sales would likely be through the roof if not sold out – but for how long before she and the audience wanted out. I don’t mean to diminish the actual work of Hollywood actors who have attempted to make a way for themselves among the greats of Broadway, but it might seem as ill a match as the above mentioned Ms.(...er Mrs… er…) Khardashian on the stage.
Hollywood doesn’t fit well in a place as honest as New York – where you can see imperfection on the stage – we like flaws here. New York also likes perfection… over and over again, something you only have to do in Hollywood once.
Elaine Stritch said it well on her “retirement”, “I’m just sick of the competition in New York, the feeling that I always have to rehearse to keep up my performance. […]” (Patrick Healey).
The starlets who flock here are maybe looking for a notch in their belt. The runs are usually limited because neither their stamina nor their persona could handle it for more than a few weeks. That “perfection” that Ms. Stritch spoke of achieving and being expected to achieve on a more than regular basis.
Unfortunately, Broadway is often about making money – New Yorker’s know that. While it may often be the tourists’ playground, as the box offices from many of the shows Isherwood mentioned demonstrated, even they tire of the letdown of seeing their favorite movie heroine up close and personal in a play they only came to see because he or she was in it.
I think casting Starlets or Hollywood actors is common because of the money the theatre community hopes to make. Plays are only so popular these days when everyone’s attention span is less than a macro-second. The theatre is not what it was and stars bring a boost. If we see a boost in “big names”, it might signal that the “money people” are looking to make a few more dollars or are low in the first place. Either way, it’s a money problem. On the other hand, what Isherwood (and many of the comments) have shown is that this boost is only temporary because no one is really fooled and the shows close (even before originally being scheduled to end).
So Hollywood – Back to The Hill and “The Method” you go!
I can’t believe it’s been over a week since I’ve posted!
The past few weeks I have been hard at work on my photography business and website! It has certainly “taken over”, in addition to my other familial duties…PLUS we’ve all been ill. With that said, I have been writing this blog post for over a week in between figuring out my packaging and pricing and all the exciting things I will be offering my photography clients!
So the week before last, while I was figuring out how I will conduct my business, I looked at many photography websites, especially those catering to newborns, babies and young children.
When it came to my bio, I debated whether or not to include a photograph of myself. When I looked around, I found only a handful of photographers without photos of themselves and thought I might as well, even though my initial inclination was not to display one on the site. I felt that I was advertising my work as a photographer – did it really matter what I looked like….?
When I showed the site to my husband, his first comment was, “I don’t think you need your photo”…
I stopped…. annoyed (not at him), that it ALWAYS seemed that when I thought something and did the opposite, maybe I should have done what I was initially going to do. I went on to explain to him that almost all the photography websites I checked out included photos of the photographers and added that it did make sense to me, that a parent would want to see who was photographing their children…. Wouldn’t I??
Maybe a note about my husband would be helpful… He grew up in France, and is for the most part, French… Culturally European (and West African… But the focus here is the European). He then made a comment about Americans…always thinking about their own navel….as if they are the center of their own Universe…. Now.. he’s not the only one who said this – I showed the site to a neighbor of mine – also European and she also asked about my photo. I chuckled! Now I’m really beginning to think it’s a crazy American thing… (side note: I am in no way bashing Americans – I am only pointing out and interested in discussing cultural differences…)
So after some thought I went with my gut… and took my photo down… for now… until I have one that I’m happier with..
But what they were saying complimented each other – my husband was talking about his noticing this culture where we don’t debate topics that stray far from ourselves. Instead of talking about “Malcolm” (his example), we focus on our lives… I mean… could my blog be in that category… probably…uh yes… even though I try hard not to..
My neighbor’s comment was particularly concerning if one thought what the had to say was so interesting that we had to share with other people.
Now, I know many people NOT on Facebook and many not concerned with letting others know about their daily ins and outs in what others think, but I don’t know if it’s a purely American thing… It could be an artist thing… I mean when you work for yourself and write or act or dance or promote yourself, it’s hard to stray from that because YOU are your “brand” – YOU are your own bread. It could also be a product of our society… “iPhone” “mobile ME”…. “iPod” “iPad”… our everyday products focus on ourselves…
There’s a fine line between just enough me and too much me… but it can be annoying or frustrating maybe to meet people who are constantly thinking about me, myself and I. We require so much attention these days. What would be do if we shut off the twitter and Facebook… it seems so rare to have a telephone conversation these days… so much is done by text and I’m not excluding myself (although I’m working hard NOT to make this about me).
I would really like to hear what people think… Are you a perpetrator of constant navel-gazing?… be honest… OR do you avoid it like the plague and attempt to participate in discussions about things other than yourself?
