Since about 3 months into this blog, I’ve been trying to separate words from my images. I started posting photos, and after a while I realized that I was getting most of my hits from my photos…but of course, that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted hits on my words. How arrogant is that?
Not to say that EVERY photo I post everyone loves, far from it. But in the blogger-sphere, photos are easy and since many are mobile, images if they resonate can hit a viewer and allow them to respond easily, and then they go onto the next. Words have to be read…pondered perhaps …and I think today so many just don’t have the time to stop and ponder. I could dialogue on that ALL day long, however I don’t care too…therefore I won’t.
However I am a ponderer, and sniffer of roses and meander-er. I am not attached to a mobile electronic device of any sort, and right now I’m fine with that. Haven’t been for close to 4 years. So my re-entry into the digital domain is lagging, and currently I’m not so sure at all whether I want to be that engaged digitally.
So I may just abstain, and so my prose I feel may be of another era, perhaps. After all, Robertson Davies is my favourite author, of all of them. Even of any that may still be in my future…Davies is always going to have a standing first place honour in my heart. Of course, others may intrigue me and even may represent a WHOLE other sort of love…yet Robertson Davies books I will read and read again. Over and over again…just because.
I don’t want my ability to write to be tied to my ability to take photos. You see the dilemma.
As I’ve been sitting here thinking on what exactly I was trying to express, I’ve realized something…I tell stories with my photos, as surely as I do with my words. I was just reminded of something Niva said recently, I believe in a dialogue probably in response to one of her fantastic posts…but she said she wrote everything down she could remember after Kaz passed away. It just hit me…I took photos…I have reams and reams of photos from that time after Tim died. Pictures of as much as I could photograph…and the rest I tried to write, as best I could. I have photos before he died…and shots I took in those last days…I captured it, but just not in all its horror. I chose to capture the beauty instead, as I was rather sure that the ugly would be remembered well.
Isn’t that just how it is though…as much as you try to get away from a thing, it follows you and nudges at the tails of your consciousness…until you can not ignore it any longer. And you turn…and go
Then you smile.