Lassitude and Longitude

Here’s a clip from the movie The Proposition I wanted to share. This clip always reduces me to silence. I begin to understand, or so I allow myself to think that I glean or grasp something beyond cursory human comprehension each time I see it. We think that beneath the brittle and frail facade of human hypocrisy that what we are (our true nature) is ugly and reprehensible….so we spend our whole lives constructing fictions about who and what we are, practicing our poor pathetic performances. We are athletes of abnegation trying to be what we are not, but what we value as ‘beautiful’, ‘civilized’, ’sophisticated’ or redeeming…To me… that is the epitome of ugliness…and what is shameful and ugly to others…is precisely what captivates and compels my awe regarding the beauty of others.

While listening to the lyrics of a particular song today I couldn’t let loose of this one line…’fear is the heart of love’, which, to me, seems to be the premise of most, if not all reigning religions. War, which is predicated on the perpetuation of religious paradigms (if we agree that capitalism, rife with rites and rituals, and certainly sacrifice, is a religion unto itself) has left mankind with little to fear. Simply speaking, the worst has already occurred, and fear no-longer comes from without – it originates from within. In fact, if you ask me, that’s how the construction of the God concept came into creation/existence in the first place.

Humankind’s most haunting and harrowing nightmares have been playing out in war’s theater for centuries. Tyranny, brutality, and naked aggression (under the guise of diplomacy) have become boring war cries of cliche; commonplace concepts used as cannon fodder in media and motion picture. We not only accept it and surrender to it, we expect it and yawn in its myriad of painted and decorated faces. What happens when we’ve become inured to violence, apathetic and divested of sexual desire; fearless beings besieged by anomie?

What will motivate us when the dark, macabre and taboo have been co-opted by every sitcom and Sunday advertisement? We live in a world, in a time where nothing shocks or induces fear (aside from visible signs of aging, obesity, and monetary loss). My belief is that nothing should shock, except the realization that we’ve committed our lives to the construction and perpetuation of lies. Lies that have lost their charms and powers of persuasion, for me at least. So, if fear is truly the heart of love, then oblivion is the heart of happiness and I am in retirement from both.

Art is the great refusal of the world as it is.

I recently came across this video thinking it was a very convincing documentary spoof. To my utter astonishment and ongoing fascination, objectumsexuality is a very real psychological condition in which a person experiences ‘love’ toward a non human object.

What I found intriguing about the three featured objectumsexuals is that they were all female and shared in common, a history of emotional/physical neglect and abuse.

My first reaction was disbelief coupled with ridicule. I mean what fool would invest love in something that cannot return love? But, suddenly I began seeing myself as the fool because…well, isn’t inequity the case in most human relationships?

If we consider conventional practices of intimacy and romantic pursuit ‘objectumsexuality’ strikes us as an unusual departure in human relationship behavior and perhaps an aberrant disorder whose common denominator is psychological trauma.

I watched these videos several times, until what previously occurred to me as strange seemed no more remarkable than any other performance or act that comprises the social carnival.

For me, objectumsexuality is a rather unique and exceptional perspective on love. It challenges ideas and beliefs to which we have become accustomed and attached – that ‘real’ love can only take place between two people (of course, we’ll also accept animals into that equation since they possess ‘life’ and are animated, thus possessive of souls).

How does objectumsexuality mesh with our moral purview – is it ‘wrong’ to love an object with the same intensity and affection as one would love a friend, family member, or lover? How many of us are closet objectumsexuals and live in denial about our torrid object attachments?

What I found most intriguing were the uncanny parallels between the way objectumsexuals love objects and the way humans love humans. So, if we choose to look at objectumsexuality as some absurd, aberrant personality disorder – then we must realize that this judgment is relevant both sides.

I know I have been guilty of attributing qualities and characteristics to people in my past that were completely void of what [I later learned] I was projecting upon them. I have also been guilty of carrying on untenable relationships devoid of equity and completely one-sided. I believe we have all experienced love for or toward another person who was just as cold and austere as any object, so where does that place us?

ps. if you’re traveling to Paris, France to see the Eiffel Tower – be sure to bring your hand sanitizer…

Occasionally, I receive ‘fan mail’ in the form of emails; people writing in to tell me their thoughts, ideas, and reactions to my work. Others, who are seeking internship positions or those who wish to interview me about my work/career. Depending on the time of the year and my present mood/state of mind, I will often issue a brief reply.

However, back in October of last year, I received my very first hand-written letter from a student interested in a career in documentary photography. It made such an impression on me that I wrote a very lengthy and personal  reply. In an age of advanced communication technologies – text messaging and emails, the rarefied hand-written letter has become a superlative way of communicating.

October 30th 2008

Paul David Van Hoy II
One Pleasant St. Suite 605
Rochester NY 14604

Kacy Gray
C/O Mrs. Tomlinson
Cabot High School
401 N. Lincoln St.
Cabot, AR 72023

Kacy, let me first start by thanking you for taking the time to write me such a thoughtful letter. I’m not sure how you came to discover my name or my work, but I am flattered that my imagery inspires you so. Meaning is a topic I’ve been trying to tackle and make sense of since I began my first years as an MFA student at RIT here in Rochester NY.

Throughout your life I will venture to guess that the pursuit of meaning will run parallel with all that you endeavor especially as it pertains to photography. Some-days its existence will be obvious and evidenced in all things around you, others you will doubt any and all notions associated with the word itself.

I use language, signs, symbols, etc. to suggest or to allude, but even I don’t know what my images mean.  Know that meaning is not fixed in the intentions of the artist nor is it fixed in the artwork he or she produces. Know that meaning is not universal or everlasting. When the last human dies there will be no more meaning in the world.

Meaning is something we construct and like so many other constructions born of consciousness these things reside within us they are finite and impermanent. I resigned myself to making meaningful images many years ago. I prefer to make images that contain evidences of our true identity, candid revelations of who and what we are, perfect and imperfect – beautiful and grotesque.

As a photojournalist you will witness and experience a gulf of awe and horror – you will one day be forced to abandon your moral/cultural bias and contemplate beauty/meaning from an amoral perspective. You will construct and deconstruct for this is the process; the pain, punishment, and pleasure of a true artist unafraid to question the world…even god.

I tell people that I have always been a photographer because I can’t remember a time in my youth, even from my earliest memories, when I wasn’t arranging the world, composing, recomposing, cropping, recording, and most importantly, omitting. If you are truly a photographer and sincerely passionate about looking, life in an office will quickly become boring. You will soon discover the right path for yourself, if not already – so I wouldn’t worry too much about that.

I have officially worked as a photographer and earned my income from photography since the age of sixteen, but acknowledge this is highly exceptional and uncommon. I first pursued an Associate’s degree in photography and then went on to earn a Bachelor’s degree in fine art. In the spring of 2007 I earned my MFA (Master’s of fine art) in photography from the Rochester Institute of Photography.

Sources of inspiration are images, moving images, and words. I love movies; even the really shitty ones that make people leave the theater angry before the movie has officially ended. I love poetry and autobiography – a beautiful poem is a great image and a great image is a beautiful poem, for me they perform and accomplish the same task. Read Li-Young Lee or Franz Wright sometime, you may agree?

I am inspired by human interaction, whether that be how we interact with ourselves and with our environment when we are alone or amid a crowd of thousands. I love humility, vulnerability, and transitive and introspective moments (moving from one emotional state to another) – I would say these are more the subjects of my street photography than are the actual people pictured in my images.

I am most inspired by a curiosity and a sense of exploration that has been with me since childhood. The camera is a remarkable device for many reasons, but above all, it gives us license to explore our worlds and set out on adventures – even if we are restricted to our own backyards.

I got into photography because I was a very unhappy child who despised the circumstance/s of his youth – I wanted to escape or at least create a world more beautiful than the one I was stuck in. I was raised poor by very simple parents. I was the target of anger, abuse, and constant ridicule. Photography was the only thing that made that world redeeming. The only thing I could control in a world that was always out of control.

I hope my replies have helped shed some light on your questions. At this stage in your life some of my replies may seem strange or irrelevant, and if they do, keep this letter nearby and reread it often. I promise everything I said will ring with honesty and accuracy if you choose to pursue photography as your chosen career/lifestyle. Most people think that photography is about equipment locations, and subjects. I will tell you that photography is about nothing if it is not about you and your pursuit for something more meaningful in this life.

Sincerely,

Paul David Van Hoy II

(I found this shuffled into some boxed paperwork still in storage from my last move. During my undergrad we were asked to write a letter to ourselves and instructed not to open them for ten years. I made it seven before I found mine…)

Where has time and circumstance led you? Do you remember me, the man behind this voice, the way you were then… now? You always claimed that you could see a moment as it presented itself; that you always understood the gravity of your decisions and weight of your reasons. I wonder what you think you know now. What have you’ve convinced yourself of, how many lies have you sold yourself and others? If you are reading this then you are alive but now well, not who you thought you’d be or what you’d hoped to become.

I’m sorry if things didn’t work out for you, or if you grew tired of the game and gave in or gave up. You were once an amazing young man possessed of so much passion and an indomitable determination. Your perseverance was unyielding and your will overwhelmed and outlasted even your most formidable opponents. You were an excruciatingly stubborn man and quitting was never an option for you. You believed, most of all, in love and friendship had a capacity for both that seemed endless and unconditional.

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me or besmirched my reputation with your condescending ways which were more awfully aimed at yourself than others. I hope you haven’t plundered the memories of your past, my life, a life not yet fully lived or realized. I hope you can hold your comments and bite your tongue and find something beyond humilty in who you were and what you once believed.

You’re different now, let’s just hope you don’t find yourself bereft and bitter about not doing what you could have, what was within your immense power to do. Let’s hope you are happy once and for all. I love you.

Sincerely,
yourself

I tried on frumpy hats, some garnished with feathers from birds unknown, others bearing tobacco tinged rings of sweat around the satin bands where some had written their names, Ermel, Thomas, and Edmond Ray.

I thought about how exquisitely senior we would look dressed in the depressing fashions of a time taken more seriously. I pictured us breakfasting from an Asian tray table embossed with a pair of peacocks – the Parisian tea service from which we’d pour cup after overflowing cup of blueberry tea while gazing out across our courtyard with a shared pair of marchand mother of pearl opera glasses – the ones I stole to satisfy your fancy when we visited that opera house in Budapest.

I came across a walnut armoire with a chipped beveled mirror and imagined your red dress whispering to me from within. The bulge of your wardrobe forcing the right door ajar, so that from your canopy queen bed I am able to watch you in its mirror as you redress in reverse. The blue ball jar with its missing top – you call it your button jar; filled with all the colors and poorly threaded closures from years spent pairing the right ensemble.

The unopened deck of bicycle playing cards still sealed in cellophane – how we always proposed to play a hand or two, hearts or maybe even spades. But, somehow, that unopened deck remained unopened as did our mouths to that unspoken agreement that ‘playing cards’ was our secret phrase for a much racier game.