Looking for Themes: Water

I've shot very little in the last few months -- both my cameras have had battery problems, and there was the upheaval of the holidays and a lot of time spent on other projects, all mixed in with the busy-ness of life as an at-home parent.

You know what? I haven't missed shooting all that much.

I look back at my photos from the last few years, and I may as well have taken them a decade ago, they feel so far away. I appreciate them and am proud of the work I've done and how much I've learned in the past five years, but I have absolutely no urge to shoot now.

As with my writing, when I look closely at my photos, I see recurring themes. I don't plan them -- they just happen. I appreciate that spontaneity. I trust it. So maybe these themes will tell me something.

I'm going to try to explore the themes and subjects in my photos to see if I can get to the heart of my 'problem', one that's been eating at me for as long as I can remember: why do I swing so far and so quickly (and so predictably) from one interest to another? How is it possible to be so immersed in photography for several months, then go several more without any urge to shoot? Why does the same thing happen with writing and music? Is there something in my work that reveals a sort of answer?

First up is water. It terrifies me. I have so many negative memories of it: I remember standing on the diving board at swim class, hearing the egging on from friends and lifeguards that quickly went from encouragement to annoyance. It took me forever to jump in the deep end, and when I did, I grasped for the aluminum pole that would pull me to the surface. Helpless.

I remember nearly drowning while racing my brother into deeper water on Lake Sacandaga. I remember being the only one of my friends who didn't swim across the reservoir and back. I remember Dan pretending he was drowning. I remember talking nervously while on boats and making excuses not to walk out to the end of a dock. I have had so many nightmares about drowning, about my kids drowning, about needing to stay afloat, and not being able to.

I am trying to take control of this fear. I took swim lessons recently, and we bought a place on the lake last summer. I've even gone out kayaking by myself (staying close to shore).

And through all of this, water's been one of my favorite subjects to write about and photograph. I understand why people crowd around lakes and retreat to the water when they seek solace. I do the same thing; I just don't jump in like most people.

Is 'jumping in' a metaphor for taking chances in life? For relying on one's simple yet amazing ability to keep yourself afloat? Why have I started to test myself in the water now, when all I've done in the past is admire it from a distance? Is my recent string of disillusionments with the reality of creative pursuits leading to some sort of revelation that I'm spending my life watching and not doing, creating and not being? Do I just need to let go?

Boy, that's heavy for a Thursday morning.

-G