A new perspective

Learning to see:

looking out of The National Gallery

onto Trafalgar Square

Nelson's Column anchors the picture

The London Eye centers it

For most of my life, I was the person who always forgot to bring her camera on holiday. My family used to joke that by the time we got a roll of film developed, we had no idea what we would find on it: a bit of Halloween, somebody's birthday, a random school event, everyone dressed up for Easter. We took a decidedly casual approach to our recorded memories . . . and now I'm starting to wonder about all of the things that we've forgotten.

I've almost always owned a camera -- but something just basic; something that I didn't really know how to use.

One of the many unexpected things that blogging has brought into my life is a fledgling interest in photography. Although I've always had a reverence for words, I've just begun to appreciate the possibilities of images.

It has also occurred to me that my notoriously unobservant eye needn't remain that way. We can actually teach ourselves to see -- not just with an eye for more detail or better recall, but with an expanded sense of possibility for what seeing actually means.

At its best, blogging is a reciprocal dialogue. Lately, I have been noticing a fascinating confluence of ideas.

Confluence:
A flowing together of two or more streams.
The point of juncture of such streams.
The combined stream formed by this juncture.

As an example, on Friday I visited The National Gallery in London. As I was exiting the museum, I noticed how a glass hallway made an interesting vertical frame for some of the most iconic images of London. I truly don't think I would have noticed this view if I hadn't had a camera in my hand. Even just a few months of trying to record -- not just what I see, but something much better -- has started to expand the lens I look through.

I was thinking about this idea when I read Reya Mellicker's essay: Photography Changes How and What We See. I strongly urge you to read Reya's essay in its entirety-- and also her thoughtful and wonderfully inspiring blog The Gold Puppy -- but in the meantime, I'm going to share some of the thoughts that jumped out at me.

The more we look at photographs, the easier it is to perceive what we’re accustomed to ignoring. Not long ago, Lucy (a brilliant photographer) happened to mention how photographs tend to show up all of the power lines/signage/trash bins that we are accustomed to just visually tuning out. It was one of those random confluences, as I had just had that realization myself. My attempts to take pictures of the countryside have made me so aware of the signs of human encroachment: power lines everywhere! (More confluence: As I went back to find the link, I discovered that Lucy had mentioned this again.)

In photographs, we are given a glimpse of the world through the eye, and in many ways through the heart, of other beholders. Suddenly we are able to see things and people, situations and landscapes, perspectives, angles, colors and shapes that we might never have noticed on our own. This idea is all mixed up in blogging for me. The personal aspect of blogging -- the fact of being able to participate (through commenting) in what you see and how it makes you feel -- has transformed the idea of "the world" for me, both shrinking and expanding it. I've also realized that some people will find what I see (whether it is Trafalgar Square or the view outside of my window) exotic and interesting . . . just because it is different from what they see. Somehow, this enables me to appreciate my life in a different way: To think of it as something that I am crafting everyday.

Photography creates a bridge between what we expect to see, and all there really is to see. How profound is that? And it makes sense on so many levels. Yesterday I was reading an interview of David Lynch and he mentioned -- with much excitement and awe -- that his highly pixilated camera could capture "something like 4,000 pieces of information per photograph." I don't even have 20/20 vision or artistic vision . . . much less the pixilated kind. Strangely enough, this mechanical device actually reveals so many mysteries.

The truth is that visually, we scan for what we know, for what we expect and for what we value, ignoring all the rest, which is a pretty narrow view when you think about it. But put a lens between the human eye and the world, capture an image, and many possibilities open up. Photography presents us with a way to see the unseen, to notice what isn’t usually obvious, and in so doing, opens the mind’s eye in many ways.

Light and Dark

Mahatma Gandhi

On a bitterly cold day in January, I was hurriedly cutting through the Tavistock Square Garden when I found myself face to bowed head with this arresting statue. Ghandhi, pared down to absolute simplicity: the distinctive bald head, the sinewy body, the simple dhoti. Gandhi, the great 20th century leader: associated with peace, non-violence and the independence of India.

Perhaps because of the cold, the park was completely empty. For several minutes, as I stood before this statue, there was an utter quiet -- all of London's millions muted by space and trees and a bulwark of enduring Victorian brick. The serenity of the scene was reinforced by the muted winter palette: iron gray, soft pale green, the pearly white of frost and breathy vapor.

Tavistock Square Garden is known as "the peace park," and Gandhi's statue is not the only tribute (or reparation made) to those who have tried to alleviate human suffering in this violent world. On the day that I was there, it was difficult to imagine it being anything other than what it was: quiet, still, contemplative. And yet: ironically, or perhaps intentionally, a bus was blown up just outside the park on July 7, 2005 and 13 lives were lost. Although I felt a deep peace emanating from that place, the world is constantly stirred up with anger, fear and all of the dire competitive aspects of staking a place and carving out the spoils.

Is peace the starting point, or only what is hard-earned after struggle?

Although Gandhi is only briefly alluded to in Slumdog Millionaire -- the film that swept the BAFTA Awards on Sunday night, and that I saw recently -- I keep thinking of him as I attempt to process the visceral experience of being immersed in the intense world of Mumbai. India: a rich stew of color, sound, smells and living things everywhere. Are there any quiet, muted corners in that great teeming city?

In England, one can absorb a sense of peace from the external landscape; but in India, I suspect that spiritual practices are so ancient and advanced precisely because they have to be enacted from an internal landscape.

The Slumdog Millionaire movie has been inaccurately billed as "feel good" by some media soundbites -- and I know of one person who had to leave the theater, quite unprepared for the assault on the senses and the emotional battering that the film delivers. Although the credits of the movie are certainly "feel good," it is a grueling journey to get there. I felt quite wrung out.

There is a happy ending of sorts, but as in the darkest fairy tales, it has to be earned through many trials. For Westerners, so intent on protecting on children from any small harm, it is shocking to witness what the central characters - who are young children, orphaned before the viewer's eyes - have to endure. Although the children show great resilience, humor, playfulness and loyalty, they are all scarred in various ways. Of course.

This morning, I was reading an article about an up-and-coming political leader in the United States and a phrase that he used - "prisoner of hope" - stuck in my mind. That phrase is further defined as "the existential armour to hold off despair and doubt." I think that Gandhi must have cloaked himself in a similar sort of armour. How else could he have believed that non-violence could liberate so many people? Although he knew that violence and hate would win many skirmishes, he had a deep belief that non-violence and love would eventually overcome.

There has been some criticism that Slumdog Millionaire portrays India in an overly negative light. Braja, who writes Lost and Found in India, addresses this notion in a post called "The truth about India." If the film is understood as a fairy tale or modern parable, I think that it makes sense to reveal the world as a dark place. I don't know if darkness is the yin or the yang, but it is the counterpart to light -- and those forces are everywhere, perhaps just a bit more obvious in a place like Mumbai.

Despite everything he experiences -- and these experiences are revealed ingeniously through the plotting of the film -- Jamal, the slumdog of the title, has a deep belief in love. That belief sustains him and gives his life focus. Whether you think of it as a guiding principle, or a "prison of hope," it keeps his spirit intact. He does overcome, in the Martin Luther King sense, although that is more of a process than an ending.

Life (as ever?) seems like a toxic brew these days. It always seems that we are slipping down, that the situation is worsening, that we are on the edge of disaster. (Same as it ever was, history might tell us.) The fiery landscape of Australia is just as present as the frozen playground of England.

Even so, it seems worthwhile to fix one's mind on peace, love and hope. It isn't an easy thing to watch - certainly not happiness at a bargain price -- but I would argue that Slumdog Millionaire is worth the effort.