Dad says,
“Here, take this,”
hands me back my phone.
Says I should have it
if I am going to be out
alone.
Mom shakes her head,
like I don’t deserve it.
Mom,
in her Mean Queen voice,
“Don’t make us regret this, Linc.”
Grab Roy’s camera,
my map,
pretend to walk to the park.
Then—
a taxi honks
the camera flashes
a pigeon turns around.
When no one’s looking
I turn the other way
quick
and
click/click
run.
LIGHT-HEADED
PHOTO CLASS #1, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20TH
26 DAYS UNTIL IAA APPLICATION DUE
I arrive at the Center,
scan the room,
hope I don’t see anyone I know:
A man
maybe seventy.
Two
middle-aged women.
Some
other teens.
But then—
someone who looks my age
someone I recognize—
the blue-haired guy
from the carousel.
Eyes focused on his camera
looking critically at the image on-screen.
His hair so blue,
I taste Popsicles, bubble gum.
Slide in next to him.
He looks up.
When I look into his eyes,
he holds my gaze.
Strong cheekbones.
Olive skin.
Pink lips.
His faded gray T-shirt reads:
“I’m Going to Be a Grandpa.”
I congratulate him
on the soon-to-be birth
of his grandson.
He laughs, says his name’s Silas.
Tell him mine,
ask him what his children
are naming their kid.
“Vern,” he says, no hesitation.
STRENGTHENING
I’m still laughing
when
the teacher,
Fiona,
starts class.
She pushes up her glasses over tight curls, says,
“Welcome to Intermediate Photography.
We’ll be together three hours
every Saturday
for the next several weeks.”
She points to drawers we can label with our names,
a place to store our prints.
She says
because we all have
some fundamental understanding of photography
we can take photographs
of anything we choose for this class.
But we will critique each other’s work
and she will show us how to make our own
stronger.
Different techniques we can use.
“This is an exciting time to be a photographer.
There’s so much we can do with color.
We can be painters too.”
Then she asks us to tell a little bit about ourselves:
who we are
and
why we’re here.
Silas says the reason he’s here
is that he feels most alive
when he’s capturing images.
A tingling passes through me.
When it’s my turn
I tell them the truth:
I want to go to art school,
I need to learn more.
This is what I want to do with my life.
As we go around my fingers burn,
there’s an energy in this place
these people
I wish I could capture
color
keep.
MIND-CAMERAS
Fiona says
to be a real photographer
your mind-camera—
the part of your brain that pictures
the way an image will turn out
the part of your brain that pictures
what isn’t there
but could be—
must be on high alert,
tuning in
to your surroundings
at all times.
I think of my own mind-camera
how sometimes it feels
like it’s on overdrive
how I can hardly
ever
turn it off.
Maybe, here, finally—
my mind-camera will be worth something—
not a curse
not a distraction
but a gift.
COMPOSITION
Fiona projects on-screen:
a bird’s wing
half a face a blurry bluish space.
Asks us to use our “mind-cameras,”
share what the images convey.
Silas, not shy, calls out:
“Flying—”
Then he looks at me.
I look back, away.
An older man:
“Dreaming—”
“Loneliness,”
I say.
“What about now?”
She shows
the whole bird.
The whole face.
The blue, a sliver of sky.
“Freedom!”
“Harmony!”
“Reflection!”
“You see? Composition changes everything,” she says.
Just an hour ago,
I was with my family,
together but alone.
Now, looking around me,
I know
I have more in common
with these other artists
than anyone at home.
TRACING
After class,
Silas,
so tall he towers over me,
asks what I’m up to.
I tell him I have to be home
in thirty minutes
but first
I’m going to the park
to take some pictures.
He says, “Cool, mind if I come?”
My heart’s shutter speeds up.
But when we get there,
he takes off for the Meadow.
Says he’ll circle back.
I watch him till he vanishes,
then focus in on:
short person/ tall
pale person/ brown
young person/ old.
All these people who exist
right now
never even knowing
they trace footsteps
from another time and space.
How can I frame them
like ghosts of a past
they never knew?
COMMUTING
Fifteen minutes later
Silas returns.
Ten minutes until
I need to be home.
“I got shots of mimes
performing in ‘an orchestra,’ ”
he says.
I tell him that sounds epic.
Ask him how he heard about the Center.
Says his parents are divorced,
Mom, downtown, Dad, up.
His dad suggested the Center,
something “positive” for him to do on the weekends
so he wasn’t always going
back
downtown to see his friends.
His stepsister is usually there anyway,
she and his dad fight a lot.
Good to get out of the house.
He asks how long
I’ve been into photography.
I tell him about Photo 1,
how I take pictures with my phone.
Now with my uncle’s old camera too.
Tell him about my history project.
He seems to really listen.
It starts to drizzle.
“I should go,”
I say.
He gets up with me.
Our footsteps
fall
in line.
BLINK & FLY
As we walk
Silas asks
what’s a name like Linc, anyway.
“My dad named me.
I was a surprise pregnancy.
Their missing link.”
Look at the time.
Shit.
I’m five minutes late.
The rain falls faster,
I speed up toward home,
tell him I don’t want to go
but I can’t get in any more trouble.
He laughs, says he knows how that goes.
Touches my hand,
asks if we can get together
again
sometime—
outside of class.
Everything feels like it’s happening
at lightning speed,
but somehow I’m not scared.
I practically yell, “Yes!”
He nods,
“Cool,”
pulls out his electronic cigarette
then disappears down the block.
I reach the steps of our brownstone
look at the bird
carved into the side.
Its eyes blink twice at me,
wings flutter,
then fly.
DEVELOPING
AUTOMATIC FLASH
In the door, ten minutes late.
Mom gives me a look.
Dad asks me how it went.
“Great!” I say, heart pounding.
Silas asked me out?!
A raindrop drips down
my cheek,
I open my mouth
catch it.
For a minute
(flash)
I wish Holly
and I were speaking.
Wish I
could tell her my news.
Text Ellery instead.
She sends a parade of happy dancers.
Then she says: Tell me everything Monday.
Ellery would like Silas.
They’re both artists.
And so
//flash//
am I.
ARTIST’S STATEMENT FOR INNOVATIVE ARTS ACADEMY APPLICATION
Artists express the world the way they see it. Oftentimes, they see things in unusual ways—sometimes they even see what isn’t actually there but could be. My vision as a photographer is to show that there is more than one layer of truth to any given moment. One example of this is how the past lives on in the present.
I have always felt better at expressing myself, more understood, through images. At a school like IAA, I believe I would be surrounded by others who could relate to this experience.
MY OWN SETTLEMENT
I start off strong, then
blank
blank
blank.
What else can I say about my vision?
What truth am I trying to capture?
I wander into the den,
try to get un-
stuck.
Dad, Mom & Holly are playing
one of their games.
My parents say hi,
Holly does not.
They:
Like German strategy games,
Carcassone, Agricola, Settlers of Catan.
A trio
hunched around boards,
capturing places
like I do photos.
I:
Used to try to play,
always got distracted, bored.
Then:
Mom would tell me to
focus, pay attention.
Now:
No one invites me to play.
I move back to my room.
What is your vision?
What truth are you trying to capture with your art?
No words come.
I draw on the corner behind my bed.
Settle:
My own community.
Blue-haired mermaids bathing on rocks.
A huge blue sun,
pink and orange clouds
stretched across the sky like wings.
TRACES
Sunday,
Mom’s wineglass out,
Dad saves me
accompanies me again
to the park.
I ask him if he’s noticed
Mom drinking more lately.
He says she’s just been
a bit stressed. Not to worry.
Changes the subject
back to the park.
Tells me about the day
the villagers had to leave.
October 1st, 1857.
African American citizens of Seneca Village
and “Pigtown,”
a neighborhood of Irish immigrants just south,
Germans scattered throughout,
all 1,600 people
forced to leave their homes.
Barely left traces of their
schools
churches
farms.
There was an excavation, Dad says,
some years back:
They would dig and refill
the site in the park overnight.
They found:
a child’s shoe
a roasting pan
a teakettle
an entire foundation wall
of the All Angels’ sexton’s home.
While he talks, I take photographs of
where the churches were,
the school.
Focus in on people
with clasped hands,
reading books,
in those very same spots—
merging present with past.
REWORK
When I get home,
Mom is in her room,
she’s already checked
all my homework.
She says the answers
are mostly right
but my work is sloppy.
I need to proofread,
show all my work.
I take a chance,
dart to my room.
How can I make myself better at this?
Bring up my GPA?
I need to do better in
science and math
history and gym
for a 2.7 overall.
In the darkroom,
last year in Photo 1,
the teacher switched
developing prints
from bath to bath,
said—
“Chemistry
is as essential to photography
as creativity.”
So I force myself to try harder.
Show all the steps to the problem.
Try to see science
as something essential.
Necessary to my craft.
Mom peeks in as I do.
> I feel her stare,
press down so hard
on the pencil
it breaks in two.
TUNE OUT
Monday again—
suspension over.
Overnight,
Silas texted me
hey what’s up.
My heart races.
I trail
steps behind
Maggs & Holly
on the way to school.
Their matching calf muscles
in stride, so strong
the concrete retracts for them.
Earbuds in,
tune them out,
notice
where the still-green grass pokes through
the concrete
in quiet rebellion.
Take a picture.
Send it to Silas.
Turn up the song,
turn down a new corner.
I stop following them
take a route all my own.
DANGLING
I swerve & turn
all the way to school.
No response
from Silas yet.
In the hall,
Stefano
calls out to Ethan
who shouts to Maggs
who tags Holly
who’s still ignoring me
and all their friends surround.
I am careful
to avoid them
{
they are the ~web~
}
and me,
a
spider
no thread.
ABOUT (WITHOUT) ME
After lunch,
Ellery walks me to
my weekly meeting
with Mr. Chapman.
Assures me Silas will write back.
When I open the door,
both my parents are there.
And the principal.
I freeze.
The ceiling fan
spins on
a cabinet
opens closes.
What the hell?
Dad’s hand rests on Mom’s knee.
The principal rubs one temple.
“Linc, please, sit.”
Legs shake as I do.
“Your parents and I have been talking.
We are disappointed in your behavior.
But they assure me this violent outburst was atypical.
They assure me you will behave.
Mr. Chapman says you have been following through
with your weekly meetings and handing in your work
with success.”
My cheeks burn.
“We will give you one final opportunity.”
The Way the Light Bends Page 7
