Over The Atlantic

As I leave the evening lights behind and in the uncomfortable airplane seat try to attend to my crazy life, I always end up with the same fear: Maybe it was not time yet! Maybe, just maybe. Could it be possible that we were all wrong? That we misread the signs; that we did not care. Then, I look out of the plane window and try to reason with myself. No. That is ridiculous! No; we know better. And yet, it is dark outside the plane. And it is now always dark in me.

A feeling that does not go away. An "away" that becomes an ever-present feeling. Other sorrows seem now bearable; joys do not exist. Just moments of lesser pain. One feels guilty to have smiled; one feels lonely when smiling.

I do know the answer to the above questions. I do know that I will ask the questions not to get answers but because I have to. Because that is how my life may now be. Because I already know the answers to these questions!

...Extreme feelings once helped me find that poem we all want to write. Intense moments often dictated the self-discovery we all fear. And yet, when I had to choose, it was always for the un-expected and the un-known.
Today, I have an extreme feeling. Perhaps the most extreme of all feelings and thoughts. And strange enough, when I am alone in a narrow seat at 36,000 feet, I dream of useless moments where neither pain nor joy ever found their time. But I know I found that oasis one wants, to quench a thirst suddenly unknown; to sit under that shade away from the light.

Funny, I know where all this is going. Yet, as it goes there, I seem to find myself surprised by its pace; by its direction. Is this a game?
Is there a reason why I should pretend not to know the direction?

And suddenly, I realize that what I just did is ask the "why" question! I asked the single most disturbing question which has no answer. In fact, I did ignore the rules: one has to ask the “what” question only and then wonder if there is a "why" question for everyone else to ask. Or, if only the select ones can reach that level of self punishment!

So, I look out of the window, this time with more acceptances. This time, I seem to know my limits. This time I will resist asking if I already know the answer. This time, I will only look out of the window for the sake of looking, not with any hope of seeing. This time, I know that I will always wonder if it was time. And, that I will still hope that I am wrong, even when I know the answer….

Delta # 90, NY to Barcelona

Nov 12, 2005

PS/ Written after reading a report that a new immunosuppressive medication has been successfully tested in patients with Lupus and kidney failure.

Darkroom Blues

Photography has given me a pleasant outlook to daily events. And it has been so for more than 30 years. Becoming a parent was the perfect “excuse” for taking thousands of shots each year. Yes, thousands of frames found their place on a B&W film I lovingly developed in my darkroom. I checked the negatives, decided on one or two good ones, and printed them on matte paper. Many found their place on walls, in many settings.

Ani was my favorite model. As a baby, a toddler, a budding teenager, and a young woman. Ani was made for photography. And my photography was made for her. Her eyes were soo deep, soo hazel, so telling. Her hair was night-dark, her smile the dream of any father. I used miles and miles of pellicle to catch that smile.

… On July 17 I saw Ani for the last time. It was in the funeral home, early morning. I took my camera with me. For the last pictures. And I took a roll-worth of shots. I do not know how I focused the old rangefinder. I was in a fog. I was not there. I could not say “smile, love”; I could not try to find an angle. Ani was a two dimensional, motionless, cold cadaver I was taking pictures of. About. From. But not thru. Never again will I be able to take a picture thru her, about her.

…. After the funeral, I often visited my darkroom, took the undeveloped canister of film in my hands but could not get the courage to develop it! What if something goes wrong? Too long in the developer? Too short in the fixer? What if I tear the film while rolling it? What if…
I just could not get myself to develop the last roll of film about Ani. The little girl who made me love photography even more. Who was hoping to enroll in photography class this year. Who though B&W pictures show the real colours of life…!

… A month later, I took all the energy I had down to the basement, to the darkroom. There, with foggy eyes and trembling hands I measured the chemicals with a zeal I had never done before. I cleaned the trays as if taking them to the operating room. And I put on surgical gloves to minimize damage to the wet pellicle. Finally, when I washed the developed roll in the sink and held it up to the red light, I felt a sense of accomplishment. Now, the last pictures of my little one were there. I would be able to print them. Look at them.

… Days later when I was agitating an 8x10 paper in the developer tray, I had the amazing sensation of seeing her slowly appear under the red light! Yes, it was a true appearance! And when I washed the fixed print in the sink, there was more than water from the faucet to wash it with..

I have gone back since and tried to secure all the negatives into waterproof boxes. The shoe boxes are not good enough for keeping such treasures! And, I realized that in the past 12 years I had not taken a single bad picture of Ani!! Today, any one of these pictures is a masterpiece….

November 1, 2005