There is Gold In Our Children

Parenting is difficult across the board.  And sometimes parenting is even more difficult due to additional challenges that our kids can face.  In discussing some mutual struggles with our respective kiddos, my friend Jenny K shared the following insight:

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But, I love and trust God and know He made these kids this way for good reason.  One day, when I was working in hospice, I was silently lamenting to God about [my kids].  And I heard Him say, "You have these problems because you and others need the gold hidden inside."

There is gold in our kids.  

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I needed to hear those words badly at that moment, and as soon as my friend shared this with me I started planning this self-portrait to illustrate what she shared.  

The gold in the tiny bottle is obvious in its meaning - the gold in our kids.  The expression on my intentionally out-of-focus face is meant to represent the pain and exhaustion from the struggle to find that needed gold by parenting through unique challenges.   

Fading Away

I have the honor of working in hospice, and don't consider someone 'old' until they've hit their 90s - so at 44, I don't imagine myself as actually old.  But, I'm certainly getting older.  Most people would agree as far as the physical part of getting older being not fun at all - that becomes clearer every day.  I joke that I'm meeting all the cliches - bald, need to lose weight, aches and pains.  Like, really bad aches and pains in my shoulder and knees, though not constant.   

Having lost my dad back in 2017, and having a lot of health struggles with my daughter, and finding that giving plasma twice a week is one of my few social engagements outside of work (it's really not even a social engagement) - and missing doing things with friends but recognizing that everyone has a million things going on as we get older - I often find myself trying to somehow revert back to childhood.  Rather, I find myself lost in the (good) memories of being a kid, having a loving home with parents who gave a lot of great experiences to myself and my sister - and desperately missing those moments.  

In the past year I've re-captured two of my childhood hobbies - remote control cars and Space Legos.  Both are a lot of fun to play with, but also painful - it makes me deeply miss doing those things as a kid without the concerns of adulthood. So I both love it and also recognize how much life has changed (as it does) since then.  

As we work on helping support our daughter, I've grown what I call my 'depression beard' - because I just have been too overwhelmed to do anything about it.  And as I am over 40 now, it was time that my eyes - which have always worked very well - to stop working at close distances.  I will say that I do like my progressives though, and it's nice to be able to see again.  That being said, growing way more hair on my face than I ever have, and now wearing glasses full time, my appearance has changed sort of dramatically in the past months.  

This photo is expressing the passing of time, by showing a current self-portrait of my holding one of my first every Space Lego sets from when I was 4 or 5 - and my vivid memory of first playing with it and how different life was then.  

I still have a lot to be grateful for - but it's also healthy to recognize change and that change can be painful and difficult.  Pretty much everyone knows this, and everyone could put themselves in a similar self-portrait with a similar toy.  So I welcome you to do so while taking a minute to look at my photo here.  

 

(Anxiety) אני יכול לא לזוז

 The Hebrew text translates "I'm not able to move," a self-portrait about anxiety.  

AS (When we see too much)

As with any post that relates to my hospice work - in order to not get anywhere close to violating HIPPA - I keep information about patient-related art to a bare minimum.  This self portrait is a reaction to a very difficult patient situation, with the tubes representing the visuals that go into our eyes. 

All the tubing used here was picked up personally after patients passed away to help families dispose of unneeded extra supplies.  As even sealed tubing cannot be given to another patient, I used some of this tubing to create this portrait.  I have since (through one of the other hospice chaplains I work with) found a place in Minneapolis/St.Paul called Mano a Mano that takes these kinds of supplies as donations and send them around the world.   

01001001 (8/2020)

01001001

The great I

Both Masked and Unmasked Once the Same the Same the 01001001

Cry the Scream the Silence Complicit 01001001 see the I in me and in I

01001001 See you but Pretend not

Flow the See the Time starts now and turn me away to 01001001

 

Unmasked and Masked I see the Pretend the Face I cannot see

01001001 see so more clearly

Now

The great I

Through Fingers barren the freedom of I The Rights of I the obsession of I

Not the me who you through trust I

but me - recognize Me through your eye

 

Run the time through Fear of you

Disguised as the glorification of 01001001

Touch from Afar but far from touch

Disconnected through I of 01001001

I walk away from the You that is not Me

Masked yet Unmasked 01001001

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The photo is a reflection on how in the time of SARS-CoV-2, though many people are masked both literally and/or metaphorically through being hidden behind a computer, tablet, or phone screen, people have become a lot more vocal about their beliefs.  But without face to face communication much is lost in translation and much misunderstanding is perpetuated (I'm part of this problem just like everyone else).  

The "I" in a negative sense emerges - a disturbing trend of people focusing more on themselves than on others, perpetuated often times through electronic communication which serves to both advocate beliefs that can be harmful, and as a way to rally people to commit harmful acts.  This has been intensified by the murder of George Floyd and other people of color in a time that already has significant social challenge.  This photo is black and white as a reminder of how important discussions of race are right now, and how important it is to be anti-racist to the absolute best of our abilities.

01001001 is the binary code for capital I - in the brief reflection/poem above the number 01001001 should be read as "I."  This is the number stamped on my hands as well, as the electronic communication that can fuel both good and evil is generally entered by hand (or thumbs).  My phone is in my hands as a placeholder for the phones, tablets, and computers we communicate with.

Mask from Diop, a black-owned business based out of Detroit

My Heart is Broken (Photo and Reflection)

I've been working over this piece in my head for about 4-5 months now (this is the second attempt at the photo, my first attempt didn't convey what I was trying to convey), and the idea has intensified with the emergence of the SARS-CoV-2 global pandemic.  This is a lament piece primarily lamenting the current cultural and political climate in the United States.

Though the words of the reflection are all my own I need to give a nod to Evanescence's 2011 song 'My Heart is Broken' written after Amy Lee and her husband got involved in an organization that helps rescue victims of sex trafficking, which is where my titling of my piece came from. Video here.

My Heart Is Broken

By: Gregory A. Gilbert

My heart is broken

For lack of compassion when compassion is preached

For those teaching peace and practicing hate

For those who state life but only for few (which they fervently deny)

My heart is broken, my heart is broken, my heart is broken

My heart is broken

For lack of trust in those most trustworthy

For those who hold onto misunderstanding over humility

For those who value tradition more than honest inquiry (which they fervently deny)

My heart is broken, my heart is broken, my heart is broken

My heart is broken

For lack of mercy to those who are hurting

For those who mock sensitivity while being more sensitive than those they accuse

For those who shatter others who threaten their own fragilities (which they fervently deny)

My heart is broken, my heart is broken, my heart is broken

My heart is broken

For lack of love to those who love most

For those who accuse of what they secretly practice themselves

For those who wash their hands in ignorance of all they have done (which they fervently deny)

My heart is broken, my heart is broken, my heart is broken

My heart is broken

For lack of concern for truth

For those who respect views only matching their own

For those who speak the loudest which they least understand (which they fervently deny)

My heart is broken, my heart is broken, my heart is broken

My heart is broken

For lack of love to those who are other

For those who condemn what they cannot experience

For those who are disgusted by their own misinterpretation (which they fervently deny)

My heart is broken, my heart is broken, my heart is broken

My heart is broken

For lack of acceptance of responsibility

For those who present toxicities as the moral standard for life

For those who claim compassion while inflicting malice (which they fervently deny)

My heart is broken, my heart is broken, my heart is broken.  

ALS Speech Lament - 3.4.2018

My dad was diagnosed with ALS in March of 2017 and passed away in September of 2017.  Being a full-time hospice worker, I see death every day from every kind of disease imaginable - and I believe that ALS is one of the most difficult diseases.  Not because of the fact that it takes away movement in the arms, lets, feet, and hands (which is tragic enough) but that it ultimately takes away your ability to speak and communicate, while retaining full mental function and awareness.

I've been thinking for a long time about how to communicate this kind of loss through an image, which has been a much longer process than I would have thought because of the multiplicity of things that I'm trying to communicate.  The photo below is the end result of that process.

I don't normally explain my self-portraits in detail, but this one needs that explanation.  The red thread around my mouth is meant to represent both the loss of speech, and to symbolize the motor neurons that die off when someone has ALS.  The blue makeup highlighting my eyes is meant to highlight the fact that ALS does not affect the mind, and that those inflicted with ALS are still 100% aware of what's going on in their own body and around them.  The white background contrasting into the black that I'm wearing is meant to show the body being swallowed up into an internal prison (represented by darkness in this photo), while the mind remains pristine (represented by the white background).     

Self-Portrait Makeup Study 3.4.2018

This is a study for my ALS Grief Process Work.

I Love You, Dad

תהו ובהו

Tears for Damon

Self Portraits: הקול שלי series ('My Voice'), 4.13.2012

I prefer to keep explanations to a minimum on this site, but the הקול שלי series needs a brief one.  Both of these portraits are meant to be lament pieces: laments for myself and people who feel like their voices are often not heard or understood.  People who truly listen are often very hard to come by, and it's easy for one to feel like their voice has been lost.  

Self Portraits: 3.30.2012

Pinhole Self Portrait

The self-portrait below was created by punching a small hole in the body cap of my small Rebel XTi and using it as a pinhole camera.  I used a small maglight to light myself during the exposure (20 seconds) and then processed the image in Lightroom.  The coverage using the 'cap pinhole' doesn't even fully cover the 1.6x crop sensor, so I wouldn't even bother trying it on my 5DII, but I think it could produce a lot of interesting images on any 1.6x camera (Canon xxD series, Rebel series, 7D) and would be even sized on 1.5x cameras (Nikon DX).

Self Portraits: Later College

The shots below (the second is an enlarged printed detail of the first) are some of my favorite examples of my later college self portrait and works combining performance, sculpture, and drawing (I'll only talk about the first since the second is really the same shot).

Step one of the photo after setting up the camera was the most difficult: wrapping my own body in duct tape (I do NOT recommend this).  I was able to wrap my own legs and most of my torso, but then I had to enlist help to cover my upper body and arms.  I added some long black fake fingernails and then poured a bucket of water over my head (you know, for effect).  I then positioned the seven-foot cross that I had covered in self-portraits and barbed wire and did six different poses with the cross.  All the photos were shot with a 20ft air shutter release (that I was able to just step on when I was ready) connected to a 4x5 Crown Graphic large format camera.  All six negatives were then stacked on top of each other, a clear sheet of acetate with text was added, and then I put the whole stake in the enlarger.  This particular print from the negative sandwich was printed 3x5 feet which was an enormous pain to run through the chemical baths.

Self Portraits: Early College

Still a lot of angst and anger in early college.  My sophomore year in particular was an extremely painful time and   I often expressed that through my self portraits (and as you can see, sometimes heavily made-up self portraits).  Quality note: the last four of these are scans of horribly exposed slides: the matboard is all 100% cotton board and brilliant white: not this disgusting yellowish hue.  The top photo in this post was taken with a Ciroflex Twins Lens Reflex medium format camera (layered negatives) - the other shots were all taken with a Canon A2e (35mm).

Self Portraits: High School and Early College (1996-1998)

I suppose that in one sense obsessions with self potraits could be a bit suspect (of who knows what) but ever since I really started into photography my second semester of my junior year of high school I became my own most frequented subject.  Part of this has to do with the fact that it's easier to work with one's self than with another person because you know exactly what you want and how you want it, and generally don't get impatient with yourself if it takes a while to get it.  The other aspect of it is that when I look at my self-portraits from over the years it helps me remember who I was and where I've been: looking at my old self portraits is very much like looking back in time. 

In this first 'self-portrait' posting, I'm posting a collection of self portraits that I took throughout the second half of my junior year of high school through the first semester of my sophomore year of college.  You'll notice that a lot of these photos are a bit beat up: the reason is that they were once all a part of a 7-foot high cross sculpture that I had covered with these photos and then wrapped with barbed wire.  The scupture is gone (but I have photos - see my 'sculpture' postings) but I wanted to preserve the photos so I removed them all and scanned them.  Most of these photos were shot with a Konica FS-1 camera using the self-timer.  Others were taken with my Canon A2e, and still others taking with a Ciroflex Twins Lens Reflex (medium format 2 1/4). 

Note and Disclaimer:
These photos are not in chronological order.  The disclaimer is that I'm well aware of how horribly these photos are printed.  They're all early attempts at printing each photo which I tossed in my 'reject but maybe I'll think of a use for it later' bin.  When I had the idea for the cross sculpture, all of these poorly printed silver gelatin prints suddenly got new life.  I've given many of the originals away so in many instances these are the only copies of these prints that I have left.  All of the shots below were shot, processed, and printed by me.  It's been quite some time since I've been in a darkroom and I miss it terribly...digital will never touch the beauty of film.

Disclaimer #2:
We all had angst in high school and early college.  It's just that I have photographic proof of mine.