Alone, p.7
Alone, page 7
“Thanks,” I said eying the materials in my arms.
“Oh. Here is a great book describing what you've bought and how to use them. You'll develop your own style of course, but this will show you the basics.”
“Alright,” I said heading for the counter to unburden my arms from the load. “What about a camera? A good beginner one.”
“Wow, really looking to branch out today aren't you? Okay, over here.” I followed her to the selection of cameras on the back wall. “Are you thinking digital or 35mm?”
“35mm,” I responded, proud I knew the difference.
“Very traditional. This is my favorite. It's a Cannon Rebel. Takes beautiful photographs. Has all the basic settings, as well as a few advanced ones. And here is a lens with a bit more of a variety in zooms than the one the camera comes with. Optional of course.”
“I'll take it.”
“You'll need film as well.”
After I had spent a near fortune at Explorations, I wasn't very excited to try my new purchases out. It was all a bit overwhelming. However, if I was going to attempt new paths for the art show, I'd better start as soon as possible. I would try watercolor first. It seemed to be the most logical since I already knew how to paint. Photography was completely stepping outside the box for me. My pictures had always been overexposed disposable camera shots or blurry Polaroid’s.
I read the book on watercolor first, well some of it anyway, as I needed to know how each brush was used. I tried it out by painting a simple rose but it just didn't feel right. The brushes were too smooth and the colors were muted. I liked the crunch sound of the brush on the canvas when I painted with acrylics. Watercolor was too soft for me. I put the paints away and set the painting on my dining room table to dry.
I pulled out my camera and spent a long time reading the detailed manual. There was too much to understand so I focused on just a few different settings. I loaded the film and the batteries and turned the camera on. It sprung to life and I tried focusing on different items in my apartment at different zooms but didn't take a single picture. I thought about what I would want my first picture to be of, I felt like it should be meaningful in some way.
I went to my bedroom and took out my box. I removed the knife and set it aside. That wasn't something I wanted in the picture. That was a little too personal. I arranged the different things inside. The calligraphy pen on top and a small piece of parchment with some random sayings on it. I had my blue ribbon from my tenth grade art show. Some red paint and a paintbrush showing themselves just a little bit. I stood above it and focused my camera on the shot inside the box. I had no idea if the lighting was right or not. The light was behind me, which I read was right, but that was the only thing I knew I had right. I took two shots and put the knife back in the box.
“Nice camera.”
I jumped in my seat and turned to see Sara standing in my room. How did she seem to always come out of no where? I knew the door was unlocked this time but I didn't hear the door close or her footsteps as she walked through my apartment to my room.
“I knocked but you didn't answer,” she said as I tried to calm myself.
“You scared the hell out of me Sara. Can't you make some noise or something when you're around?”
“Sorry. I'll remember that next time. I see you took my advice and got a camera and some watercolors.”
“Yeah. I don't think I like the watercolor. Just not my style.”
“The rose is beautiful though. I love it. It's so simple and delicate. You can't actually think it would look better in acrylic. Roses are supposed to look delicate.”
I laughed, of course she was right, but that didn't make me like the process any better. “I do like the camera. Since you talked me into buying it, doesn't that kind of obligate you to be one of my subjects?” I asked.
“No!” Sara shouted. “I'm sorry. I just don't think it's a good idea. I've never liked getting my picture taken. Please don't.”
“Alright, can I just ask why? I mean you let me paint you.”
“That's different. Just please, no pictures okay?”
“No pictures, I promise,” I said unable to hide the disappointment.
“What's in the box?” she asked obviously trying to change the subject.
“Have a seat and I will show you.” Sara sat on the bed with the box between us.
I showed her a photo of the first painting I had ever done, called Mystery Section. Just a simple acrylic of a few books that stood out in the Mystery Section of my high school library. I showed her the first paintbrush I had ever bought, now completely ruined from too much use. The calligraphy pen that was used only a few times, it wasn't something I was able to master. A small reminder of one of my many failures. There was also a Polaroid of my mother looking frustrated on the couch that I had taken when I was thirteen. It was the only photo I had kept of her, and I wasn't entirely sure why.
Sara just sat there listening most of the time. Only asking questions that would make me reveal something a little more personal about myself. Too personal sometimes, but I still answered.
“And this is the knife you use?” Sara asked matter of fact as she picked it up. I nodded. “Why don't you just get rid of it? It might suppress the temptation you know.”
“It's not that easy. If it were, I would've gotten rid of it a long time ago,” I said taking the knife and putting it back in the box and put the cover back on. Once the box was away in the closet, we decided to continue the conversation in the living room.
“You know Willow, tomorrow is Open Mic,” she said taking her spot on the sofa.
“Oh yeah?” I asked disinterested.
“Yes, and I think you should go.”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
I sighed, “I already explained the issue I have with music.” This was not a conversation I wanted to be having. “I don't allow myself to be influenced by other people's art. I wouldn't feel like it's mine.”
She contemplated that for a moment and said, “That's not entirely true.”
“Uh, yes it is. I haven't seen a TV show or listened to music in almost ten years.”
She pointed at the painting of the organ and said, “What inspired this?”
“Mrs. Schneider, she plays the organ at...” Sara raised her eyebrows at me. “That's different,” I defended. “I can't fully avoid music. When she plays, everyone in New Jollie hears it.”
“How does it make you feel when she plays?”
“Peaceful,” I admitted.
“What do you think people feel when they look at your art?”
“I have no idea.”
“People feel emotions when they look at what you've created. Who knows if it's the same emotion you felt when you painted the picture? The fact is, you draw out people's emotions with what you do. That's why your work sells so quickly.”
“I thought we were talking about Open Mic,” I said trying to put an end to the topic.
“We are. Don't you see? Just because you might be inspired by a song doesn't mean that whatever you create because of that inspiration isn't yours. Because really, isn't it the emotion you feel and not specifically Mrs. Schneider's playing that inspires you?”
I had to internalize that for a minute before I could respond. “It is the emotion, but I wouldn't feel that emotion if she wasn't playing.”
“okay. So, if you felt so strongly about not letting other people's art influence you, why did you paint the organ?”
She had me there. There was no way I could argue that point. “It just feels wrong somehow. I guess I can't explain it,” was my feeble defense.
“I'm not telling you to go out and buy a stereo and a collection of CD’s. Just don't close yourself off to new experiences because you're afraid it will affect your art. If it affects your work in some way, embrace it and run with it. Don't be disappointed in yourself because of it. You let other things affect your work, so what's the difference if it's a song or someone's words? It might actually be a good thing, or do you regret purchasing that camera? You know you wouldn't have gone and tried photography if I hadn't planted the idea in your head, so I influenced your art,” she smiled proudly knowing she had won the debate.
I smiled back, she definitely knew how to plead her case. “I do like the camera, although I don't have any idea how any of the pictures will come out.”
“Tomorrow is Open Mic, you've got a new camera, go try it out. There's so much there to take pictures of. So many lights and instruments and people. I really think you should go.”
“Will you be there?” That would no doubt be a deciding factor on going.
Sara shrugged and looked away. I took that as a no. “I'd rather see it through your eyes. Take the pictures and tell me the story.” We both let the subject go. The last thing I wanted was for her to disappear on me again.
“Can I ask you something?” Sara asked a couple hours into our visit. It was the way she always started before she was about to ask something big, something too personal. I nodded, wondering what there was left to reveal about myself. “I actually don't know if you know the answer or not, I'm just curious. Your name, Willow, it wasn’t very common in the eighties. I was just curious why your mom chose that name.”
Ah, yes, that was definitely something new to reveal. I took a deep breath in to calm myself. “My mom was not in a very good relationship when she became pregnant with me. She said it was the saddest time of her life. She said that the Weeping Willow Tree was a good representation of how she felt, so she thought it was only appropriate to name me Willow. Basically, I was named after the saddest tree on earth to represent the saddest time in her life.”
“That's kind of depressing and quite a burden to hold your entire life. Have you ever thought about changing your name?”
“Never. I actually like my name. When I was in high school, I did some research on the Willow Tree. It's quite artistic in nature. The bark is used for charcoal drawings sometimes and the tree itself has been depicted in very early pen and ink paintings in China and Japan. The tree has even been a main character in stories as something holding wisdom and truth. So obviously my mother had not researched the Willow before choosing it as my name.”
“That's quite beautiful. I can see why you like your name now. It fits you quite well.”
Sara didn't disappear tonight, she actually said goodbye this time. She had to meet some friends, so she said, but I wasn't sure I believed her. I worried about her the second she walked out the door. I wished she would tell me something about what she does when she's not with me so I felt a little better while she was gone.
Of course, Sara left me deep in thought the way Mrs. Schneider seemed to do at every encounter. I decided to go to Open Mic. Sara was right, there would be a lot to take pictures of.
I called Miss Morgan when I woke up the next morning to tell her how the meeting with Jace went. Of course, he had already contacted her to go over the details once again. She was elated that I wasn't just letting this opportunity pass me by. She told me not to be nervous and to enjoy the experience.
In the late afternoon, I went to the woods to take a picture of the trees. I really did like the camera. I felt a certain kind of power when it was in my hands. I lay under my tree and took a picture of the leaves from below. About half the leaves were off the tree already, but I still thought it might make a neat photo.
I walked through the city taking pictures of random things. Street signs, abandoned buildings, St. Mary's, it didn't really matter to me what it was. I just wanted to get used to the feel of the camera in my hands. I didn't make it back home before I saw a crowd of people surrounding the blues club where Open Mic was taking place. I decided to skip the trip home and join the crowd.
When I walked into Open Mic it was total sensory overload. It was dark inside, but the neon signs and the strobe lights on the stage and around the bar were blinding, disorienting. As if that weren't enough, the noise was even more maddening. The music blaring was completely distorted and drowned out by the number of people squeezed into the small space all yelling to hear over one another.
I felt myself getting hotter by the millisecond as panic began to set in. I wanted to run home and hide in my familiar apartment. I'm not sure what kept me here, hopes of seeing Sara or curiosity of the event. I went to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. Instant relief washed over me. I was able to compose myself enough to rejoin the chaos outside the bathroom doors.
I took out my camera, remembering that I did have a purpose for being here. I found a spot against the wall, fairly close to the stage. I stood there feeling completely ridiculous knowing that I did not fit in even a little bit. I felt someone put their arm around me and I defensively recoiled in my spot.
“Hey Willow!” Aaron yelled just inches from my ear. I relaxed a bit at the familiarity of his voice. “What a surprise it is to see you here. I didn't really think this was your kind of thing.”
“It's not,” I wanted to add that I was persuaded to come but it felt so uncomfortable to have to yell just to hear my own voice.
“Do you want a drink or something?”
“Actually, yeah. Could you get me a bottled water?” I reached in my pocket for money
“It's okay, I've got it. Be right back.”
While he was at the bar, I let my eyes wander around the sea of faces, searching, halfheartedly, for Sara. She didn't exactly say she wasn't coming so I still hoped. Aaron returned with my water and he was waving to a friend as he handed it to me.
“Mike has a table. Want to join us? It's close to the stage, there will be some good shots for sure,” he said gesturing to my camera.
“Um...” I wasn't sure, but before I could respond, he was dragging me along with him through the crowd.
“Mike, this is Willow,” Aaron shouted to his friend.
“Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Or a lot about your art anyway.”
I smiled uncomfortably and sat in the seat Aaron pulled out for me. It was definitely a better shot at the stage, and for that much I was grateful.
I saw Mike, from the corner of my eye, holding Aaron's hand. Aaron was gay? How did I not know that? I've known Aaron for almost seven years and never knew that part of him. How much had I missed out on while I secluded myself? For the first time ever, I realized I was missing out on life.
I started taking random pictures of the stage, neon lights, people I didn't know, and when they weren't looking I took a picture of Aaron and Mike's intertwined hands.
Then, all the lights dimmed, the music stopped and there was a steady spotlight on the stage. The loud talking was now hushed whispers until Jay Hunt, the owner of the club, greeted the spectators and introduced the first performer.
Just as I had expected, there were some pretty embarrassing performances where I had to give them credit for having the guts to get on stage. The dreadful performances were always what kept me from going to Open Mic in the past, but they actually made the night more entertaining. There were also some pretty good acts, more than I had expected. I laughed and smiled that night more than I had in quite a long time. It felt good to be carefree and I never wanted that feeling to go away.
Sara seemed to always feel carefree and now that I knew what it was like, I really envied her. I know it may seem strange to envy someone who had obviously been beaten, but it was how she handled the situation. She didn't turn to a knife like I would have, she seemed to persevere over the negative in her life, and that was what I admired most about Sara.
When the acts were all done performing, I was almost sad to leave. It was nice just hanging out with friends and laughing with the crowd, forgetting about everything that was bothering me. I couldn't believe how easy it was for me to lock myself away in my apartment when there was so much fun going on around me.
“So, how did you like it?” Aaron asked now that we were outside.
“It was different, that's for sure,” I said, my head still in a haze.
“You think you got some good pics?”
“I hope so. I used enough film, there should be something I can use.”
“You're so pessimistic Willow. You never give yourself any credit.”
Was that what people thought of me? All this time I thought I came off confident.
“Photography is a new genre for me.”
“I have an idea,” Mike chimed in. “When you get those developed, have the place make a CD for you. You can come over to our place and we can Photoshop some stuff.”
“Photo-what?”
Mike laughed, “You're kidding right?”
“You add special effects to your photos with a computer program. It's nothing that Miss Morgan would let into the gallery. However, it is your show. Surely you can break the rules.”
I smiled at that. “Alright. I'll be getting them developed in the morning. You guys busy tomorrow night?” I asked.
“Not at all. Meet me at the gallery at closing and we'll go to my place from there,” Aaron said.
“Sounds good. I guess I should get going. Thanks for letting me sit with you guys.”
“Do you want us to walk you home? It's pretty late.”
“That's okay, I'm just up the block. Thanks anyway. I'll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 8: HAPPY THANKSGIVING
The next couple weeks were pretty quiet. I spent some more time bonding with my new camera. Mike and Aaron showed me some neat tricks on the computer. We created a couple pictures I was planning to use in my art show. I was torn on that decision at first. Using a computer to tweak something awful into something great, felt like cheating to me. Mike and Aaron assured me that Photoshop was an acceptable form of art and I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a couple prints in the show.
