Page 140 - NyghtVision Magazine Volume 4 #3

I n truth, I had no idea where

the conversation would go,

or, how profoundly it would

impact me.

And yet, I knew, intuitively I suppose, as Jim leaned towards me, that whatever he was
about to say would profoundly alter how I understood myself and the world around me.
It wasn't a new conversation - or a new subject. It has for a number of years now been a
painful subject with me. In fact, I have written several essays about it and one, called "The Beauty
of Sadness," was intended to be my last and final word on the subject.

Intended.
So, when the question suddenly appeared again, I was frustrated. Well, angry. If you know
anything about me, you know I hate being angry as much as I hate being frustrated.

Beauty and sadness are inseparably entwined. Sadness is beautiful and one cannot perceive
beauty without feeling a profound sadness because time not only steals our grief. It steals beauty
as well.

"Of course the women I photograph are sad," I remember saying to Jim. "I mean, imagine
being judged against Barbie your whole life."
That's when Jim leaned to his left as though he wanted to say something only I should hear.
"I would contend," he began in his deep, rumbling voice, "that there is an element of sadness in
everything you photograph."

"Really?" I think I said. "Even when I photograph furniture?"
"Yes," he said as he nodded to emphasize the point.

"Really... I'll have to think about that."
And I have. Almost obsessively. Exhaustively. I have looked at thousands of our photos. I
have spent hours thinking about what I am feeling when I am working. At two assignments since
that conversation, every time I touched the camera, I found myself wondering what I was feeling -
wondering where the sadness might originate. If the sadness was there. Remarkably, it was. "How
could I have missed it..........."

140 | Last Breath of Summer