I can see the light...oh wait, it's a flash

I wouldn't consider myself an artist. My drawings have graduated from non-existent to stick figures (although I do have some kickass cartoon drawings from sixth grade to show for). I'd consider dance an art, but then people kinda give me that "you're trying to push the whole idea of finding meaning in contorting your body into different positions" look. Which looks a little something like this:

Minus all the fur. But the one thing that everybody agrees is an art that I've been involved in is photography. Every trip I go to, I have to take an insane number of pictures. Every school dance isn't just filled with flashes of strobe lights; it's filled with camera flash lights as well. But when you're so focused on retaining the beauty of the moment, you miss the fullness of that beauty the first time. In the insistence to create a memory, we reduce the strength of the moment.

Not to mention, pictures do a fantastic job skewing the perception of what went down. If you looked at a high school yearbook, you'd think we all had a fine time beating our heads against lockers and that homework was something to do this at:

I don't know why I'm using cat pics to illustrate my point...maybe I'm just preparing to be the crazy cat lady or something

I've gotten into the habit that thinking of a photograph doesn't document a certain moment, that moment ceases to exist.

Oh, you want an example, do you? I'm glad you asked.

When I went to Shoshoni, my camera was basically glued to my side. I looked like one of those tourists that everyone in Colorado gives a sad nod to, and says, "oh friend, you're still relying on technology...Shiva bless you." My first day I was so proud of myself for snapping a few pictures of moose, that I proceeded to do a little happy dance and send my camera smashing into smithereens.

That would have been a better moral to a story, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, it went something like me doing a little happy dance, going to dinner, and losing my camera. Slightly more anti-climactic. I eventually found the camera, did my best to capture the beautiful Rocky Mountains (it's very difficult to capture the integrity of a mountain on film), and the first thing that my family said when I returned home was, "wow, whipped cream lasts a lot longer when you're gone." But the second thing they said was "we'd love to see pictures of your trip!"

I think by now we know I'm completely jinxed with technology. So, like any technological incompetant, I froze when I saw this on my camera:

ERROR, ERROR! YOUR PICTURES REFUSE TO UPLOAD ONTO THE COMPUTER BECAUSE YOU'RE SUCH A DUMBASS YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO WORK A FIVE YEAR OLD CAMERA.

I may or may not have embellished a bit, but my point is (and I do have one) that all pictures from Shoshoni were completely kaput. And with nothing to show for my trip, it seemed like I hadn't even gone. I did my best to describe the personalities of my fellow yoga immersions and the staff, but it seemed like a block when I didn't have a picture to put alongside the description. A poem about the "sleeping giant" mountain seemed a sorry alternative to just showing my family the beauty of the mountain itself.

Which got me thinking, is a picture actually worth a thousand words? Is writing an inferior art to photography?

While looking through the photographs I do have, I've realized that while they legitimize a moment, they're also background for a story that follows. Sure, you could see a photograph of three friends, and think, "how nice; some friends went to Baby's."

Or, you could tell the story of how these friends befriended a construction worker that day and got him to take their picture. Then after chomping on delicious burgers and fries they holla'ed at some frat boys and proceeded to take a delightful yoga class that was challenging enough for you to feel some soreness, but not so difficult you were like "oh my goodness, MY LIMBS ARE FALLING OFF!"

Photography is an art, but oftentimes it acts as a vehicle for a story words can use to provide a deeper memory. They two bounce off each other, but standing alone, both writing and photography leave blank space of "hmm, maybe so and so looks like this...or said this to that Turkish Van cat."

So I think we should all breathe a sigh of relief when we realize we're not wasting our lives by posting school dance pictures on facebook. Commenting "ewwww I look awful" is wasting time, but the actual art of photography is quite powerful.

Namaste.