images from. I had thought originally there would be days where there wasn’t much change, but when I went back to look at them, each day is significant.”
With the click of his mouse, the screen comes to life with thumbnails of the twelve shots remaining from the first day. I immediately discard six of the twelve, not liking how the light hits the core of the images; there was an eerie glow in the center that didn’t belong. Ferry didn’t question my decisions and just moved them to another file before enlarging the remaining images. With each image removed, those left for consideration got bigger, enhancing the detail, displaying the luxurious color. I lose myself in the shots for minutes at a time, maybe longer, but Ferry never says a word. As I process, he waits with the patience of Job. I assumed he would’ve been more vocal in the selection, but then again, he chose the selection I’m seeing, so maybe he’s happy with any of my choices. Or maybe he’s waiting for me to eliminate one he thinks should be a strong contender before voicing an opinion. I don’t look at him, so I can’t get a read on what he’s thinking. Instead, I go with my gut and make my final selection for day one without either of us ever saying a word to the other.
There’s some discussion about days three through seven to determine where we want the project to go, what we’re looking for it to depict. We volley back and forth about whether it should start with light or decay. We agree on light to dark as originally planned with filters in the middle, but it took some convincing on Ferry’s part because I don’t want people to see the black as my absolute. I want them to find the light in my kaleidoscope again. He convinced me this is a snapshot of where I have been, not the finality of who I am.
We spend hours going through each day, selecting the photos. We never got to filters before calling it a day. Agreeing to meet back at his studio tomorrow morning, I’m weary, and all I’ve done is stare at a computer screen. Before starting my car, I grab my cell to send Sera a text, having exchanged numbers online. We had planned to get coffee the day after the exhibit, but I haven’t been able to connect with her.
Me : Just finished at Ferry’s. I had no idea what a process this would be. Wanna grab a quick bite to eat?
Sera : That would be great. I’m downtown too. How about Rulatta’s on Coffee Street in ten minutes?
Me : See you then.
Dinner with Sera goes by quickly. She’s fascinating. As I listen to her tales about her travels, I watch her, and I find myself completely enraptured by her expressions—how her face comes to life with each word she utters. She steers clear of anything negative, which endears her to me even more. Anytime something comes up that didn’t go her way, she manages to spin it with a positive, unexpected outcome. I’ve always admired people like that, but I also wonder if it’s truly who they are or if they just hide their reality from the outside world. I can’t get a read on that aspect of Sera. Her body language and the animation she brings to a story make me want to believe it’s who she is, but her eyes tell a different story. There’s something hidden behind them, yet I don’t know her well enough to decipher if she’s disguising pain or sadness…or something else entirely. I try not to dwell on what she’s not telling me in favor of focusing on what she is.
“Your turn,” she says with a gentle smile on her face.
“My turn for what?”
“To tell me about you. Anything you want to share.” I love the way she encourages without pushing.
“What would you like to know?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
I laugh. She doesn’t give a shit about my favorite color. “Blue.”
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs.”
“Boxers or briefs?” She giggles.
“What is this, twenty questions? Boxer briefs.”
“No, not twenty questions. I’d love for you to willingly share, open up
With the click of his mouse, the screen comes to life with thumbnails of the twelve shots remaining from the first day. I immediately discard six of the twelve, not liking how the light hits the core of the images; there was an eerie glow in the center that didn’t belong. Ferry didn’t question my decisions and just moved them to another file before enlarging the remaining images. With each image removed, those left for consideration got bigger, enhancing the detail, displaying the luxurious color. I lose myself in the shots for minutes at a time, maybe longer, but Ferry never says a word. As I process, he waits with the patience of Job. I assumed he would’ve been more vocal in the selection, but then again, he chose the selection I’m seeing, so maybe he’s happy with any of my choices. Or maybe he’s waiting for me to eliminate one he thinks should be a strong contender before voicing an opinion. I don’t look at him, so I can’t get a read on what he’s thinking. Instead, I go with my gut and make my final selection for day one without either of us ever saying a word to the other.
There’s some discussion about days three through seven to determine where we want the project to go, what we’re looking for it to depict. We volley back and forth about whether it should start with light or decay. We agree on light to dark as originally planned with filters in the middle, but it took some convincing on Ferry’s part because I don’t want people to see the black as my absolute. I want them to find the light in my kaleidoscope again. He convinced me this is a snapshot of where I have been, not the finality of who I am.
We spend hours going through each day, selecting the photos. We never got to filters before calling it a day. Agreeing to meet back at his studio tomorrow morning, I’m weary, and all I’ve done is stare at a computer screen. Before starting my car, I grab my cell to send Sera a text, having exchanged numbers online. We had planned to get coffee the day after the exhibit, but I haven’t been able to connect with her.
Me : Just finished at Ferry’s. I had no idea what a process this would be. Wanna grab a quick bite to eat?
Sera : That would be great. I’m downtown too. How about Rulatta’s on Coffee Street in ten minutes?
Me : See you then.
Dinner with Sera goes by quickly. She’s fascinating. As I listen to her tales about her travels, I watch her, and I find myself completely enraptured by her expressions—how her face comes to life with each word she utters. She steers clear of anything negative, which endears her to me even more. Anytime something comes up that didn’t go her way, she manages to spin it with a positive, unexpected outcome. I’ve always admired people like that, but I also wonder if it’s truly who they are or if they just hide their reality from the outside world. I can’t get a read on that aspect of Sera. Her body language and the animation she brings to a story make me want to believe it’s who she is, but her eyes tell a different story. There’s something hidden behind them, yet I don’t know her well enough to decipher if she’s disguising pain or sadness…or something else entirely. I try not to dwell on what she’s not telling me in favor of focusing on what she is.
“Your turn,” she says with a gentle smile on her face.
“My turn for what?”
“To tell me about you. Anything you want to share.” I love the way she encourages without pushing.
“What would you like to know?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
I laugh. She doesn’t give a shit about my favorite color. “Blue.”
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs.”
“Boxers or briefs?” She giggles.
“What is this, twenty questions? Boxer briefs.”
“No, not twenty questions. I’d love for you to willingly share, open up
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