As we prepare for our reintegration to the United States this summer, I’ve been deeply immersed in a period of internal debate and reflection. It’s a heavy cognitive process and I’m usually not in control of much of it, which is probably why I’m always tired. The old hamster wheel in my head is never at rest, though on occasion I am fortunate enough to direct my attention to or away from it depending on the task at hand. I have always been at the mercy of my environment and its stimuli as I go about my days, as I imagine others who have little choice but to process their world sensorially are as well. My life’s inputs continue to reinforce or debunk principles that have long formed the basis of my understanding of human nature, namely that behavior defines character and environment shapes behavior.
Most of us use aids of some sort when it comes to making sense of our lot in life. I have often considered, as I imagine many others who tend to process the world like me often do, the relationship of such aides as either instruments or tools and am increasingly more careful to understand the implications of what aides we chose to surround ourselves with as they have a significant impact on cementing the memories of our time spent on this planet.
I currently make images with a rangefinder and it is my only instrument (until Hasselblad decides to sponsor someone with zero online presence and tends to visually wander a bit… but Hasselblad, if you’re listening…). Others may consider this unbearably slow, finicky, and inconvenient camera a tool but for the majority of people it’s an outdated, niche, frustrating way to try and capture aspects of life. It’s like trying to write a email with a fountain pen. The process of engaging with this instrument and what it asks from me when it’s held in my hands is, for me, the end goal. The images are a lovely byproduct. This camera is strongly opinionated and the best way I understand how to perform with such an instrument is to just follow its lead. It leads me to images and then just waits there. I am stare at the scene in front of me not quite understanding what the camera wants or sees. Why have you stopped here, at this time, on this day? I often don’t understand even after I have actuated the shutter and moved on. It’s only in that moving on that you realize you didn’t need or care about composing an email. It was just about the discipline and deliberation of writing with a fountain pen.
These days, I don’t look at most of the images I’ve made for at least a few weeks, often months have gone by. It’s only then that I can begin to understand the small melodies and leitmotifs that begin to make the movement. Reflecting on the past three years, I am beginning to hear and understand the concerto of my time here in Kenya. I’ve come to think of it as entitled Betwixt and Between and it examines the duality, or rather bifurcation of experience that I, and likely other Enlisted Family Members, engage with when posted to a young, developing country.
I don’t have a relationship with my tools, but I do have a relationship with my instrument. The best way that I can describe it to you is like this: my tools help me get jobs done. The product is the end result of a job. I use a tool to produce a product and then I enjoy/deliver (or not) what was produced. My instruments, on the other hand, help me experience and process the world around me that I increasingly understand less and less - likely a byproduct of getting older. The experience of performing and rehearsing with an instrument becomes my end result - the process. I use an instrument to navigate and understand life. The “product” I’ve produced is less tangible. It’s the questions I have asked along the way, the understanding I have gained or missed and resulting curiosities that have arisen. Those of you that have ever worked with me before know that I do my thinking out loud through discussion. The processing of my life is likewise a discussion, albeit with my instrument.
The privilege that I carry with me these days is that I do not have to make ends meet with my camera anymore. I get the indescribable gift of being able to not have to produce a product and thusly, I don’t need to use tools should they not inspire. I can choose just to play instruments. Anything that I do related to making images (outside of my education/nonprofit day job) is to help me understand and deconstruct our world and to preserve moments for my children to help them understand their lives and experiences so they may be able, one day, to articulate their own journeys of self-discovery with a few more nouns and adjectives at their disposal.
The masters of craft have transcended this dichotomy, I would imagine, and command whatever weapon of mass creation is in their hand to produce a symphony should they want. But these days, while I certainly miss working with clients, I am grateful for the privilege of experiencing the sublime joy of just making visual music with no real endgame. Maybe when I return to the US, I’ll visit some wonderful families and we can create some melodies together, me with my instruments, them with their perspectives on life. That would be lovely.
It’s great to have you here.
🇰🇪: Meet eight Maasai rangers – the first women in their families to get jobs – fighting poaching around Kenya’s Amboseli National Park.
📖: I thoroughly enjoyed reading The Anthropocene Reviewed and have now decided to assign a star rating to everything in my life. This newsletter: 2 stars - too infrequent.
🔉: Friend of the show, Heather, just started a podcast reading bedtime stories. Tabi’s Bedtime. It’s delightful. Have a listen. Extra bonus, her hubs provides the lovely soundtrack.
🏫: I was asked to design a school from the ground up. That’s what my “day job” is right now if you’re wondering. I’ll write up something on it later this year but I work for an organization called SHOFCO and they asked me to reinvent the way that we approach education and help to dismantle a few pieces of the colonialist/classist education that permeates here. It is hard but wonderful work. I’d love to share our journey with you.
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