the writer is delegated to declare and to celebrate man’s proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit – for gallantry in defeat – for courage, compassion and love. In the endless war against weakness and despair, these are the bright rally-flags of hope and of emulation. I hold that a writer who does not passionately believe in the perfectibility of man, has no dedication nor any membership in literature.
Steinbeck, in his Nobel Prize banquet speech, called for a willingness, if not a dedication, to witnessing and relaying the potential of all people. He spoke of perfectability, not perfection, which to me underscored the need to show us at our most beautifully human. I hope that I could replace the word writer with photographer, and have the altered quote speak to my own work.
I’ve been reading The Long Valley (actually, where is it?) and the stories in it are rather devastating. I was trying to reconcile Steinbeck’s Nobel sentiments with the book–the 25 year gap between the two is probably enough explanation. But additionally, the pathos of the characters, their desperate and often thwarted need for connection, is a form of the resilience and hope Steinbeck describes so many years later. The passage of time can soften early wounds and despair, and unachieved desires can be viewed as hopes for the future rather than a current denial.
In the last four years I’ve seen a softening of the dark edges in my own work. While I think my images still acknowledge the yearning for perfection, they find inspiration in the pursuit. Aside from my ongoing investigation of surfing in NYC, I’ve started photographing my husband’s family. They are incredible people (and there are a lot of them!). I’m working out what is drawing me in their direction (aside from family obligations); I have a few ideas but I’m letting them simmer.
My nephew, Henry:
