The Temple of my Familiar

For whatever reason,
Alice Walker's book resounded deeply with me
when I read it 10 years ago.
I may need to read it again,
but there was something strikingly familiar
about the way she wove the character of Miss Lissie.
I especially latched on to Miss Lissie's idea
of seeing a different person
within the many photographs taken of her
through the years
(appearing older when she was young,
and child-like in later years,
boyish in some, sultry in others).
I have witnessed a parallel
in the photos taken of myself
over the years
captured looking so unlike myself,
but seldom on purpose
or with any forethought on my part.
Many images in which few who know me
can believe what they are seeing.

I'm not talking glamour shots
in some studio, garishly made up
like those poor girls on America's Top Model
or whatever it's called.
I never knew how truly funny and harsh this show is.
It's all about the edge,
being a poseur for the big superstar model payoff,
and catering to any whim the advertiser might whip up.
Seeing a model wannabe
crying about her recently made-over short shorn hair
and then being reprimanded by Tyra Banks
for the inevitable tears in her eyes.
Too sweet for words.
It's evil mean in a very materialistic way.
Yeah. I guess you could say I liked it.
If anyone is dumb enough to hook up with a reality show
and not know they will be propped up for ridicule,
they deserve my laughter at their expense.

So anyway, I was trying to write about Alice Walker,
and this particular photo aspect of her book,
when I decided to download the pictures from our recent vacation.
I'm a multi-tasker, dontcha know?
These reminder pictures of July 2009,
coupled with a memory of watching a television show
about models trying to win a career posing for pictures,
and the beginning premise for this blog today
about the photographic aspect in Walker's book
it's just too much coincidence.
trouble is, I don't believe in coincidence
or karma or anything like that.
So what the heck am I talking about, huh?
This must be my age of Sternonation,
which of course you have no idea
what I'm further rambling on about now.
Sternonation is on the comeback, I tell ya!
You'll see.

So in this novel, The Temple of my Familiar,
I also read with interest the feelings of this character
about having lived many lives before,
and a knowledge that she would continue to travel
through time and gender.
Not that I really believe in reincarnation,
but it is a subject I have studied
since I was in high school.
I find the many aspects of it intriguing
and confusing, and rather ridiculous.
I want to know what happens to those images,
those faces who aren't really you
but some pixelated product of electricity.
Do they become pixel dust?
Do we?

Photographers always scared me.
My earliest "studio photo" when I was 4
shows an intense face,
non-smiling with a slight hint of frown.
It looks just like me!
My father informed me
I sat there under threat of spanking
if I didn't stop fidgeting, complaining or crying.
Almost all earlier photos of me show a screaming,
terrorized, deer in the headlights face.
Maybe it was the flashbulb with that bright explosion
of light that so terrified me.
Maybe my father's threats worked to a degree,
as I didn't see many more crying visages in print afterwards.
Still, I don't like to have my picture taken.
Invariably, there I am looking like I'm chewing cud,
my eyes half open, looking like I'm 80 when I was 25!
Yowzers!

Is the camera the temple of my familiar?
Does it hold all of the secrets to who I am?
Is it stealing my soul with every click?