Jack Spratt

120914 21:00 Lovers
Love causes me to row a blunt, rusty, icepick in my mind. The sadness and sorrows, pains and humiliations suffered by abandonment, beating, slander, the list is difficult to annotate since it is various, erratically so. I write for those who remain as I was in a state of insane anguish, depression and volatility. . . .And those in denial . . . not a River in Egypt.

Often I find myself correcting others misuse, the terms 'stupid' and 'ignorant;' applied to themselves or others. 

My father was both since he witnessed most of the things mother did to me without intercession. When in the closing times, the days and hours remembered too well; for he left me nothing of himself. I asked why? "I didn't know any better." It seems now as then a slogan he memorized; delivered by rote. Done is done and finished. My nature is to forgive yet he never sought it from me nor did he ever apologize. . . 

Flashing across the dark frozen winter nights like beer sign blinking seducing a long lonely life: "Amazing the crap I've taken." Robert Frank; in The New York Times Sunday Magazine. He remains my inseminator the person I most highly prize as the seducer of my attention to photography. Which, of all the arts, I once aspired to, drawn towards, played with well: music, painting, drawing, sculpture . . . even the Theatre Arts -- plays movies etc. Almost all abandoned for their implied need of begging the attention of committees who could voice a yea or nay to my continued practice or performance. Judged too often and capriciously as unworthy of life itself; I avoid them like holding a burning pot in my hands merely to prove my courage. Hell is a small price to pay for longer times in Heaven; what we create in life becomes part of eternity. 

Of and about myself I'd never have survived nor thrived without the random acts of strangers. Who in their way held me momentarily above drowning in the cesspool of life. . . Laughing I began to wonder at the copper heads and alligators imagined swimming towards me . . . remembering that they would have liked it no better than I. 

Photography became a passport into souls. I used to prize my hyper vigilance thinking it was my sole 'gift' in photographing others. Yet I limped along deluded by those artist with cameras so much larger and rendering details and tonalities in glorious terms. I've always loved light for itself. Seeing it pass from dawn into night and resting briefly in perfect conjunction with people, places and things. In recognition of today and my 'take' I realize that I don't want to be anticipated as a photographer with enormous penile lenses preceding my presence. Instead I use innocuous pocket cameras. And have always carried one since they were first available. 

The subjects I am attracted to are neither sexy, glamorous, or iconic . . . celebrities and politicians bore me since they have a persona to protect. Projecting upon the world a certain sense of divine right to never apologize or merely to admit one mistake institutionalized into a creed arrogantly enforced. 

Truth is vastly more interesting and various than the art I attempted to place it in . . . the frame explicit to viewing the world through a camera. 

The turning point came when assigned to do a "mug shot;" a two column portrait of a woman who loved and educated blind children. True. There were other moments before, especially with children, I've always adored children; our future. What could have, or should have, taken a few moments to capture became six hours of something glorious to me. Award winning innovative. So much so a friend borrowed the negatives -- pre digital -- and lost them while making prints for friends. 

From what I've written so intimately about, is what I did with photography. With age and wisdom I've become more accomplished. When I was requested to record a set of portraits of fellow volunteers I said yes. The result was possibly the best set of images ever to pour out of my eyes and heart. At least in so far as portraits are concerned. The end result, however, was Muzak for a social event; inconsequential. 

The request was given by a source I would not, and cannot, betray since to do so would be to betray her to herself. This I could easily do yet refuse to hurt her or her employment. I continue to pray for her future discarding my own within that particular construct, company or corporation. To walk away or be banished is irrelevant because I have had the proof I needed, derived from additional work there to know myself better and my talent not utterly wasted at, and thereafter, the time of my son's diagnosis with Leukemia closely following my daughters death. The genius of God coupled with wisdom says essentially that is enough. And old man soon to die is blessed by an achievement self set. I do environmentally portraits of people inhabiting their lives. In the process have not merely captured the light reflected from their faces but the lives within and their choices in real life. 

The most wonderful thing we create is ourselves; now and at our final moments. Thinking of Dietrich Bonhoeffer naked in solitude for months then thanking his captors and forgiving his hangman comes to mind; there was no audience other than the scenario I depict and yet he chose to say what he did as did St. Joan Of Ark . . . like actor -- hero stands for both genders, or so I believe hero should; since each are equal in my esteem: actor/heroic.

My thesis is the Self we create cannot be done alone, it can, but not in meaningful ways to others. We who serve are served in turn by greater awards than applause, fame or fortune. Creation is award sufficient unto itself.It is why photography is for me like making love sacramental. Though I've made love with many women few were my equal or responsive. My point is that one competes with one's self. Pushing the envelop of what was, to that will be greater. If merely different and a failure than that teaches as well. God, it seems, at times, speaks through us in both positive and negative ways. Defamed I get up off my face; look and move forward. 

I have achieved a love and fortune in that I envy no one, no prophet, no definition of God and no fear of anyone or thing. I love M. M loves me, that is enough. As I've learned self love is not onanistic: it is what we give to others free of request for reciprocity. . . . the more I love my neighbor as like family the more I grow in love with myself. It is not measure for measure, or quid pro quo, but each kindness makes the next one more meaningful to both. The person we become is radically different from the person we were. The process is all -- the goal itself -- life fully lived. 

120914  22:42

All the above was prelude to reading the email sent me by the woman I prayed she not lose her employment. I was informed that my services, of any kind, were no longer required. Not odd since from the beginning to end those I prized as friends also disappeared, staff, not patients; inexplicability. One door closes and another opens: the nature of crisis and trauma. I am at peace with death having died many times yet I live; why? 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all: to thine ownself be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!

Hamlet Act 1 scene 3 --Shakespeare

Often upon the threshold of death, mine and others, I've become aware of those in life remaining and death arrived; a future was and will be granted . . . life goes on. Yet remaining is one thing: the right to keep my intellectual property which I will destroy before surrender. Legal or otherwise.

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved