Lost In Translation Frustration
My restlessness stems from frustration. More specifically, the inability to translate what’s in my mind to that of the written word or what I see with my eyes but am unable to reflect, as is the case today, in my photography. The end result is like taking a picture of a classic painting with a cheap disposable camera. You’ll get the basic idea, but not the scope or be able to breathe in the entirety of that beauty. It falls far short but, the devil is in the details.
What we have here… is a failure to translate
My study is the simplest form of beauty. I had to look no further than the living room. My quarry isn’t wily nor does it evade capture. I’m striving to capture the very essence of childhood, that of a thin boy still clad in his pajamas, leaning towards the TV, staring intently at his character of choice, in the wii game he’s playing, his body tense as he jumps and yells and mutters darkly under his breath. He’s in good company. I’m doing the same but for a different reason. I just want to be able to translate the unbound energy I see before me, onto film. That’s it. Uh huh. But…those pesky li’l devils.
Like mother, like son
His oddly disjointed statements born of pure frustration echo as he forgets himself long enough to shout, “Why do you keep falling off the cliff?! I don’t want you to fall off the cliff, did I tell you to do that? No! Now quit!” as he revels? in the rare luxury of spending a bitterly cold day inside with his best friend in the entire world, playing a game he has yet to conquer and with more time than usually allotted him for game playing. I understand his frustration much more than I can tell him. Instead though, I reprimand him to lower his voice, to behave himself, and that he best watch that mouth before it lands him in timeout.
Damn those details…
I might as well be talking to myself, my son hears me no better than I can hear my shutter click of the camera as I shoot what seems like the millionth picture that will be discarded as soon as it shows on the display. It’s a classic irony. Question; What’s the funniest thing you can do to someone who has one wicked case of ADHD? Answer; That’s easy! Give them a mile wide streak of perfectionism to go with it. Yes, the devil is in the details, all of details and they taunt us, saying neener, neener, neener!