Adventures in Photojournaling: 3 Views of Love

These past two months, I've taken part in a photojournaling class organized by the New Milford, NJ, library (thank you, Anna Kim!) and led by an encouraging teacher and neighbor, Janet Dengel.

We bring photos to Zoom class, and Janet gives us prompts to write extemporaneously for a few minutes and tell a story about each one.

We never know what to expect. Two high school students in the class are talented writers, and I am enchanted by what others write about random images.

It's evidence that if we approach the world with curiousity, awe and wonder, we find the mundane can be profound and the ordinary can possess deep beauty.

I've also learned two things about myself: I'm fascinated with photography because it gives me the superpower to stop time, and I'm obsessed with writing about love.

As I grow older, both time and love grow more magical.

Here are three examples of what I've written: from an old photo found in my garage, a recent photo I took at the boardwalk, and a photo by classmate Luzel San Pedro.

First Love

I don't know why my first girlfriend gave me this photo. It shows her at a party at Seton Hall, when I was a thousand miles away.

We had broken up a few years earlier. We were still friends... and had been for years... but by that Halloween I was already several boyfriends removed.

What I'm showing you here is a poor Polaroid print, dark and faded. She's the one with red bangs, wearing a green knit cap, and an oversized orange rain slicker in reverse.

It was just a fraction of a second, so many years ago, but this photo explains everything about why I loved her:

Dressed like a pumpkin, she almost looks vulnerable.

Into the Mystic

That's my daughter near the water... on the Seaside Heights boardwalk on a foggy night in June 2020.

She had come home to visit on Father's Day. I hadn't seen her since the pandemic lockdown in March.

I didn't post photos of the two of us together on social media. No matter. The outside world wouldn't be able to see me smiling from ear to ear under the mask I wore that night.

Before this moment, I had stopped to take a photo of a comically large stuffed gorilla at an amusement stand. My daughter kept walking, without knowing I wasn't beside her.

I want to believe she simply assumes I'll always be at her side. I want to believe I will be. But each day it becomes clearer that "always" is an empty promise.

I am powerless to stop time, except when I take photos.

That's why this image matters. It matters because the distance between us will never grow any larger. It matters because even as my daughter steps forward into the mystic, she is never diminished in my view.

I dare you to look at this photo of my daughter. I dare you to unmask me. I dare you to try to see how much I love her.

Photo by Luzel San Pedro

3 Questions, 1 Answer

This photo suggests three questions:

- Is everything beautiful inherently dangerous?

- Are we afraid of beauty when we shouldn't be?

Or...

- Are we too foolish to heed the warning signs?

I have only one answer, and everyone of us learns the same lesson the hard way:

The closer you get, the more likely you are to be stung.

Me on the left