I have this sweet camera left to me by my late Grandfather that he bought in Germany when he was stationed there in the 50's. A Rolleichord. It's weighty, fully manual, and the shutter is as soft as a butterfly's fluttering of wings. The film it requires is not cheap, and getting it developed is also up there, so I have about four rolls from the last year left undeveloped. My dear friend Audrey hasn't ceased in reminding me, which I am grateful for, because I do want to see how they turned out...
But part of me likes keeping those neatly organized, and well-labeled rolls of film tucked away in my trunk. After my grandpapa had passed away (which was only about a month after my Grandmama), the family was slowly distributing the belongings that were left to each of us cousins. A tea cup, music box, and camera were left to me, which is the perfect image of what it's like to be a part of the family that my grandparents built. I felt warmth fill my heart as I smelled the dried rose petals in that music box, and heard the same shutter snap that my Grandpapa would have heard when he took photos all over the world.
A friend of mine was giving me advice on caring for my new treasures, and mentioned a legendary photographer named Vivian Maier that used a similar camera. She was a nanny, a simple, quiet woman. She took the children she was looking after to dark, and neglected areas of the city and snapped photos (I can't imagine what the parents would have done if they knew!). But she never developed them. Not a one. Her work was discovered after she passed away when a man happened upon one of her trunks full of film at an auction. Luckily, this man honored her work, developed all of it, and set on a journey to find the remaining thousands of rolls of film to add to the collection. Mostly in black and white, unrequited, unrestrained photos of the seemingly invisible contributors to society, this recluse sent shock waves through the world of photography.
I am no Vivian Maier. But I understand why she did what she did (minus the hoarding). Taking a photo isn't just about looking at it later. It's about pausing. seeing. and choosing to give honor to each moment. This post is about so much more than taking photos, though. It's about the rolls of film I have left undeveloped in my heart.
**There is a documentary about her called Finding Vivian Maier, I HIGHLY recommend it.
My church has been a solace, a place to create, weep, laugh, fume, and grow over the last six years. Never had I experienced such a culture that isn't threatened by hard questions, deep emotions, and even deeper hurts before going there. Bloom is a church for the hurting and broken, and builds up the ones that feel disconnected from organized religion, while also being an organized religion. It's incredible. I have had the amazing opportunity to be a part of the creative team, writing, and playing music with some of the most talented people I know. And last night was probably the best night I've had playing the set with them. With four of the most funny, talented, honest, and supportive guys I know, we made something beautiful.
Our executive pastor, Dave, came up to me while we were getting ready to start up for the second round of songs and said, "You are leaning so boldly into who you are, Moriah," and I nearly began weeping. I don't feel that way. But more than a proclamation of who I am now, I believe he was speaking into what I will be. After more talking and crying and hugging, I was left feeling seen on a level that I never could have expected. He, and a few other friends came up to me over the course of maybe fifteen minutes, each speaking one truth after another about the dark places I've been over the last few months.
Here I go with the vulnerability thing:
- I am always thinking everyone is mad at me for something.
- I don't believe that my gifts and talents are enough to live off of.
- I worry that my being "bold" or audacious in who I am will be too much, and that I'll intimidate potential friends, or men.
- I assume all eyes are on me, and that every step of my journey has been surveyed, recorded, and counted against me.
I feel crazy, and honestly terrified most of the time. So I've labeled those fears, locked them up, and hoped that if they just stay there, that no one will see, and no one will help, because how could anyone help? They can't. And even if I do intimidate people, if they are watching me, if I do end up a starving artist, what does it matter? I am only responsible for myself, and what I am made to do. God help me. Seriously.
My dad's side of the family suffers from the genetic curse of having flat feet. I did NOT dodge that bullet. Ever time I wear my fake Birkenstocks, my feet make tiny fart noises. Cute. I say that because it has kept me from becoming a runner, among other things. Dave told me last night that I need to run, live audaciously, and stop giving a darn about what even some of the most important people around me think. Because it isn't about me, it's about God. What HE has given me, not what I give to the world. What a weight lifted off, that is. My response was that I'll probably trip, because I have flat feet.
"That's ok"
So, off I go. A week from today, I'll be running off to Paris, then Zurich. I'll probably have heart flutters trying to figure out the Parisian Metro system, and I have actually no idea what it will be like meeting distant (very distant) relatives for the first time. There is no blog covering this, which I have meticulously tried to find. So I AM ALREADY TRIPPIN', folks. But even if my face hits some Euro pavement, at least I can say I tried. At least I got a peek at my undeveloped film. Because even if they aren't the best photos, they are important.