I have a memory (the integrity of which I cannot fully vouch for) of a conversation I once overheard. A musician, a guitarist to be more specific, was telling a friend how his guitar had been stolen. He seemed rather depressed about it. He explained to his friend in a strong accent I could not identify, how he was still able to hear the music in his heart but for some reason, was unable to compose new melodies. It wasn’t just his guitar that had been stolen but his creativity as well. Or as he put it: “I feel incomplete. My wholeness is broken.”
At the time I would not have known what he was on about but in light of a recent event in my life—namely, the breaking of my camera—I now have an inkling of how he felt.
It’s been almost two months since I broke my camera. It went in for repairs but with the price coming back too high, broken it remains. And so it has been two months since I’ve made a photograph with that camera. I have taken a few shots with my phone and while they are fine as far as photos go, the experience of making them is not quite the same. When I hold my phone in my hand that is all I am doing; I am holding a phone, not a camera. Regardless of my immediate intent to take a photo, what I have in my hands is a phone. As such, there is something missing from the experience of going out shooting. Much like the young guitarist, without a camera in my hand, I feel incomplete.
But that’s not all.
As I walk around I still see the shots the way I always have but somehow the “photos” I see feel different. Almost like I am not seeing anything new or inspiring. It is difficult to explain but the word ‘melancholy’ comes to mind. I can’t help wonder if there is a causality link between this loss of creative inspiration and being without a camera. If this turned out to be the case than I would be a little incredulous as it is not something I would have predicted.
But wait, there is more.
This lack of inspiration, this feeling of melancholy extends even to writing. A bunch of posts are languishing in draft mode unable to be completed or even started in earnest for the simple lack of creative guidance.
Perhaps it is simply a coincidence. Perhaps it is merely the summer heat putting me in creative lethargy. A creative block much like a writer’s block. I don’t know. Maybe the link to our creative tools is stronger and more real than I imagined. Maybe when it comes to creativity, we are whole only with the right tool in hand.
Due to circumstances it may be a while before I can get another camera so it will be interesting to see if this melancholy, this loss of inspiration continues and whether a new camera fixes my… well, I guess I could say, my broken wholeness.
Very interesting, Cedric: I wrote about something similar, the camera as talisman where I mused a similar thing. I think that the tool is directly related, just like the guitar player mourning the loss of his particular guitar, to the performance of the artist. Sure, he could go buy another one, but he had formed an attachment to that one, a bond if you will, and it had a certain quality of sound as well as his belief that it was special, somehow. That particular belief did indeed make it special, as far as I’m concerned.
When I read the story, I thought of B.B. King and his first guitar, “Lucile”. “Lucile” even has her on Wikipedia entry! :D
As for fixing your wholeness, I’m sure that it probably would. You’re just missing your mojo right now. You and your old camera formed more a gestalt than you can with the phone … just my thinking.
Yes that does seems right though I certainly hope that my connection is not directly and solely to my broken camera. I don’t want to have to start from scratch with a new camera ;)
But maybe I’ll name my next camera Lucile. Or Bruce ;) LOL (I deal best with feeling down by making jokes)
A strange feeling comes over me when I go somewhere and do not take a camera with me. I’m out of sink. It has become an appendage to me. For me that link to our creative tools is strong. I can also feel that way when dealing with health issues such as a cold or flu. Writing also goes along with that. I know we do become attached to our tools: a carpenter and his special hammer.
I know the feeling you are talking about Monte. Usually a few days without a camera does not phase me but it’s now substantially longer than just a few days. Oh well, I have a feeling that over the next few weeks I will be much too busy to really notice so it might not be so bad. At least I hope that will be the case :)
I ain’t no psychologist but I think your “funk” has little or nothing to do with your busted camera. Reading your post, I see words like “melancholy” and “incomplete” and “writer’s block”. And then the phrase, “almost like I am not seeing anything new or inspiring”. This is because of a broken camera? You think that getting it repaired or maybe replaced with a new 800e (or some other new toy) will fix that inspirational void?
As someone who has experienced his share of inspirational voids (although some would argue that I wouldn’t know what “inspiration” was even if it bit me in the butt), I think you may be looking at the wrong “cure”. My advice – probably worthless – is to stop thinking about it. Completely. If the busted camera bothers you, bury it in a closet somewhere. Borrow your daughter’s camera if you have to. Or take a break from “picture-making” for a month or two. Or longer. And don’t even look at photo blogs! We’re all idiots anyway. Since it’s summer there, just go stand by the ocean and listen to the waves. Look for seashells or something. Read a book about basket weaving.
But forget about cameras. Most photographs, after all, are just pictures. We can all live without them from time to time.
I’ve no doubt you are right Paul and I don’t actually believe a void can be filled by something as inconsequential as a camera but I am interested in the interconnectedness (is there such a word?) of things, especially where feelings are concerned. Despite not being a psychologist either. The weird thing about me is that there is always a part of me that sees this life as a story happening to someone else, some guy called Cedric Canard, and that part of me (if I can describe it that way) is somewhat detached, almost like a scientist watching bacteria in a petri dish, only interested in understanding what’s going on. That tends to infuriate my wife by the way because just as I don’t get overly upset when things go wrong, I don’t get overly excited when things go right either. As Chance the gardener (played by Peter Sellers) said in the movie “Being There”: “I like to watch”.
So back to this topic. Watching myself feel as I currently feel (which by the way I am not concerned with), the memory of the guitarist popped up and led to the train of thought that led to this post. I don’t actually know what to attribute this “funk” to. I may never figure it out and it may well have nothing to do with cameras and photography. But the thing about us humans is that we have much in common with Pavlov’s dog. We respond, often subconsciously and unknowingly, to external stimulus. I know for example, that for me, simply having a camera in my hand can shift my mood up the scale of emotions no matter where the starting point is. The camera is to me what the bell is to Pavlov’s dog. Similarly, making a photograph often unleashes a dozen ideas of things to write about. Of course, the camera and the photographs are merely triggers that have been conditioned into my psyche. There is nothing touchy-feely about it.
The thing is Paul, I don’t try and escape how I feel but I do like to explore it so I will continue to think about it. Not out of some misplaced masochistic ideal but simply because I find it interesting. Odds are it could be a long time before I get another camera. That thought doesn’t bother me though. But then again, I did say that I was weird. In any case I might just pass on reading about basket weaving :)
Don’t blame you for passing on the basket weaving book. I would, too. We have a couple of neighbors (sisters) who spend most of their day doing some kind of needlepoint. I think I’d rather be locked in a small cell than have to spend my day doing that……or basket weaving. Although there are a number of women down in Charleston, SC who seem to make a pretty good living selling baskets they’ve “weaved”.
I don’t know if you’re interested or not, but I have a Canon G10 that I no longer use. It’s yours if you want it. I’d rather see someone use it than watch it take up space on a shelf.
That is an exceptionally kind offer Paul, an offer I truly appreciate. If things get desperate I may take you up on it but for now I’m quite content to see how this pans out. But thank you very much all the same. I really need to get myself over to the States some day and buy you a beer :)
Cedric, No matter the cause I’ve no doubt the way your feeling is genuine — an important outlet for expression in your life has been altered/restricted. I like to think it’s these moments of unease which allow us a bit more insight to our inner workings. At least that’s what I tell myself. Luckily our moods have little effect upon the flow of change and it continues on, bringing something new. We need only bide our time.
I do like to bide my time and work out my inner workings :)
I know several musicians who would be inconsolable if their instruments were stolen. Few (if any) could afford or be able to replace them at their equivalent, even if they were insured. I am practicably tethered to my camera, it usually goes where I go (or at least close by). If it got lost or stolen, I would replace it without much hesitation because I need it and I am not particularly sentimental about it. It’s the equivalent of a refrigerator. You only miss it when it’s gone.
I know a couple of photographers who shoot with old (and probably hard to get) cameras and I dare say that they too would be devastated if they lost their gear. Like you, I’m not sentimental about any particular piece of gear but I have come to realise how much of an influence a camera has on me. There’s just something about having a camera in hand or around your neck. Weird.
I think most people form bonds with things, even inanimate objects like cameras. Several years ago I traded in my Volkswagen Jetta – during the process I looked out and my Jetta was parked in the middle of the lot between two rows of cars. I felt a tug of guilt. Guilt! Over trading a car in. So, I can completely empathize with your plight – and maybe following Paul’s advice of stepping away for a while will put things back in perspective. Then you can re-bond with your next camera!