Back To: The
Tyranny of Materiality
Again, shortly before the injury . . . [Ned, yes, this is definitely vogue-ing] . . . looks pretty cool until looking closely . . . my zipper was unzipped . . . JA sent me money to buy an engagement ring and I spent it: this lavender chamois shirt is an artifact that I still wear often though I don't even think of its context as purchased with money allocated for an engagement ring . . .
(From left) Beth, Amy, Kathy, Jodi, Stephanie and Debbie . . . we just returned from BOCES . . .
This is not my entire Senior Class . . . [I've been asked that question quite a few times] . . . there I am right in the front . . . I didn't see this image until a year or so after it was taken . . . that was when I noticed I have my middle finger extended for emphasis . . . I don't remember at all but the image doesn't lie, does it? Debbie [to my left] and I have some interesting memories. We both had similar height, brown feathered back hair and compatible faces . . . I think it was Frank Morales who said we looked like sisters . . . my Mother has a photo of Debbie and I riding my horse, though locating it may take time . . .
Ah ha! The headless horsewomen! [and Ben!] October 1980 . . . we both had braces . . . Kathy too . . .
I probably took this one . . . I wouldn't know that this is Debbie unless I had the previous image to position this image . . . I don't remember this day at all though I'm trying to talk Debbie into telling me what she remembers!
Debbie and Kathy from our BOCES yearbook . . .
I remember feeling pale when I compared myself to Debbie, not by anything she did or said: Debbie was a fantastical ideal to me then -- an ideal I felt that I could never personally get toward: beauty, popularity, friendliness . . . there are things I remember though there's more "unremembered" and my psychological filter of remembrance tends to lean toward negativity . . . speaking of negativity: I betrayed our friendship when we were kids (fourteen) in the context of her boyfriend Scott M. . . . he would drop her off then pick me up . . . Read a Hypocritical Poem that I Wrote at the Time . . . I cannot comprehend why exactly these incidents occurred . . . I just wrote Debbie that it was " a game, a drink fest....craziness but we didn't give a hoot for each other....I don't think we even liked each other...." [Scott and I] . . . more importantly, I didn't like myself and would constantly self mutilate in various ways including this . . . isn't the newspaper image fascinating? Debbie and I appear to be two entities positioned next to each other: the image cannot capture the history / interactions, the positive wonderful times or the not so positive, terrible times . . . ****I once bullied her quite mercilessly and banged her head on a window . . . there were times when I knew I was being mean and couldn't stop myself . . . I honestly apologize**** . . . looking back I know I was jealous . . . my self-esteem was skewed with dysfunction . . .
****We are currently discussing the validity of this memory: whether or not it was Debbie or someone else . . . I remember because it was senseless and cruel . . . guilt invoking . . .
An email I sent to Debbie 3/15/00:
I just went back to reread what was there.....part
of my project is
critique of the visual in and of itself.....how appearance
is valued yet
not substantive and usually irrelevant.....that's
connected with the
notion of "body" within the context of mind/body continuum
[as opposed
to dichotomy] that the image itself is a shell, empty
of everything that
we've lived through together...a mere representation
of the visual that
bastardizes the realm of the experiential since the
image is fixed:
stagnant -- dead..........
Hey, I like the sound of that....I think I'll put it
on the web
page......
By the way, do you remember this day? Did I say
anything about sticking
my middle finger out?
Constance
Addendum:
Is it the image that is the shell or is it my recognition of isolation that brings on the realization that I was the shell: in many ways the walking dead . . .