Conversations with my
Therapist on Sacred Spaces
In the
article “How I came to photograph clouds” the photographer Alfred
Stieglitz [1864-1946] wrote “that they are free and open to
everyone.” The series of cloud photographs [1925-1931] he made at
his family’s summer home in up state New York’s Lake George was well
suited for his type of photography. On a hill near his house
Stieglitz used a hand-held 4 x 5 Graphflex camera fitted with a long
snoot to block the light from the ground glass, the place of focus.
This arrangement allowed him an angle to the direct sky above
without bending his back in pain, as most eye level viewfinder
cameras would require. He completed these abstract looking pictures
called Equivalents, which functioned, on an emotional level,
according to him. Yet many of the pictures served as examples of
pure documentary images that were used to school meteorologists at
the time.
The Equivalents were as music one observer, a
musician, commented. Stieglitz never said they were equivalent to
music but was satisfied to let each person experience whatever
individual emotional response was appropriate. “These pictures are
for those who have eyes to see,” he would later write. Did Stieglitz
mask or hide his own personal thoughts and feelings when it came to
looking at these pictures?
I think he did. Whatever he saw in these pictures in
reality were too sacred, personal, terrifying, or grandiose for him
to admit publicly. For who other than Stieglitz would dare to point
his camera at the sky, heaven’s gate? For heaven’s gate is often
shrouded in mystery, a reflected image of the viewer’s ego itself.
In an effort to learn more about the motivations of
artists and myself I make an appointment with my therapist, a
person, I feel, who will give me an honest answer. After showing the
portfolio I ask, “What do you see in these photographs?”
The voice from the darkened room responds carefully,
“Photographs of your sacred places. What do you see?”
“That is a rather unsatisfactory dry response.”
“You would be disappointed in hearing my
interpretation. This session is not about me. It is more important
for you to tell what you see. I want you to project your
imagination.”
“In Stieglitz’s photographs I see a dark-caped
malevolent creature that blocks the sun. The demon is set loose upon
the world to do its evil task, to torture mankind, to create doubt
of the creator’s existence.” My therapist tries to hides a slight
smile.
“Does that amuse you?”
“Your imagination is so vivid. It gives me joy. What
else do you see?”
“I see the healing power of love breaking through the
darkness. I suppose others see angels; some proclaim music, while
several others see only clouds. When I tell it aloud it sounds a bit
corny.”
“Perhaps. Anything else?”
“In my own photographs I see myself. I see the light
and the shadow side. In some I see symbols that lead me to thoughts
of God.”
Then my therapist says, “In some respects, a work of
art is a self portrait. Maybe it’s wise to let each person come to
God in his or her own way. Some find him on mountaintops like Ansel
Adams did, others in churches and synagogues.”
“Yes. However, today the mountaintop would be crowded
with four-wheel drive vehicles and hunters with dead animals
butchered for their trophy heads. In the winter cross-country
skiers, onlookers looking at the camera, asking questions concerning
the endless debate between digital and analog photography. The
silence would be interrupted by the distant unpleasant jarring sound
of a snowmobile and the sky would be full of contrails from passing
jet planes.”
“Please continue. You seem to be on a roll.”
“In English pubs I have visited there are hundreds of
years of interesting conversation and merriment stuck in the very
fabric of each brick and wooden table. Likewise, in the sanctuary of
churches and synagogues the vibrations of songs, prayers, and
comforting words over time stick like a coat of varnish onto the
pews and holy places. How many generations have asked for healing
for themselves, for children, or their aging parents? How many
prayers were answered there? How many shouts of joy can be perceived
in the silence? How many friendly handshakes? How many hugs? Listen.
You can nearly hear the hushed murmured sounds of the confessions
that relieve the soul’s burdens.”
“It has been said that once a vibration is set into
motion, it goes on forever. Tell me about your experiences have you
had in the places you have photographed?”
“One place in particular was St. Michaels in Convent,
the first church I photographed. I was met at the door by a statue,
the armed figure of the Archangel Michael resting his body on the
handle of a wicked looking sword. Inside I noticed a man with a
broom carrying a trashcan. I thought he was the janitor, and then
realized he was Rector Father B, a Jesuit Priest, in the disguise of
a humble workman. Another time I remember an excited assistant with
the camera and tripod over his shoulder running up the aisle to set
up another picture exclaiming, ‘This is the money shot.’”
“That’s funny. What have the reactions been from those
who have seen your work?”
“The photographs serve as a memory jog for them. They
let me know their personal history; such as ‘I was married in that
church or my father’s funeral was there or I used to be an acolyte
when I was younger. My photographs don’t have the same meaning
for them as they do for me.”
“Can you explain?”
“I have had several mystic experiences in church.”
“Will you tell me about some of them?”
“One morning service during August several years ago I
heard a sermon that rocked my world. It took me by surprise. Our
minister was a gifted orator. He began slowly but then reached a
crescendo like a Beethoven symphony. He said, “Soul fish are clever.
They are not found in shopping malls, video games, or on TV but swim
in the deepest oceans where unmentionable dark things lurk, or on
the waters surface where the sparkles are the brightest.”
“I can’t explain what happened next but the imagery of
sparkles on the water came to me like a wall of sound that
overwhelmed and crashed over me, like a wave. And then I could see
the top of my head shooting off flames and sparks like fireworks on
the Fourth of July. Whenever that was over I was in tears. The dark
things came unstuck from the depths of my psyche and exploded into
brightness on the surface.”
“Sounds like your chakras were blocked and they blew
out.”
“My what?”
“You know, your charkas; your seven energy centers in
the body that affect your aura.”
“Oh. Those.”
“They need to be balanced to remain alive, healthy, and
creative. Sometimes they get stuck and they blow open like a hole in
a dam. Your experience is a bit unusual but not unique. Now, tell me
about the new work in New Orleans.”
“There has been a definite shift in mood in my pictures
after the storm. They are darker. Katrina devastated New Orleans,
the Gulf Coast, and changed almost everyone’s life in the region.
Refugees are scattered to the four corners of the country. During
the hurricanes—don’t forget Rita—we were hunkered down in Baton
Rouge. The first week fear gripped the city. Gun shops were full,
traffic was gridlock, and gas and living space were in short supply.
Since that time there has been a flood of information, books, and
photographers making images of the destruction. I didn’t go into the
city for a year. When I did I was more interested in the restoration
of the city than the destruction. What is most poignant is that
people want their churches restored but some have only five or six
of their congregation left. Some churches and synagogues have been
lost, others will be sold or bulldozed.”
“I wish them success in bringing back their churches.”
“It may take twenty years or more.”
“Sad. Very sad, but I believe in the determination of
the human spirit to build community and restore order.”
“I hope these photographs will help in some way.
Ultimately for me the reason I photograph these places is that being
inside offers a refuge from a mean-spirited world. It is quiet and I
can make photographs in peace.”
“Peace. That is reason enough.”
“Amen.”
A.J. Meek
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