There are photos of people in my life that to me, define who they are. There is a photo of my Mom, taken back in the 1950's that comes to mind. I haven't seen that photo in many years, but it is in my head. She is wearing a dress, her long black hair is held up by a head band with her arms outstretched, side to side. It is as if she is leaning up against a wall of bushes. She has an exuberance on her face, somewhat of a jokester, and a little embarrassed because she is having her photo taken. There is a lot of life in that photo.
Another photo is one of my Dad. He is sitting back on the couch, slacks, white tee shirt and his black, heavy glasses relaxing with Bob, my cousins husband. I remember he used to put Vitalis in his hair. He wasn't the type to be stylishly in fashion, but then maybe he was... His hair was always combed, shiny and very black.
I don't know why these photos are the ones that most stick out in my head. They are just the ones that are there.
I came upon a photo of myself, going thru my archives recently of personal and professional stuff. It was the late 80's or early 90's when I was a bad ass. I had just started to discover style and form and function. These were some defining years for me. A buddy of mine at the time wanted to photograph me. Like most things that have much meaning, I didn't think much of it. I just threw on what I would have worn if I went out riding. Pure essence. I really thought this photo was great when I 1st saw it. But as I look at it now, I see transition. I became liberated and I became independent. It isn't the fact that I'm Mr. Baddass on a very cool vintage motorcycle, it is me having made certain choices that began to define who I am. In my eyes, this is my defining photo...
No comments:
Post a Comment