Coming Home

This weekend I went to my hometown of Washington, D.C. to spend some time with family and friends and make more pictures for my project on my depression. Unfortunately I was not able to meet up with my therapist from high school, as I had originally planned, because she made a last minute trip out of town. Nevertheless, the weekend was full of reflection and reminiscing on who I used to be and who I have become. My mom and I sat on her bed and thought back to the night that I sat there almost 9 ½ years ago and told her that something was wrong and that I needed to see a therapist, thought back to how she took me downstairs to have ice cream after. We recalled the time a week before my 14^th birthday when my psychiatrist decided it was time to put me on antidepressants. We remembered the night I came dangerously close to attempting suicide; how she had accidentally left her phone at home and all my calls went to voicemail; how my best friend’s mom drove her the 30 minutes to my house to intervene. It was bittersweet, wading through these memories, appreciating the actions of my friends and family while feeling sad for my former self, yet recognizing how far I have come since then.

What was surprisingly frustrating about trying to shoot this weekend was making images of my mom, as she always immediately noticed my phone and demanded to see the images I had made so that she could give them her seal of approval (my dad, however, remained oblivious). She hated the way she looked in almost every single one and kept wanting me to retake them, kept posing. I tried to explain to her that these images are not about making her look like a supermodel, but rather about telling my story, but it did not do much to help. I’m so used to my subjects not seeing the final finished product of my work that I am not used to difficulties such as this. I want to be respectful of my mom’s wishes, but also want to share my story as I see it, with all of its flaws. It is somewhat frustrating to build up the courage to let myself be vulnerable in my images only to have my mom’s own insecurities hold me back, but at the same time I completely understand it. After all, I’ve shared images that have potentially unflattering connotations about myself, but I have not shared many images that are unflattering of my physical appearance (at least, not on social media). But though she was reluctant to have her picture taken, she has never hesitated to help me in any other way she possibly can, and I cannot thank her enough for this. 

"Am I Being Crazy?"

This past week I had an interesting experience in which I felt like I was watching myself through the actions of someone else. As I mentioned in a previous post, I often question whether my thoughts and interpretations of reality are truly objective, constantly asking myself, “Am I being crazy?” As a result, I tend to seek the approval and reassurance of others, and, in doing so, tend to repeat myself over and over again to ensure that I am, in fact, sane.

I was therefore intrigued when I heard a friend ask this question repeatedly, “Am I crazy?” I listened as he explained the situation he was in, how absurd and irrational his boyfriend was acting. I watched as it devolved from this one situation to a general pattern of frustrating behavior. I listened to him repeat the same aspects of the story over and over again, telling anyone who would listen, exasperatedly asking again and again, “Am I crazy?”

No matter how many times my friends and I assured him he was in the right, that his boyfriend was acting ridiculous, that he was not crazy, more parts of the story kept pouring out of him, as did the question of whether or not he was crazy. It was so strange to watch because I realized I have done the same thing many times before; repeating myself, retelling the same story to anyone around me, constantly seeking reassurance that I am in the right and not going insane. As badly as I felt for my friend, a strange sense of relief washed over me as I watched and listened to him. I sympathized with him, but I could not help but feel happy at the realization that I am not the only one who has moments like this. Not only that, but being on the other side of the situation I was finally able to see that, as the listener, I was not frustrated or tired by him. For after the fear of being crazy subsides, I then get the fear that I am annoying my friends by asking the question. I hope I can remember this the next time I am having an am-I-crazy moment.

Theresa and the Tattooed Man

Untitled from the "At Twelve" series (Theresa and the Tattooed Man), Sally Mann, 1983-1985 

Looking through the work of Sally Mann at Jackson Fine Art this past Wednesday, hearing the story of Untitled from the “At Twelve” series (Theresa and the Tattooed Man), I wondered: how do you photograph the unseen? How do you capture the tension in the air? How do you depict abuse you have never witnessed? I look at this image now and my stomach turns. I feel Theresa’s discomfort, see her anger at the world for not noticing what has been happening to her. And perhaps I also see a smidgen of pride in her eyes, a certain toughness in her face that says to me, “I’m still here.” The inches Theresa puts between herself and the Tattoeed Man seem to make up miles. The dirt stains on the Tattooed Man’s shirt appear all too appropriate. Do I only feel that Mann has so perfectly encapsulated this moment because I now know the rest of the story behind the image? I no longer remember how I felt when I first saw this picture, before its history was revealed. How does knowing the back-story affect how I view this image? (Or any image, for that matter).

I now reflect on JB Rasor’s most recent (as of writing this) blog post discussing the necessity (or lack thereof) of writing accompanying a photographic project, for I feel this particular photo provides a good case-study. Mann’s images are incredibly powerful and more than capable of standing strong on their own, however, the power this picture possesses when paired with more information about its origins is astounding. How could Mann do anything but include this information along with her work? I realize that not every photographic project has a back-story quite like that of Untitled (Theresa and the Tattooed Man), but I just personally appreciate having as much information as I can about any work of art.

Emotions and Creativity

In addition to weekly individual therapy sessions, I also attend a weekly therapy group that specializes in a treatment called Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (D.B.T.). This treatment is "designed specifically for individuals with self-harm behaviors, such as self-cutting, suicide thoughts, urges to suicide, and suicide attempts."[1] D.B.T. is set up like a class with lessons and homework assignments, and is split into four modules: mindfulness, distress tolerance, emotion regulation, and interpersonal effectiveness. The goal of D.B.T. is to help people learn how to identify the triggers that lead to reactive states and which coping mechanisms best apply in the given situation.

D.B.T., Lindsey Max, 2016

We are currently working on emotion regulation. This week’s homework assignment is to go through a list of myths about emotions and write down a challenge to each myth. One of the myths is that “creativity requires intense, often out-of-control emotions.” I pause for a while to reflect on this statement. My emotions and my creativity seem to have a mutually beneficial relationship, particularly for my currently project. Often when I am experiencing intense emotions, I look to photography as a way to distract myself and calm myself down. I find working with film to be particularly calming, from shooting to processing to printing in the darkroom.  It is at these times I also feel that I do my most creative work. If and when I start to feel unstable, I use photography to center myself. Photography is my form of meditation. I translate the energy I am spending on negative thoughts and emotions into creative energy. One of the side effects of my depression is that I often have very little energy and it can be difficult to motivate myself to do even the littlest tasks. Additionally, the antidepressants I take also cause drowsiness. Therefore, it is at times when my emotions are running high that I tend to have the most energy, and thus translating this negative energy into creative energy seems to produce my best results. This is not to say that I am only creative when I am feeling depressed, but rather that the more intense I am feeling, often the more creative I am. For example, in high school I was given Rorschach tests at a time when I was pretty down, and the psychiatrist had to cut me off because I was giving too many answers for what I saw in each figure. I was also told I was the first patient to say a figure looked like a Georgia O'Keeffe. 

D.B.T. From the Other Side, Lindsey Max, 2016*

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[1] http://behavioraltech.org/downloads/dbtFaq_Cons.pdf

*I have been asked to note that the figures in this image are not real Rorshachs