Nostalgia
Once again Fall says hello-heavy fog and warm air, fog is slow to lift, and as it does it remains in that in-between opaque wetness that makes everything look like a misty nostalgic movie. I love that wistful feeling I can get from the edge of Fall, before we say goodbye to the passing of summer, with all the potential we saw going into the summer months already seeming to have slipped away while we are in the early twilight of the of our 12 month cycle, as we head towards winter and the end of another year.
I am fascinated by nostalgia. While I think it is generally a cheap shot, an easy way to trigger emotion, it is also a powerful phenomenon. Mostly I think because it is often based on things we have never actually experienced ourselves, instead a longing for a notion of how we imagine things should be; a construction in our head of the perfect family, the happy holiday, the supportive and loving relationship, the understanding friend, the stress free home, the engaging and meaningful job—all these things that are constructed by our collective societal norms, that are usually not our experience at all, but something we subscribe to, and we look to as validating indicators around us to affirm that this happiness is true and possible. No wonder many smart people are nihilists and punk rockers.
Nonetheless, I love having these sweeping feelings of warmth triggered by certain things. Looking at beautiful Christmas cards, sunsets, the first rain and the smell it makes when it hits the pavement, the colors of fall, delicious appetizers, first kisses, clean sheets. In these moments I feel that everything is all right and that the world is fair. I have hope, and well this yearning, that for me triggers nostalgia. But as I said, it is hardly ever triggered by a reference to a personal experience, but a constructed notion triggered by a personal experince. But to get that moment of myopic contentment is worth it however I get it.
I woke up this morning to jack hammering underneath me and the doorbell ringing as my step mother called to find out if I was OK after the surgery. That was very, very nice of her and it humbles me and my bad attitude and I will shut up now on that front. But the day did not get much better, so I will skip over it.
And then I went to shoot at the de Young, and just as I thought it kicked my ass into a much better mood. The jazz band was lovely and did a quiet vocal and bass version of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart Again”, hey, I had an authentic nostalgic experience: I was in the early 80s again, in my early 20s and it was all before me and I arrogantly thought I could become anything I wanted to become. I think, no I know, I was a much bigger nostalgia junkie and romantic then, but then I was much younger and a lot dumber. It was a good time in my life, as fucked up as I was, I had a great time. Or am I being nostalgic? Fast-forward to the present-I had a really good time shooting the group, Sarah Wilson’s Trapeze Project, they are really good and low key and non assuming. Then I went over to pick up Saki, my friend and my lawyer George’s dog who is Lefty’s best friend to come and stay for the weekend as George and his family are traveling. So there I was in the Richmond, a neighborhood that I almost never go to and very few of my friend live in, and I park my car and there’s Elisabeth Beiard and her friend Kevin going to catch the bus to go see my friend Maw perform that I wasn’t going to because I was picking up Saki after work and then Jamie, George’s wife, rounds the corner with Saki on a walk, I presume to ease his bladder before I drive him across town, and these folks only live a block from each other as it occurred to me my favorite Jewish Princess and dear friend lives exactly between these two friends on the street half a block up from where we all bumped into each other. This kind of thing happens in one’s own neighborhood, or the Mission, all the time if you have a dog or are by nature a social person, but the Richmond? It made me feel good, and connected and made me want to have a party to celebrate and introduce these people who all live so close to one another and have a fair amount in common. And that wet, opaque fog was settled in over the Muni tracks, diffusing the light as I had these warm and fuzzy thoughts of connecting neighbors in a neighborhood I usually have no connection to.
Was I in the process of creating a memory that will become a point of departure for later nostalgia?
