That description of hell is pretty much what depression was like for me. Food lost taste and appeal, music was insipid tinkling or irritating thudding, the sun was just hot... and nothing could penetrate the grey curtains.
While I see what Barthes is saying, and agree to a point -particularly on an emotional level - it's also true that our memories are mutable, and we self-edit all the time. The photograph stands apart from this, simply an artefact of chemicals and light (used to be at least...), and won't engage with the nonsense of our egos. It becomes a counter-memory in the sense of its accuracy.
“ These baffled, violent men with their miserable, shrewish wives, hermetically sealed from their dreams by alcohol, poverty and fate.” JFC, a fate escaped. I was never cut out to be a miserable shrew.
The quote from Barthes is challenging for me, as someone who loves photographs, has an appalling memory and uses the images I capture to prompt my recall, despite me being aware that they're probably creating false memories. Dali said "The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: It is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant" - maybe that's what photographs offer as their counter-memory, something that's more real, shinier, happier for being false? Btw - my favourite quotes from Barthes are about language "Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire". Love that.
Ooh, that is good. And there's a smart comment down the thread about how photos at least don't have the mutability of memory, forever at the beck and call of ego...
Your description of Hell is so accurate for me. And like Paul said above, very much like my periods of depression and dissociation. Everything just becomes...bland. Finding the magic again is a difficult and worthwhile journey.
Spotify was obviously reading this - the first song it decides to play tonight is Grey by Ani Difranco. One of my favourites of hers, and gives me the same feelings as your words on Hell.
I love moderation so much that I've become addicted to it...
Sorry
Just listened to a podcast about Icelandic myth. It mentioned that Hell is exactly the same as the here and now but with all the colour taken out. Is that the same?
I've mentioned before how I'm a fan of photographs but some of the comments on here articulate their value much better than what I can.
I think it's great to be thought of as a safe pair of hands. Although I would worry that phrase carries with it an element of being taken for granted.
Alcohol and fate I can contend with. Poverty is a prison with little hope of release.
My wife just called me a baffled twat.
I thought about calling her shrewish but my survival instinct kicked in!
That description of hell is pretty much what depression was like for me. Food lost taste and appeal, music was insipid tinkling or irritating thudding, the sun was just hot... and nothing could penetrate the grey curtains.
Glad I passed through it.
Oof, yes. I'm glad you did too.
"Nothing could penetrative the grey curtains". That really resonates.
While I see what Barthes is saying, and agree to a point -particularly on an emotional level - it's also true that our memories are mutable, and we self-edit all the time. The photograph stands apart from this, simply an artefact of chemicals and light (used to be at least...), and won't engage with the nonsense of our egos. It becomes a counter-memory in the sense of its accuracy.
Very good way of putting it.
“ These baffled, violent men with their miserable, shrewish wives, hermetically sealed from their dreams by alcohol, poverty and fate.” JFC, a fate escaped. I was never cut out to be a miserable shrew.
And I'm trying not to be baffled and violent ;-)
The quote from Barthes is challenging for me, as someone who loves photographs, has an appalling memory and uses the images I capture to prompt my recall, despite me being aware that they're probably creating false memories. Dali said "The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: It is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant" - maybe that's what photographs offer as their counter-memory, something that's more real, shinier, happier for being false? Btw - my favourite quotes from Barthes are about language "Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire". Love that.
Ooh, that is good. And there's a smart comment down the thread about how photos at least don't have the mutability of memory, forever at the beck and call of ego...
Your description of Hell is so accurate for me. And like Paul said above, very much like my periods of depression and dissociation. Everything just becomes...bland. Finding the magic again is a difficult and worthwhile journey.
One of the most important journeys of all...
Spotify was obviously reading this - the first song it decides to play tonight is Grey by Ani Difranco. One of my favourites of hers, and gives me the same feelings as your words on Hell.
I love moderation so much that I've become addicted to it...
Sorry
Just listened to a podcast about Icelandic myth. It mentioned that Hell is exactly the same as the here and now but with all the colour taken out. Is that the same?
I've mentioned before how I'm a fan of photographs but some of the comments on here articulate their value much better than what I can.
I think it's great to be thought of as a safe pair of hands. Although I would worry that phrase carries with it an element of being taken for granted.
Alcohol and fate I can contend with. Poverty is a prison with little hope of release.
My wife just called me a baffled twat.
I thought about calling her shrewish but my survival instinct kicked in!
I'm glad to hear it ;-)
Your first line would make an excellent kick-off for a stand-up routine...
That Icelandic take sounds about right...
Yes, think the comments on photos are an interesting corollary...
And you're probably right about safe pairs of hands being under-celebrated.