More than a thousand words, perhaps

I do love me some religious statues.


Here I am hanging out with Madonna, circa late 90's.

I asked one of my best friends who's also a photographer to take some pictures of me as a present to my then-boyfriend. The Blessed Mother was living in her backyard--not on the half-shell like so many in that neighborhood, but under her own trellis--and we just hit it off.

This me today, spending quality time with the Buddha, who lives in Charlie's backyard.

I've been immersed in the world of pictures over the last three days, inspired by a high school friend who posted a photo of a group of us on our way to a punk-themed party.

That snapshot was a delight on all sorts of levels. The clothes. The poses. The memories, especially. I remember laboring over the jeans I was wearing: bleaching them to remove some black, dyeing them to add some red, cutting them off below the knees. (Why did I think that was particularly punk? Not sure.) I remember dancing around and singing while we walked down the street, loving that it was night and it was fall and I was in the company of my tribe. And, coming back to the here-and-now, it was nice to know that someone I hadn't seen in 19 years remembered my name.

It was such a great trip that I wanted to share some of my old print photos. Give someone else the chance to go back in time. I scanned a staggering number of pics, and created my first two albums on Facebook: one for high school, one for college.

Problem #1: I've become an amnesiac. There are so many people whose names I can't recall, particularly in the college photos. All that remains are general details. This girl was the roommate of a girl who lived in my boyfriend's dorm. This guy was in my Greek civ class. They were people I saw nearly every day. It never occurred to me that in the not-so-distant future I'd be puzzling over images saying, "Now, didn't she date the guy with the mullet? Was his name Mike?" Note to self: from now on, label every picture.

Problem #2: One of the subjects requested that I remove his pictures. He was concerned that his image would be tarnished in the eyes of his clients, should they happen to see the photos. I immediately did as he asked. I said that I just didn't think.

Not entirely true. I had actually considered leaving out his pictures. He has lost quite a bit of weight since college and he has maintained a healthy weight for several years now, but it was hard-won and I think he's understandibly sensitive. Perhaps, I thought, he wouldn't want to be reminded of a time when he didn't feel very good about himself.

On the other hand, what message would I be sending if I omitted those pictures? "You don't belong in my memories because you weren't perfectly svelte"? I didn't give a good goddamn what he looked like. I loved him then, and I love him now. That's why I landed on the side of posting the pictures.

Now the can of worms is open.

Should I try to contact all the subjects and ask how they'd feel about having their pictures included in my album? If I ask, does it imply that I think there's something wrong with their appearance?

God only knows that I struggle with my body image. Trying to take a decent self-portrait was a formidable exercise in patience. Fifty duds before getting two that were...acceptable. And one of them is just plain funny. In an effort to disguise what I perceive as the early onset of a wattle, I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and glanced up at the camera under my brows. Great! Now I need to print a disclaimer explaining that the look I was trying for was not "uber-vamp" but "less chin."

In the spirit of acceptance, I've decided to post two pictures taken today. No special camera angles. No sucking in of the gut. Just 100% me. Here's to learning to love the skin you're in, allowing the image to exist as long as the internet lasts.