A Photographer Without Sight

I am remembering my dreams more than I used to, and with the recent move that felt more like an evacuation the dreams are carried into my days. I have been haunted by leaving Hawaii in much the same way I was haunted while I was there. Dreams often become the starting point of my art, but more so the daydreams than those from the night. Most of my recent dreams involve my former students, animals I rescued or references to my family home being lifted and moved to another place, which unfortunately happened. They are a scramble of references to home and identity with a good dose of guilt thrown in. Abandonment plays a key role almost nightly. Last night’s dream is no exception with the appearance of a friend who is a symbol of home. We stood in a stark empty white room face to face with my friend’s eyes covered with a blindfold. His hands searched my face like a bind man would, recognizing me by touch.

I have been identified like that when I return to one particular island off the coast of Ireland. A fair amount of my early inspiration for photography came from this island man that could not see, as well as my own Mother who woke to find she had lost her sight in her sleep and then months later woke to find it had returned. I remember trying to explain my photography to this islander as well as trying to explain to my Mother why I chose to be a visual artist when she lost her sight. I am not sure which was easier, explaining sight to someone who has never had it, or explaining why you choose to see because you may not always have it. What I found through conversations with this islander was that we shared a love of the same dangerous places that very few others bothered to hike to. It was desolate and windy, and chances are you would fall at least once regardless of your sight. Your leg would be caught in deep crevices that cross cut the land and each time you wondered if you would free yourself before nightfall. The experience was the same for both of us.

The last time I was in Ireland I traveled out to this place even though I had little more than one day to spent there. I needed to be there, to reconnect in some way with the stones, the cliffs, something that was still there no matter how many months I had stayed. I talked for a few moments with some of the residents, before noticing a man with two dogs walking by his side, one a new guide dog fresh from training and the other the dear guiding friend from the past now retired. I wanted to yell out, but yelling wasn’t really appropriate in this place of silence, so I simply stood there and watched him turn to face me from the bottom of the hill and nod.

My friend in the dream probably sees more than anyone I have ever met. My mind is so filled with his images that sometimes I confuse them for my own. I see them on my wall or in books or upon my desk and for I split second I think it is my experience, and in a way it is. That is why we are interested in art and creativity in the first place. So why is it that in my dream he is without the sense that guides him, and why am I the one to have presumably taken it from him, although temporarily. Maybe it serves to balance, to redirect like a lightning rod or a ground to ensure safety.