For the past few weeks I’ve been involved in the Pruett family photo archiving project. Two Saturdays ago, I received on my stoop a 30 lb box of pictures spanning roughly 58 years. Since then, it’s been a completely mind blowing endeavor as it involves (photographic) evidence (of life) I have never seen and equally shocking glimpses into my parents pre-children (and let’s face it, pre-living). At first I laughed so very hard at all of the silly, happy faces I was sorting. Then I cried so very softly at how all the silly faces were getting older. What a weird, epic journey life is. It struck me that, simply by virtue of the fact that we live for so many years in constant company, we have such a huge human connection to, and almost complete understanding of, our families.
It’s funny to recognize the weird shape of my brother’s legs in pictures from 1980, or the facial expressions of my dad at 18. It is so very wonderful to know other human beings so well that you can anticipate their moods based on the slight tweaking of a forehead. It (growing up, moving on) happens so quickly that I think “appreciate your family” should be a whole class in school. Kids don’t know this shit! They don’t realize that the time they spent dragging each other around on blankets and trying to cheat at monopoly by volunteering to organize the bank will end, and become a distant memory. Oh, how quickly those days of vacation and hating each other turn into jobs and responsibility and the death of a carefree lifestyle and innocence!
As I was saying, the box of pictures (and other old treasures—mom left some other growing-up trinkets inside) is great. Here’s a sampling of what’s inside:
---Weird letters from my mom to my aunt Melinda that allude to some sort of “manners schooling”
---Girl Scout badges I earned when a wee child (which includes the “looking your best” and “healthy eating” badges)
---Well documented history of (personal) awkwardness (so many photos….)
---Coupons from 1971
---Newspaper clippings from 1961 of my mother in gym class
---Pictures of my sweet shy young mother (which came with the realization that she was one foxy lady back in the day)
---Evidence of me spelling my name wrong (sometimes L can be a very confusing letter, especially when an H sort of looks the same!)
---Funny letter to my grandmother
---Pictures of weird Mexican vacations where I vaguely remember racing my brother to the top of some kind of ruins--not understanding any of it in the context of the “world” or “history”
---Tons of “action” shots of Will playing soccer.
---Only “team shots” of me—due, no doubt, to the fact that I never saw any “action” when I was on sporting teams.
Take a look:
Recent obsession: Catherine Breillat (and France)
She wrote and directed a movie called Fat Girl. The movie itself was very talky and slow (aka French), and not at all clear in its morality, but the extra features were what really drew me in. Most of the extras were interviews with the director. She’s a weird French intellectual, who shunned all of her actors, save for the lead, because she didn’t really believe they were “artists”. She fully ignored them on the set because she couldn’t bring herself to engage in what she perceived as a base level of conversation. But somewhere in all of her talking about the “big picture”, as it were, she started to really make sense, hence my obsession. So last night I watched her film, Romance, which is mostly dialogue and graphic sex (as is Fat Girl) and features a European porn star. And (as did Fat Girl) it had a very weird, almost dream-sequence, abrupt ending. I walked away very confused and questioning my ability to understand art (aka my intelligence). What’s with the kooky French? I think they’re pretty rad simply because they define intensity, but could they at least talk down to us (movie watchers) a little? Must every line of dialogue be a grand sweeping statement about human nature?
I finally got around to watching A Very Long Engagement and Amelie and I have to say that no one does obsession like the French, and for that, I love them. My cunning new plan is to take French classes this winter at adult learning school. Parle vous français?
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