From Billy Joel to Talking Heads to Old Sam
Statements are conveyed in words, songs, and images. I almost feel I could stop here, send this out, and you’d get my message without me writing another single word.
Almost.
But before I was the Energy Sage, I was the Wordy Woman… so I have more to say.
The beginning (or maybe the end) of the story
About Old Sam
I remember the day Joe came home after taking this photo. He’d been out with his buddy John, cruising the western North Carolina mountain back roads as they frequently did, rising early to be on the road, ready to shoot (pics), before sunrise.
Upon his return home that morning, Joe came bursting in, barely able to contain himself. “You have to see this,” he hollered from the front door.
For a highly creative individual, Joe was a systems guy. A true Capricorn, he had a process for just about everything. Coming in after a shoot normally was a carefully orchestrated event of greeting me with a kiss, putting away his gear, taking off his jacket, and then settling at his desk to download the images from the day onto his computer.
That day, he shoved the camera at me, directing me to check out the image display screen where he had bracketed a series of shots.
I have to say, the raw images did not look quite the same as the finished photo, shown above. Joe had a photographer’s eye. Most of the time, his raw images looked (to me) like things I would pass right by. But this time, even I saw the potential.
As the image download processed, we had coffee and he told me the story of how he was able to take that photo. It’s one thing to snap pics of houses, animals, and scenery, but when a person is present, you can’t just stop to point and shoot. Especially on back roads when a rifle might be nearby, loaded and ready to point and shoot.
They were on their way back from the day’s outing. John was driving and talking. Joe was looking out the window and spied old Sam on the porch. “Stop, stop, stop, back up!” Apparently John, engrossed in his story, missed it.
After pulling the car over to the side of the road, they approached carefully. John blended a bit better than Joe, who stood out like an elder version of Fonzie in his leather jacket and boots. He clearly did not come from these parts. So John, bearded and tattooed with a more weather-worn appearance, took the lead.
He engaged Sam with some conversation, mostly John talking. He asked if they could take a photograph and Sam didn’t blink, budge, or answer. Then John noticed some branches to the side that had been whittled down to walking stick size.
“Hey, can I buy one of those?” he asked.
Sam nodded toward the pile, and John selected one. He took some bills from his pocket and offered them to Sam, hand outstretched. He waited for acknowledgment before walking up and handing the money over.
“Okay to take a photo of you?”
Sam nodded and the two photographers snapped their shutters as many times as they could before Sam glared back, indicating it was time to go. They took off, barely able to contain their glee at their score. You couldn’t hire a set designer to create the scene they had just stumbled upon and captured.
Reminds me of a scene I saw in a documentary about Joan Didion, produced by her nephew Griffin Dunne. In this scene, Dunne was interviewing a physical version of Didion that was close to ghostly. She was painfully thin and fragile looking.
He asked her about a story she had done years before for The Saturday Evening Post about the Summer of Love in San Francisco. In her research visit to a counterculture event, she encountered a five-year-old child tripping on LSD given to her by her parents. What did you think of that? he asked.
Suddenly the peaked Didion came alive. Her eyes shone and she leaned in excitedly. “Let me tell you. It was gold,” she said. “You live for moments like that, if you’re doing a piece. Good or bad.”
I remember that as a mother and grandmother, I was shocked and a bit horrified by her reaction. But the writer in me understood.
It’s the same as how I understand this image and Joe’s excitement at capturing a scene that speaks volumes.
As a privileged white woman of Jewish heritage and middle class upbringing, I’m a bit fearful when I encounter such rural, rudimentary living. I would not have begged John to stop and back up if it had been me viewing the scene from a car window. I would have ordered him to step on it. Get the hell out of there.
Yet, from the safety of my bedroom, as I looked over Joe’s shoulder at the finished image, I got it. Old Sam was just doing his thing in his own world. It was only scary to me because it was not of mine.
And isn’t that where we all are today? So, where will we take the story from here?
We didn’t start the fire. But we’re burning down the house.
With nods to Billy Joel and Talking Heads for providing the songs that inspired my title and subtitle…
More than ample information about the downside of the patriarchy is available just about anywhere. Type the word into a search engine and hundreds (thousands?) of articles, videos, songs, and images pop up. The encroachment, the oppression, the seemingly inescapable entrenchment is met with outrage and despair, no matter which link you click.
So I’m not going to add to a topic that’s already well covered.
I’m going to write about walking away. About choosing differently. About creating something new and good. That’s what the Escape the Patriarchy challenge is all about.
Next up in this series: Tarot and the Patriarchy
And while we’re talking about images that speak volumes, this is me ⬇️ Yes, even the Tarot deck I use advocates exodus.
