Today I attended my friend’s photo exhibit opening.
We are locked into a “consistently peripheral” friendship somewhere in the “three rings from center” range, and every six or seven years we find ourselves in the same city with a reason to connect. Our relationship is shallow enough to be reclaimed in a moment, but full of just enough magnificent shared stories (some part of my collective lore, some never-to-be-spoken-of) to give weight to our reunion. Laurel is a Yale-MFA artist who prefers the un-retouched images of a disposable camera to the overly composed or exotic photos of her peers. After 30 minutes with her exhibition a total stranger can know more about Laurel than they know about some of their best friends. This exhibit explored Laurel’s evolving feelings about ‘knowing” her parents.
Part One was a series of polaroids from the final time she saw her mom before she slipped into a coma and passed. Laurel had hoarded Polaroid film when it was discontinued and long-past-its-expiration date which created a wonderful chemical spill sepia effect and combined the passing of her mother and the last of her favorite media. Laurel was pregnant with her first child when her mom passed and has a “hole” from her Mom never meeting her grandchild.
Part Two combines Laurel’s affection for dated images and current internet populism — she asked anonymous internet citizens to photoshop pictures of her baby into the arms of pictures of her Mom from the 70s. Moving.
Part Three was my favorite. At first glance, it just looks like a standard picture-a-day series of her boy from his first birthday cupcake to eighteen months. Then you read the description. The pictures mirror the age and time that her father (a Japanese immigrant) spent in an internment camp during WWII. Powerful and magnificent.
