P52 Week 10 - Photographer's Choice

OK this week’s Project 52 title is ‘photographer’s choice’ and I must go with the literal heading. I could riff off of it and shift it to “writer’s choice” but I don’t want to go there. First off, apologies to my daughter – you did not receive your photographic talent from your mother.

OK, so here’s a 2007 selfie (had the term even been coined back then?) taken on a trip to Sydney for my 40^th high school reunion. The backdrop of course is the brilliant landmark of the Sydney Opera House.

The look on my face tells a lot as to how I was feeling on that trip.

The feint smile speaks to my pleasure in seeing childhood haunts: Loreto Kirribilli, the convent school I attended in grade and high school; North Sydney and Wollstonecraft, the neighborhoods where I lived; Queenscliff, the beach at the northern end of Manly where my family spent many a weekend summer’s day; the stately Harbour Bridge that I crossed by train several times each week to take ballet and violin lessons. The smiley wrinkles around my eyes speak to the fun I had reconnecting with classmates and friends, all of whom welcomed me so graciously!

The puzzled look in the droop of my eyelids reflects my feeling a little like a duck out of water. This was only my second trip back to Australia in decades and the city had, of course, changed immeasurably in the interim. When I left Sydney in 1966, the Sydney Opera House was still under construction for heaven’s sake!

The setting of the city – the man made setting – had completely transformed. My house in Wollstonecraft had been razed and replaced by unsightly apartments. The only part of my school that I recognized was the chapel building with its lovely tower. The inner city, except for the street names – Martin Place, George Street, Pitt Street – felt completely foreign with its clusters of modern skyscrapers.

The inherent beauty of the landscape, though, had not changed. All of the natural splendors still amazed me: the gorgeous harbor, the ocean cliffs of the Gap, the stunning golden beaches, the laughing calls of the Kookaburras and the sprays of tropical flowers - bougainvillea, hibiscus and bottlebrush. Returning to the beauty of my childhood locale brought back not only memories but also physical sensations. My body cells glowed, hummed and resonated with recognition. It seemed as if a construction crew was busily repairing and upgrading the pieces of my childhood stored in my anatomy. I was being healed.

The raised eyebrows in my selfie convey a sort of disbelief. As I experienced the city of my youth – its cosmopolitan flavor and its economic complexity – I had a distinct sense that Sydney had outpaced me. My friends asked if I would consider moving back and I didn’t feel drawn to do that, but I also realized that I didn’t have the economic foundation to do so. I simply couldn’t afford to live in Sydney and that was a rather sobering realization.

My self-portrait shows a perplexed, complex and puzzled sort of expression. I relate that to the jumbled clutter of memories, feelings and body sensations that I have stored growing up in Australia. One of the ways I have begun to untangle and integrate this hodgepodge has been by writing a memoir, of which a substantial part takes place in Australia.  I have been working on the manuscript for the past five years and have pondered writing my story for a lot longer than that. I embarked on this project for a lot of reasons: to delve into the mystery that is I; to explain to my children where I have come from and why I am the way I am. And there has been an inexplicable draw to get my story out there, a draw that has me by the pant cuff, won’t let me go and keeps dragging me towards completing the work and getting it published.

‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’ How true! Even an artless selfie can tell a story.