My grandfather loved woman. So he became an amateur photographer.
His camera was a permanent accessory, his access pass to women way outside his league. His limited mobility meant his subjects were suburban women from his neighborhood- women at the strip mall, the park, the public pool. He would make them laugh and play to their vanity- then shoot as long as they allowed, working them from playful to more suggestive poses. He was shameless and he had no limits. Meanwhile, My grandmother could be found waiting in the car.
He photographed several women from his church choir. He eroticized them (and they knew it.) Their dresses were aways a little too short, or their blouse too tight. These "choir photos" would then be blown up, cropped, and taped to the wall in his living room.
There were thousands of these photos, all over the house. No one ever mentioned it.
All this T&A made me uncomfortable during our holiday visits. My grandmother would serve him Thanksgiving turkey surrounded by images of church friends with wardrobe malfunctions, and strangers in suggestive poses. God bless her. and him.
When grandma died, grandpa tore all these images down, and replaced them with pictures of her. The house became a memorial. By this time, he had a printer and every waking hour was spent obsessively printing photos of their life together.
He would caption them with sentimental epitaphs or quotes from the Bible, then use cheap effects from print shop- such as vignetting, and the sepia glow.
Tragedy.
A few years passed. His health declined. He had to be fed, the house had to be cleaned, he had to be reminded to take medication... Still, he woke up, stumbled to the computer in his adult diaper, and went through photos of his wife. He did this until he died.
I am thinking about him today.
I am cleaning out my closet. This has not been done in years. I am down, and the accumulation of boxes of random meaningless crap makes me feel worse.
I come across a camera I was using years ago. I click through the photos.
There are pictures from Africa, Santa Monica, Atlanta, Amsterdam, South Africa.
And there are lots of men. Shirtless men. Lonely men. Homeless men. Interesting men. Happy men. Men I find attractive.
I use my camera to lure them in. I hope they are vain and will fall for it. Then fall for me.
Read more!
