January 07, 2004
me and my baby - the transitional object
A friend once teased that my backpack contains my collection of transitional objects (of course). My camera is my most cherished transitional object. I carry it all the time. I have left it behind too many times only to come upon a spectacular scene which goes unphotographed.
It is a Canon s40. It fits my hand perfectly, like a bath size bar of soap - quite cuddly, really. I feel fascile with it; my third eye. The experience of getting to know it has been like learning to type so fast that I no longer have to think about what I'm doing. It weighs about a pound, small enough. Sadly, it does add weight to my backpack.
(Learning to meditate, to sit with myself in some sort of reverie, has eliminated a pound of novel from the load that I feel compelled to carry around.)
My camera is transitional, really, because it helps me to connect with someone who isn't present for the experience, when I'm alone. An innane example: I took a picture of the hideous, new carpeting in my mother's complex to show the folks at home. I anticipated that they would be as horrified as I was when they saw it.
I just had the thought that I have written about this before, I'll have to look. Apologies
Clarification: the man in the picture is not my baby, just a stranger passing by.