Photogenic Much?
(Dedicated to those who, uh, like me, are freakishly unphotogenic.) “Every picture tells a story.” Years ago Rod Stewart told us that, right? Now personally, I “buy” it, and that’s a lot coming from someone who loves to tell stories with words. The thing about pictures though? I prefer them when I’m taking them. Or looking at them. When I’m asked to pose for them, I’ve been known to run. You’d almost think I’m in the witness protection program. I am what you might call unfortunately unphotogenic. People yielding cameras try to assure me. They say I need to identify my good side and turn it toward the camera. (I’m still working on it.) Occasionally I’ll think I’ve nailed a winning smile. And then I see the resulting photo. (Yikes!) And then there’s my biggest fear in this age of social media—waking up to a Facebook notification that I’ve “been tagged”. But here’s the question. If every picture tells a story, then does every photo opp we dodge actually erase a bit of our story? Our personal story. The one we share with our friends and our family. This thought plagued me while putting together a picture book to give my family during the 2017 holidays. “This is Us – The Rices – 2016” starts out with a few scant photos from the cruise we took together in September 2016. On Day 3 of the cruise, we anticipated docking at St. Martin, where our daughter Quinn was to be married on Magen’s Bay. Something else happened though. Hurricane Matthew. Rerouting plans. Goodbye, St. Martin. Hello, Haiti. The younger Rices and guests managed to go with the flow. Bummer about the wedding, but the sun shone in Haiti, so no problem, mon. Rice and I? We were crushed. We’d driven eight hours to port, rather than flying one, to keep an eye on the dress. We’d spent a pretty penny so that all our kiddos and their partners could sail with us. We’d even insured every passage—before learning cruise insurance doesn’t cover cruise rerouting, which can occur at the captain’s discretion. The folks who say destination weddings are more economical may be right. Still, costs can add up quickly. For instance, there’s reserved round-trip guest transportation to and from the ceremony site. Let’s not forget tiki torches, a wedding arch with flowing fabric, and flowers. Add in a steel-drum musician, an officiant, catering, and professional photography. Then there’s the cost of a wedding license in the islands. That license, my friends, is not more economical than a stateside one. If I can be crude but accurate as I look back, Rice and I each tucked our respective head into a place where the sun never, ever shines. We went through the motions of that cruise, continuing to meet friends and family for dinner, take the grandson to the Boardwalk and the carousel, and watch our adult kiddos wipe out on the FlowRider. You know what, though? There are no pictures with the whole gang all together from that cruise. Sure, we have pics the kids took during their portside adventures. But Rice and I? We avoided the camera completely. There’s not one single photo to capture our disappointment. We knew our sadness and anger would’ve been front and center—in our eyes, our expressions, our posture. Believe it or not, I wish today that I did have such a picture.
In October 2016, Quinn and Patrick got married in Patrick’s parents’ back yard. We got hundreds of pictures. One captures their four-year-old son, slouched in a doorway, too overwhelmed for ring bearer duty. Another features Quinn, twerking for a crowd of friends gathered by the make-shift bar. A favorite features me, wet as a sewer rat in my mother -of-the-bride gown. Oh, yes. I fell in the pool. And I posed for a picture to prove it.
These days, I’m readying myself for the next flurry of photomania. Our second grandchild—a little girl—is due any day. Do I regret that I haven’t lost those mounds of pounds that always shine front and center in photos featuring me? Oh, hellz, yes. But will I avoid the camera? No, I won’t.
Whether photos flatter or frighten is really beside the point. Their purpose lies in capturing the story, visually and viscerally. Will “This is Us – The Rices – 2018” feature shots that are picture perfect? Not likely. Will I post them on-line? We’ll see. There will be pictures, though. Pictures that are us – the Rices. Our personal 2018 story. The one we share with those we love.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go work on identifying my good side.
Comments