June 1, 2004

It's a curious thing how human beings are always trying to escape the finite. In that, I mean that it is interesting how our species has tried to capture the present and record it. From cave art to scrolls and hieroglyphics and on to books and photos, we have recorded our experiences, but why do we do that? Perhaps it is to pass on knowledge, but I am also inclined to believe that we are such forgetful creatures that we are struggling to remember ourselves. The notion of buying souveniers is peculiar, so why do we do it? I am guilty of doing it myself, convincing myself that it is 'practical'- clothes, books, art, etc. Really, there are all pleasures of my travels and remind me of where I was, when, and who I was with. The same is true of taking photographs, which when you look at it, is a very odd practice. Still, photos are often taken at hallmark occasions (birthdays, weddings, holidays) and also to document the passage of one person's short time on the planet. When it comes down to it, it seems as if we're trying to find a way we can capture single moments, chronicle time, but most of all to remind us. I think we (or at least I) fear forgetting and being forgotten. My rambling point here is this notion of portraits- people, places, things. I came to this idea over the last couple days for two reasons. First, seeing other people take pictures I often wonder what it is they are capturing and why- what does this mean to them and why do they need to remember it? Second, I am often busy taking pictures myself and it didn't dawn on me until today that I should ask myself those same questions. But first, I have to go back a bit, if you'll indulge me.

I wasn't quite motivated to do much today as I was in serious need of some down time. So, I made my way to the post office to buy stamps and had no clear vision for the remainder of my day. I wandered aimlessly around Wat Phnom and was entranced by a game going on in an outside pavilion. Under the shade of this pavilion, eight men, some young and some old, were playing the most peculiar game I had ever seen. It wasn't Trobriand Islanders cricket, but it was definately different. So, with no plans, I sat down to watch for a bit. All of them stood in a circle and from a distance, all I had seen was kicking, both forward and backward, but upon closer inspection, I realized that they were batting this badminton birdie like object back and forth. The birdie would fly over their heads and down behind them and they would kick backwards hitting it with the sole of their feet, lobbing it over their heads and to another person. I suppose it was little like hacky sack with an overgrown birdie. Anyway, there was no winning or losing or versus play, just everyone playing together. They would all cheer at impressive kicks and laugh, or groan and laugh when someone missed. I couldn't stay for long for I was soon swarmed with children, so after a few minutes, I began walking on.

I meandered through the back streets and it was interesting how the dirty, garbage filled road ran parallel to the riverview area where tourists stay. But there are so many juxtapositions, and that is precisely when I was becoming aware of my photographic habits. I have taken several rolls of film already and once I subtract my research shots, the majority of my photos are of people living and working, of their ordinary everyday lives. This struck me as peculiar and I wondered about other tourists who were taking photos of temples and buildings. Yesterday at the Royal Palace for instance, people were taking dozens of pictures of the various pagodas, stupas, murals, and statuary. The king's palace is encircled by a large yellow wall- on one side, tourists took photos of architecture and the king's evident riches, and on the other side, children without shoes, shirts, and food, disabled and elderly men and women propped helplessly against that same wall. I don't mean to give the impression that is all there is of Cambodia, that is certainly not so, but it is just so stark compared and figures in exponentially in my life here in Phnom Penh. So the photos I have been taking haven't necessarily been proof of poverty but instead persistence of life everywhere. Why did I snap that photo of the children at Cheoung Ek or the school gate? Life, in all its forms from the pinnacles of grandeur and greatness to the miniscule acts that keep us alive. The latter are the portraits I want to take. My montage for Phnom Penh's life would seem so hopeless and desperate if you didn't know what to look for. But again, I've gotten ahead of myself.

While I thought about what I would do to entertain myself today, I walked slowly along the river and then sat down to really look around. Down the steep embankment, a woman with a sickle searched for edible plants while fishermen tried to catch their next meal. I could see the point where the Mekong and Tonle Sap rivers converged into one. Just as I was to really appreciate the beauty in this, a boy appeared before me on the embankment. I wanted to reach out and grab him for I feared he would slip down the wall, but he seemed expertly planted. His dirty scarred feet planted him, without a shirt and his shorts much too big, he looked at me with sad lonely eyes, placed his palms together as if in prayer, and said "Madame, please." I gave him some riel and I had to walk away. I was quite aways down the river when I stopped again to try and reflect, but all I could think about were the three children at our dinner table last night. There are no free moments for your conscience here in Phnom Penh, even in a restaurant, children come in trying to sell you whatever they have. One little boy came in with books and postcards followed by jasmine and two little girls (my senses noted them in that order). I think that what they really wanted was attention, not to be confused with what they needed- food, clothes, etc. We gave them the food on our table we hadn't eaten. Instead of buying their jasmine, I painted their fingernails and that was another moment in time captured not by the camera but by the heart. Doing a poor job in the very dim light at night, they nonetheless glowed. Looking at their nails and giggling as little girls should, they smiled before very carefully lifting their trays to sell the jasmine. Did we change their life, health, or status? Nope, but for one moment, they were any little girl, not working to eat and live, but just being little girls.

Startled from this reflection, I was mobbed so I left deciding spontaneously to take a short ride to the Central Market. I bought postcards that I didn't need from a land mine victim hobbling about on two prosthetic legs, selling books. We laughed and joked and I now have more postcards that I'll ever need in a lifetime. Before I could even walk to a stall, I was approached by more disabled postcard salesmen, children pleading, and nursing mothers. The last one hurt, this mother was walking from stall to stall, child nursing at her breast, begging. You had to be humbled by that. Another woman approached me with her dying infant lying lifeless in her arms. I had to leave. I had given out 2000 riel and I was still being approached. Like I've said before, its never enough, you can never seem to do enough or even make a dent. It was at that point that I could no longer smile, I was either going to scream or cry. Instead, I kept it together and hurried to the National Museum, for no particular reason. I needed refuge.

On my way, children picked through garbage, dozens of motorbike boys asked to carry me, and my ability to smile warmly and shake my head was waning fast. Part of me was dying right there on the street. Once inside the museum, 'inside' being a loose term, I ambled aimlessly about looking at prehistoric, pre-Angkorian, and Angkorian Hindu and Buddhist statuary, but without a guide, it was hit or miss. I did take some time to sit in the courtyard and watch the other visitors. A school group was visiting, but the children were more interested in the ponds than Genasha statuary (as would I at 10 years old). One little girl walked up to me (she had been following me through the museum) smiled and asked "what is your name?" I answered and asked her hers. She told me, giggled, and ran off to join her friends. I laughed too.

I lingered in the courtyard because I wasn't ready to brave the walk back just yet. When on of the German tourists snapped a photo, all of a sudden everything came together. Portraits, people, places, things, and feelings all of it instantly came together. Those photos I'll have of Phnom Penh will be testaments to life and hope. Who will be in my photos? Motorbike drivers anxious to work, shopkeepers tending shop, my Machiavellian prince chopping ice, old men playing cards, the men at Wat Phnom playing that peculiar game, the woman in New Market selling vegetables. There will be the director at the ministry of education who desires to be a messenger of peace, the pregnant lotus saleswoman at Cheoung Ek, and Danny who dreams of opening his own business. Yes, certainly Danny the dreamer would be in my montage, and of course, the children, the essence of life. I think I'm taking these pictures not because I need to remember where I was or who I was with, but how it made me feel, however defeated that may sometimes be. I suppose when I get back my family and friends would much rather see photos of the Royal Palace and they'll be sorely disappointed (I didn't take a one), but these are my memories, my feelings, and my photos.

I won't say that there was a cataclysmic moment of clarity and I'll forever only see and remember the good, but then again, memory is a funny thing- choosing to remember more good than bad. Naive? Maybe. Hopeful? Just a little bit. Portraits of life? Absolutely.