Maybe it’s because one of my best friends just got engaged. Maybe it’s because one of my favorite photo-friends got married a couple weeks ago. Maybe it’s because New Year’s Eve is just around the corner and that holiday ALWAYS makes me feel like crap. Lately? I’ve been feeling VERY single, and not so quirkyalone.
Just thought I’d throw that out there.
PS. I’ve moved to wordpress, standby for a new layout!
Sometimes it is easy to forget the true meaning of Christmas. The busy traditions of the season and the appealing advertisements for material goods can leave the pure and simple truths far, far behind.
Jake was nine years old with tousled brown hair with blue eyes as bright as a heavenly angel. For as long as Jake could remember he had lived within the walls of a poor orphanage. He was just one of ten children supported by what meager contributions the orphan home could obtain in a continuous struggle seeking donations from townsfolk.
There was very little to eat, but at Christmas time there always seemed to be a little more than usual to eat, the orphanage seemed a little warmer, and it was time for a little holiday enjoyment. But more than this, there was the Christmas orange!
Christmas was the only time of year that such a rare treat was provided and it was treasured by each child like no other food admiring it, feeling it, prizing it and slowly enjoying each juicy section. Truly, it was the light of each orphan’s Christmas and their best gift of the season. How joyful would be the moment when Jake received his orange!
Unknown to him, Jake had somehow managed to track a small amount of mud on his shoes through the front door of the orphanage, muddying the new carpet. He hadn’t even noticed. Now it was too late and there was nothing he could do to avoid punishment. The punishment was swift and unrelenting. Jake would not be allowed his Christmas orange! It was the only gift he would receive from the harsh world he lived in, yet after a year of waiting for his Christmas orange, is was to be denied him.
Tearfully, Jake pleaded that he be forgiven and promised never to track mud into the orphanage again, but to no avail. He felt hopeless and totally rejected. Jake cried into his pillow all that night and spent Christmas Day feeling empty and alone. He felt that the other children didn’t want to be with a boy who had been punished with such a cruel punishment. Perhaps they feared he would ruin their only day of happiness. Maybe, he reasoned, the gulf between him and his friends existed because they feared he would ask for a little of their oranges. Jake spent the day upstairs, alone, in the unheated dormitory. Huddled under his only blanket, he read about a family marooned on an island. Jake wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life on an isolated island, if he could only have a real family that cared about him.
Bedtime came, and worst of all, Jake couldn’t sleep. How could he say his prayers? How could there be a God in Heaven that would allow a little soul such as his, to suffer so much all by himself? Silently, he sobbed for the future of mankind that God might end the suffering in the world, both for himself and all others like him.
As he climbed back into bed from the cold, hard floor, a soft hand touched Jake’s shoulder, startling him momentarily and an object was silently placed in his hands. The giver disappeared into the darkness, leaving Jake with what, he did not immediately know!
Looking closely at it in the dim light, he saw that it looked like an orange! Not a regular orange, smooth and shiny, but a special orange, very special. Inside a patched together peal were the segments of nine other oranges, making one whole orange for Jake! The nine other children in the orphanage had each donated one segment of their own precious oranges to make a whole orange as a gift for Jake.
What is the true meaning of Christmas? “Sacrifice” is the answer.
While catching up on various blogs I came across this article. People annoy me. Lately my life has been featuring the “You’re not an artist, just a button pusher” attitude, and it is really starting to annoy me. For those of you who think photography, specifically the photographic arts, can be done by anyone, SHUT UP. I know that is a childish reaction, but honestly, I’m about to cut someone.
Just thought I’d let you know I’m not dead. Just busily preparing for the Holiday! If I don’t get another chance to post, Happy holidays!
I am made of a thousand layers.
I am the product of a broken home, the daughter of an alcoholic who died prematurely. I am a sister, a daughter, a caretaker, an employee and a student. I am agnostic. I am the minority. I’m the majority. I am a close friend and have many close friends. I am a blogger. I am an example, a leader and a follower. I am a feminist. I am involved. I am a loner. I am overweight. I am healthy. I am beautiful. I’m ugly. I am an artist.
Aside from the roles I play, I feel emotion.
I feel happy and sad. I am filled with anger and hate. I am curious. I feel joy. I get depressed to the point that life feels meaningless. I am afraid of the future and yearn for the past. I am confident and insecure. I am hopeful for the path that lies ahead and accept where I’ve been. I am relieved. I am an optimist, realist and pessimist. I am an artist.
It fascinates me that I experience these different roles and emotions simultaneously. One day I can be happy and sad while playing the roles of student and sister. The following day I will use different emotions while playing different roles. Who I was yesterday isn’t who I am today, and the possibilities for tomorrow are endless.
By layering images using photography, I am able to revisit yesterday, discover today, and anticipate the future. My latest series, Addiction, is a reaction to my father’s struggles with alcoholism. Addiction is defined as a “compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance”. Addiction explores dependency at its basest form. By repeating the same images and themes within one frame, I hope to portray addiction visually.
The overlapping and juxtaposing of images helps the viewer witness the compulsion and bottomlessness tied to dependency. The repeating images symbolize the monotonous repetition of an addict’s life. The various images represent secrets, trials, and emotional layers found within this lifestyle. I want my viewers to be able to see a part of themselves in my work, so that they may further understand what it means to be addicted. My images are intended to take them back to their childhood, sadden them, comfort them, and force them to experience life. Only through the understanding and acceptance of others will we as the human race grow.
Stay tuned for pictures and and overhauling of www.malloryqualls.com in the meantime check out my flickr account. It has a preview of the series.
