Framing Objects, Not People

I have a couple of frames adorning the walls of my home and the shelves at work. Recently I had a sudden realization that all these arts that surround me, everything on display to make my space original and to reflect my personality were only of objects: I had framed reminders of the smallest accomplishments like the puzzles I solved, to something more valuable as my graduation cap with a personal dedication, or the page that has my first poetry on it. There’s also a keyring from my favorite city in a box frame sitting at my desk that I bought as a pair, one of which I gifted to my first love.  

One could seem to wonder why I had no framed photographs of the people dearest to me, given the fact that I take a ton of photos of them. Maybe I think highly of myself and want to create an identity that is completely detached from others, someone who dwells only on their selfish goals and own ideas about life. Do I not find their faces worthy enough to decorate my walls with their unusually flawed beauty, or is it the perfection I crave for my exquisitely curated home?

 It made me question if I did not value them as much as the pleasures and joys my trinket treasures found me or was it rather the opposite. I loved them to such an extent that the thought of having them in a pseudo-physical photo form would bring me more heartache and deepen my longing to be closer to them, cueing the miles of distance and the stretches of sea that binds us apart. I do not wish to be reminded of the times that once were but are not anymore. Whatever be the cause, I did not hold any photos or frames of my loved ones.

 I instead collected all my mom’s special recipes and never let her food legacies be lost in vastness of cultural shifts, I would ask for endless stories to my dad that shall live forever even when we don’t, read the books and watch the movies recommended by friends just to understand them a little better. I always find it funny when people talk about the things they love, and for me, it is the hardest thing to do. I could be the misnomer here and trophy-collect the things I love, but talk only about the people I love. I will talk about them at length with new people I meet, about their likes and dislikes, the things in common between us, the things that are not. I would pick up habits borrowed from my social circle and walk around like a living archive of multiple personalities in one.

 We frame our most prized possessions, and that is just what I do: “Frame Prized Possessions”. We ought not to possess any other being but ourselves, and so it’s only literally and figuratively me taking possession of the people in my life through my memories of them, by writing about them and continuing to swim in a pool of nostalgia. They live through my own values, my upbringings, lifestyle choices that are subconsciously influenced by them. Through a bunch of hand-me downs; posters, music CDs, magazines, or the old pottery sets that are given a new home, each one of them a reminder of my distant past and now a part of my new forming present. They are breathing in my clothes I wore for a special occasion, still carrying the scent of familiar places and people.

The only difference is instead from walls, their existence is hanging every which way from all my twenty something self. 

Written By Julia Saha

Sixty Minutes to Beauty

I have been a solo adventurer for many years now. It started out by just going out to eat alone and watching movies by myself at a theater, which escalated soon to changing cities, moving countries, then now, finally to living on my own. As traveling becomes more and more of a need than a want in today’s lifestyle, solo travel becomes the most viable solution to feed that hunger to break free out of your 9-5 routine eliminating the hassle of group plannings and calendar check offs.

 While solo trips are all about memories and experiencing new things each time, the thrill and adrenaline it has to offer might sometimes lack to kick the punch one sought after when they had first started.

 While there were a lot of exciting things that I did on my recent travel, here I speak about one thing that I tried for the first time, and I felt great. After ticking off my itinerary items, I had some extra time on my hand, so I decided to get myself drawn by a local portrait artist.

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 The time was around 7:00pm, the sun about to set. Taking in the long coast views while watching the orange sky doing its dance above the Pacific Ocean, I awkwardly take a seat by Mr. Savage who is adjusting his easel and lining up all his pastels to get started.

 In a brief 60 minutes, I learned a few things about him and maybe he did too, about me.

 Excerpts from a much candid conversation that followed...

 The first thing Gary Savage asked me was for whom was I getting the portrait done, was it for a boyfriend or a husband rather (haha) and I told him it was just for me.  Without having a clue about what I would do with it. Gary is self-taught and has been devoted to his art since 1975. His inspirations come from all the places he has visited including his many visits to India. Originally from California, Gary is also a Yogi who takes keenly on Hinduism.

 The setup was not in a fancy art studio but rather on a very public street with onlookers passing by at every instant. All I could do was to just wait in anticipation of how the picture is going to turn out. It is hard to envision yourself from the perspective of others, and I had no way of telling of what others see when they see me. And I wanted to get hold of one of those perspectives and hence I ventured out looking to find one.

 I tried to read hard the expressions on people when they stopped by to see the painting come alive. I enjoyed the comical, stunned, and surprised faces who tried to match my face with the work in progress. First, they stop, look at the painting, then look at me, turn to the painting again and pass their verdicts which their faces do not hide all that too well.

 From hearing a bunch of “That’s beautiful” and “Oh, that really looks like you” I can’t help but only smile back. And Gary, he is just unphased and unbothered by it all. This is when I ask him, “You must be getting that a lot, how does that make you feel” to which he says, “I do not care what they think, most of them don’t know what they are talking about.”

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Gary at work with curious onlookers.

On an amateur attempt to understand the complex mind of an artist, I asked again, “What goes on in your mind when you are painting” and he said, “I do not think anymore, I used to a lot, but I have stopped now. It is just blank, like this canvas in the beginning. It starts filling up with colors, and so does my mind.”

We joked about how the sun never sets, but us who turn away from it and how the brevity of this everyday phenomenon makes us ignorant to the common sciences while dwelling in the momentary orange bliss of tranquility and calm. Time stood still in that one hour, stopping me from incessant peeks into the phone screen or watching the world through the viewfinder, compelling me to see the world just as it is. During that, the world had in it just me, my painting, the artist, and a golden sunset.

The first glance

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I do not have a Mr. Jack, and well I am no Rose either, but we all deserve to be seen sometimes.

While having a professional do it for you maybe an uncomfortable thought for some, it doesn’t hurt to be called beautiful and be the subject of an artist.

In those moments, I felt beautiful. I was art.
It was a lovely 60 minutes.

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Portrait by Gary Savage

Written By Julia Saha