American Baggage

I’m going to write about food and the effect it had on my body on a recent trip back to the United States for a little over a month after living in France.

What I want to say first and very clearly is that we need to stop associating being thin with being beautiful. What I have to say about weight gain or loss is not tied to one way being more visually appealing than another. I find women, including myself, beautiful at all different sizes. What I want is to have a real discussion about our bodies and the impact our environment, culture, and food have on it after I experienced a noticeable transformation in a relativity short amount of time with my own.

Any time your body goes through a transformation you have to ask yourself, “what caused this?” My health is something I must pay attention to because of my genetics. My grandfather died at 63 from a heart attack, my father had bypass surgery in his mid 40’s and my mother has had stints. It’s not for vanity but for a deep desire to live a long healthy life.

In France, I have been eating seasonally, for the most part locally sourced, non-packaged foods, rarely anything fried (because I make almost all my meals I hate cleaning up frying oil), and I drink the local wines. The cheese I buy is mostly unpasteurized, I have a fresh baked baguette almost every day and most of the food related stores in town are more representative of farm stands than supermarkets.

There is a strong connection in France between the seasons and what we eat. At my little grocer I arrived one day and noticed my favorite goat cheese was gone. I asked monsieur about it and he told me there would be no more cheese production from their specific producer until spring as they respect the annual cycle of the goats. I have learned the frustrations and joys of eating seasonally. What I wouldn’t give right now to bite into a juicy peach or make pesto sauce but by living without is not only is it better for our environment because things are not being shipped halfway around the world, but I have found it’s also better on my mental health.

The joy of the arrival of apricots to the market, picking warm cherries off the tree in the summer sun, the beautiful pumpkins in the autumn and the comfort of duck confit and potatoes in the winter ooooooo or onion soup. There is always something to look forward to, something to miss, and a respect for nature.

When I recently walked into a Whole Foods in the United States and I almost had a panic attack. There were just so many options, so much of everything. The huge piles of food, it was overwhelming, paralyzing and ultimately sad because I know much of it will be wasted. I stood and stared at a shelf of chapsticks as big as I was unable to choose because there were just simply too many choices. Not only choices but sizes and how much bigger the things were. The food, the fruits and vegetables were all just… bigger. It’s no wonder when you think about it that simply that I too would become bigger during my time there. We are a product of what we eat after all.

So my first question is this, why are the basic ingredients in America bigger? Are we manipulating our food? Our animals? Does America only buy bigger? Bigger cars, bigger houses, bigger burgers? And what is really the gain there? Is “supersized” really a plus?

The limitations I have in France actually make my life easier. It is supposed to be the opposite, having everything possible is supposed to make like better but it doesn’t for me. It’s just … too much. The paradox of choice. Too much noise in my head. Too much packaging screaming at me for attention.

Here is an example of how I make dinner in France: I walk to one of my grocers, look and see what vegetable looks the most amazing and I plan a meal around that. Tonight, I am roasting carrots because not only did the bushy, earthy bunches of carrots look amazing but they also had a rare purple carrot that just tickled me with excitement. My brain can wrap its head around that. My mental health is calm and satisfied.

I bring up mental health because it is so tied to physical health. When I am feeling anxious, I eat more comfort food, drink more alcohol. Being away from my work in France, which is my greatest passion, made me anxious. Being in the urban energy of L.A. and all the designer gloss and focus on money and looks made me anxious. Combine that with easy access 24 hours a day to fried food, savory tacos, chips, and cocktails and yeah… no wonder I gained some weight.

At one point in my journey across the US visiting Monument Valley, Antelope Canyon and Horseshoe Bend there were zero healthy food options, only processed fast food chains. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy fast food from time to time but when it’s the only option and I’ve had it three meals in a row I snap. I actually snapped at a guy and I know it had to do with my irritation with the food inside me making me feel sick. The last meal in that area I just gave up and had a margarita for dinner because I couldn’t eat anymore processed brown food. I was defeated and I felt heart broken as I looked around at the diners in the restaurant who also looked miserable and unhealthy and I just wished they had more options than food wrapped in a brightly colored logo.

I feel like the fast food chains are an amazing testament to human survival. We can produce so much food so our species will never starve while the hidden cost is stripping complete communities and income groups of important culture. My grandmother, who only went out to eat once a week, would make my favorite soup from her childhood, potato soup and cornbread, which came from the depression era when there wasn’t a lot of options on the farm she grew up on. It’s basically boiled potatoes with some milk and I loved it. But would she have cooked as much if it were cheaper and easier to eat off the 99¢ menu when she herself was a child? And if fast food were the norm for areas of poverty in 1930’s America, would my grandmother, who never had weight issues, have had health issues related to weight? Would my priceless memories of time together in her garden and her kitchen be erased into a soulless bottom dollar of some CEO’s pocketbook?

People always talk about coming to Europe and eating all the bread, cheese and pasta and not gaining weight, or in some cases even losing weight. I eat all those things here in France every single week. Is the key to health as simple as real ingredients? There must also be a difference in the way food is produced or raised between the two counties. Why are those things associated with being “fat” in America but not in Europe? In Europe there is no association with indulgence and these dishes.

So my body had a transformation. I wanted to talk about this because I didn’t like the way I felt. I felt sick. I felt clogged mentally and physically. My skin was a disaster! Broken out and irritated. Again, please separate the notion of beauty from health. I am not saying I look better or worse, I am merely talking about how I felt. And it’s not that I wasn’t working out. I was actually working out harder in the states than in France because I had access to Barre classes and Core Power Yoga, etc.

However, I don’t have a car in France so I walk a lot more in addition to running most days a week. I love walking places, it opens up time for discovery, connects you to the day and to feel the seasons. How the smells in the air change, the way the light moves, the rolling waves of nature. I know being in a car or using Uber played a role with my experience in the States. I just started feeling like a rat in a cage on a wheel. You want to have a good time, eat and drink all this fun food, ok but now you had too many chips? Buy this workout class to feel better. Ok, so you worked out now treat yourself! ARRGGG!!!

So maybe the solution is in shopping at the farmer’s market as much as possible in the U.S. but have you noticed how much more expensive food at the farmer’s market is? In France, food doesn’t feel as commercialized or commoditized and it certainly isn’t expensive. On my very first trip to the big Saturday market I was used to American prices and I kept trying to pay for things with 20’s until I realized how inexpensive everything was. I don’t think you should have to be wealthy to be able to eat well. We should all have access to organic food and humanely raised animal products as some sort of basic standard. I don’t think that should only be available to the elite and it is feeling more and more that way. I think it would be a mental struggle of control I personally would lose. Telling myself to not eat everything on my plate, to not have cocktails, to go to the movies and not buy snacks. Ugh, I would hate that! That’s not freedom to me.

I don’t want this whole thing to come off as France is so much better than the US. Look, America is an experiment in the greatest achievements possible for man and governance. I think it’s incredible that you can pretty much get anything you want, anytime you want in the United States. Look at how far humanity has come! And when I lived in New York City, I didn’t know any other way. Cars on demand, 24-hour organic grocery store at the end of my block, Seamless delivery, the best restaurants in the world, more of anything you could ever dream of. But I wasn’t happy. I had to work so hard to make so much money to buy what I thought I needed until I learned a new way. A way that is just simpler. A way that I don’t have to try to control my food choices or intake because my body is yoyo-ing. I can just live here and I feel good mentally and physically.

I’ve been back in France for a week now. When I first looked at myself in the mirror I was shocked at how visibly different I appeared in the same space. I love my curves and softness and I love food, but this didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel like me and the visage looking back at me I didn’t recognize.

Photographing myself in the self portrait above was a way to try to understand it, for me to process out visually what I was feeling internally. I hope we can have an open dialog about food, cultures, and what makes us feel the healthiest. For me, buying inexpensive ingredients daily from small businesses or from farmers, cooking at home (even foods Americans consider “indulgent”) I feel better mentally and physically.

This is by no means an article on how to lose weight the French way. The French don’t “diet”. They don’t have to, why? What is the difference in our foods? There are a lot of reasons why I moved to France but it wasn’t until now that I realized food was also a part of it…. America was making me sick.

I invite you to share your thoughts or experiences on my Instagram here.

New Year, New Birth

2017 was by far the best year of my life. This is a surprising statement for me to make considering where I was at this very point a year ago. Having uprooted my life abruptly to move to Provence only a few months prior and still just in the very beginning stages of that journey, I was lost. I was still tired from New York, I still had so much American programming I needed to break free from, I was still needing the winter to rest or rather disappear for a while. Then the spring came and with her I blossomed in my work and in my soul. I can look back now and see through the shifting light of day, the shift in myself and my photographs. Surprising turns, new awareness, presence and inspiration in the everyday. I fell in love with photography all over again. It has been and will always be what I most want to do every day when I wake up but more so now than ever.

Today, January 1st, 2018, I re-read my resolutions from last year and felt proud of the work I put toward them. I love living with less, wasting less. Seeing the emotion, awareness to time, romanticism, thought, and painterly quality come through my work as I outlined for myself gives me a sense of pride and empowerment that I can create what I dream of. I did make a home for what feels like the first time in my life because I’m actually living my life now as defined by me which is as simple as cooking meals and making fires. I built the world I wanted to live in and that is a real accomplishment. I’m proud of myself. I thank you all who are reading this and for being there in spirit with me. 

I don’t really know where all of this leads and that’s ok. I don’t always want to know the weather report, sometimes it’s nice to just wake up and discover it’s snowing or find yourself lost in the early morning fog… it’s how I ensure each day is full of life’s simple magic. 

As I write out my New Year’s resolutions in no particular order I wish you all the success in yours on this new day of a new year….

  1. Continue seasonal Provence still lives series 
  2. Greater foraging for my photographs
  3. Find and incorporate more nature to grow stories through a local taxidermist, working with more bugs and personally shaping them and finding French flower growers (farms) to source from
  4. Learn more French *cries*
  5. Even greater carbon conscience diet, less red meat, as locally grown as possible
  6. Discover more independent French brands to support
  7. Find more French artists to collaborate with
  8. Continue to develop my self portrait series with greater storytelling
  9. Share info on artists I follow and admire on Instagram (via stories)
  10. Collaborate with more fashion designers 
  11. Begin flowers, fruits and coups series 
  12. Continue to develop glass plate series 
  13. Save for a chateau 
  14. Experience more French cultural events (ex: Jazz festival, Paris white dinner)
  15. Experience Max Richter’s Sleep 
  16. Go to the Paris Ballet 
  17. Complete Cinemagraph goddess art series in Paris 
  18. Experiment with printing, learn about archival museum quality digital printing options, what they each look like and start experiencing my work in the physical world. Let living with photographs influence the next stage of growth and development 
  19. Accept new photographic art challenges through private commissions outside the digital space 
  20. Learn something new everyday
  21. Continue to focus on community growth via instagram to have more shared conversations on photography 
  22. One photography tutorial a week (saved now to my Instagram highlights!! Yay!!)
  23. Create a short film that represents what life in Provence is truly about. How it feels. Capture this moment in time.
  24. Experience Italy
  25. Experience a nude beach in the south of France and or coast of Spain
  26. Visit a Mediterranean island
  27. Figure out a better direct communication system than Instagram’s DM
  28. Have a book published on my Provence work (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DREAMS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
  29. Design and have created clothing to wear in Provence and costumes for my photographs *note, I would like to be able to sew these myself but I’d need to take classes again and I think maybe too much to bite off for 2018’s goals*
  30. Put together my Spotify playlists to share
  31. Greater pictorialism in my work 
  32. Read MORE photography books! (and share what I learn)
  33. Continue to detach further from society norms and cultural standards, live freely 
  34. Become more fearless in my work and photographic experimentation. It’s ok if people don’t like some of my pictures, trust in the process and growth. The value is not in likes but in how much of life I can explore and express. I need to feel safe and free to go further. I can’t let other’s view of the world effect my own expression or experience of it. 
  35. Consider creating photography workshops (design what that would look like)
  36. Continue to learn experiment with cooking and new recipes 
  37. Update a new organization system for inspiration, ideas, goals, notes and thoughts 
  38. Capture raw un-styled everyday life completely free from the “perfection” we are shown daily as what life is supposed to look like. (Inspiration, Annie Leibovitz early years work exhibition I viewed in Arles, France last summer)
  39. Work on creating stronger portraits of people I admire. Create ONE image of someone that says something than multiple quick shots that all together tell a story.
  40. Find gallery representation 
  41. Put together a gallery show 
  42. Make my photographs more like poetry 
  43. Stop and write when the words come 
  44. Consider renting a separate workspace in Provence
  45. Focus my writing to comment on the day to day of life
  46. Extend my photographs greater into the universal human experience 
  47. Travel slowly 
  48. Further illustrate emotional life experiences into pictorial photographs 
  49. Run 2-3 miles every day (or other workout)
  50. Figure out my French visa situation and find a way to make it longer term 
  51. GET A DOG

“In the currents of life, in action’s storm,
I float and I wave
With billowy motion!
Birth and the grave
A limitless ocean,
A constant weaving
With Change still rife,
A restless heaving,
A glowing life-
This time’s whirring loom unceasing I ply,
and weave the life-garmet if deity.”
– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust

My Year in Provence

This is a hard post to write. I have such a flood of emotions looking back, reflecting on what I have learned, how I have grown, and what I have loved. You can not recap a year’s experience without ending it with what is next? To be honest, I don’t know. Sure, I thought I would come to spend a year in Provence and answer all the questions for myself about my life, about who I am and what I want. I can certainly answer now some of these things but other aspects have grown even more confusing. I loved things I never thought I could love like living in the country. I learned things about myself I never knew. For example, I am an introvert which finally explains why I hate talking on the phone, why people who are upset or angry give me anxiety attacks, why I feel so exhausted after social events, and most importantly, why I work so much better alone. So where does that take me next when I come back to the United States? 

It was shocking when I first arrived. Nothing seemed to be possible, from getting boxes delivered to buying food on a Sunday… or any time after 7pm. I missed all the things about New York I took for granted. 24/7 Uber service for instance. There is ONE Uber guy and he lives and hour from my little town. I am ecstatic when my train pulls into Avignon and he’s on the clock. I missed laundry service. The last time I took a linen shirt to be pressed they estimated a turn around time of two weeks… lol. So I got used to wrinkles. I missed Seamless, something which I never even think about now. The pleasure I derive in cooking is to the point of therapy. The access to organic, AFFORDABLE, locally farmed ingredients here puts the US to a great shame. I will never forget my first trip to the farmer’s market. Alone with only a handful of French words, I was terrified. I paid for everything with 20’s because I didn’t understand the amounts, and I was used to New York City farmer’s market prices, until I discovered how incredibly inexpensive everything was. Then I walked into the wine shop and my jaw really hit the ground. When it is not market day in my town or one of the surround villages, I have four bio (organic) grocers I can walk to. I know their names, what is happening in their life, who is having a baby and who is in the hospital. I am, for once, part of a community and I feel physically part of the earth here. 

I learned to live a life with less noise. My days in Provence are filled mostly with cooking, cleaning, and making photographs and those are the days when I am most happy. I found freedom. Above everything I learned, I discovered true freedom. Freedom exists beyond the ability to choose where you live or what you believe. I found freedom in my art and expression. I found freedom from money. Of course, we all need money to survive but they don’t worship it here in France and it’s amazing how much your stress levels dissolve when that’s not the goal to life. I’m really into being free from plastics and logos and that has brought down the noise in my life in the best way. I loved the freedom from a culture that tells woman how we are supposed to look. I loved being free from what society tells me I should be doing like having children and a corporate job so I have health insurance. I loved the freedom from ‘stuff’. I never had to walk outside my door and be reminded of all the ‘stuff’ I don’t have that I supposedly need to in order to be valuable. The value comes from within – in my mind, in my soul and if I can create something of meaning. I wish I had more time to work on these ideas. Time, I have come to find out, is the most valuable thing we have. 

To quote the French philosopher Albert Camus who lived in Lourmarin not far from me, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” 

Of course, these are just some of the many thoughts and experiences I have garnered in my year here. I slowed down on sharing (blogging) to take the time to be present and experience. I imagine when I return to the US I will begin editing and posting so many of the stories I have filled up 5 hard drives with. There is so much to sift through and my heart has been on a roller coaster. This week has been especially though as I try to figure out where I belong in the world and what value I have for an American culture. 

I created a self portrait to mark the year anniversary as part of my #ProvenceSelfPortraitSeries inspired by Jan van Eyck’s “The Arnolfini Portrait“. This is a great short video on the piece from one of my favorite YouTube art channels. I loved that this was a “painting of everyday life” as much of my personal work here in Provence has been a celebration of the day to day things. What is in bloom, what is in season, what bug crawls into the window, how the light is today.

Beyond that, I wanted to explain some of the personal symbolism I added into this photographic rendition that pertains to my own experience at this year mark. First, there is meaning in the absences. The absence of furniture is symbolic of feeling unsettled, homeless. I brought in chairs, tables, daybeds and pushed them back out. I feel at home in Provence in my soul, yet I do not have a home. I left the shadow of the table with a bowl of pears cast along the left edge to show there is life that happens in this space. I planned to bring in a newly born kitten from town as I love all the cats that roam my village and have earned their trust but then I felt the absence of the pet represented my life more. As many of you know who follow me on Instagram stories, I DREAM of having pets. Both women wear green gowns by Loup Charmant (left & right) in green, green being a symbol of hope. My hope that this path I am on will lead me to where I belong. The hope that I can do something with this work I have created in Provence. The woman on the right holds her gown close to her chest, representing holding everything dear to me I have learned in Provence. The only real valuable thing I can take with me when I go. Her slippers are on because it is time for her to leave. She looks back, sorrowfully to the woman on the left, sometimes I feel my heart being ripped out when I think about having to leave this place. Originally, I had taken a photographic plate with tear stained cheeks but felt the expression was enough on its own. The woman on the left is turned to be ‘looking back’, reflecting on her time in Provence. Her slippers are off and she is barefoot to represent feeling at home here. She gestures with her hand in the way of a ‘blessing’, feelings blessed from this time in France. Though they are married together, in the sense as one, their hands rest together open, vulnerable of being torn apart. The inscription on the wall is my signature and dated for my one year. Hanging above them in an antique mirror which I borrowed from a shop in town, hides a third self portrait. The real me, the photographer. I stand in my men’s linen suit with my camera on the tripod. You can see a discarded green dress on the table, my phone in the bottom left which I use to create these self portraits as a remote control to my camera. I am standing in the kitchen which is pretty much where I always am while at home either working or cooking. You can see the large French doors that over look my garden and her ripened fig tree. 

I will be here a bit longer. I have some more personal work I need to do before I go and a few professional jobs on the table. So there is some time to ponder what happens next…

The Last Supper

Recently I went through a personal Renaissance. I left my life in New York. I moved – at the time alone – to Provence, in a country whose language I did not speak, to a town I had never been to, into an apartment I hadn’t seen. I had never lived alone. A lot has changed since that September day. In the silence of the French countryside I met myself. I met all of my selves. I learned that I can take out the trash, pay the bills, survive through scary noises in the night, take myself to dinner and the movies and do all the things I have always had a man around to do for me. In a sense, I discovered my own masculine side. I became empowered for the first time as a woman.

As a photographer, personal experience is realized through what one creates. Having this time alone to explore myself led me to create my Last Supper, which touches on the facets of myself: my feminism, my masculinity, the past, present, and future. Considering I am not a religious person, when I look at Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, which portrays the moment where Jesus announces to his 12 disciples that one of them will betray him, I find the study of each of the characters a fascinating glimpse into the flaws of man. I took this concept and put biographies of myself into the painting. My interpretation both defines the complexities of a single human experience and explores the struggle of feeling betrayed by your own mind. The part of me that drinks too much, works too much, wants more money, wants perfection, wants to be desired. I do worry that one version of me could destroy another, a true betrayal of self. It is also a counter argument that we as women are defined by one thing: being a woman. I might be a woman but I also have a masculine side (the woman depicted on the far left) that is independent and smart and completely covered from my curves. On the other end of the spectrum (the woman on the far right) is the exact opposite. The most feminine, most natural version of myself. This is why she is portrayed nude, soft, and leaning on the undressed naked wood of the table top. I can be both; just as a man can be both strong and incredibly sensitive. 

Now of course, I am a woman in a man’s painting of men. To be honest, sometimes I wish I were born a man. There are days when I just want to wear my comfortable men’s linen suit I bought on a recent trip to Aix em Provence with no makeup and just do my job. The importance of Leonardo da Vinci’s work to me is this: he painted women as masculine and it is that characteristic of his muses that is what makes them attractive. Most importantly, he gave them thoughtful eyes which to this day we still ponder. Of his few remaining female portraits, we can see a man who viewed women as intellectual equals, not merely beautiful objects. That is why in the centre all-knowing version of myself I am actually thinking – not about the photograph I am taking, but about what I know about who I am. I wanted her to show the same piercing clarity Jesus was portrayed to have had, to speak directly to the viewer about all of these women surrounding her, to be the grounding pure core of myself amongst the chaos. I wear red because it is the heart of the photograph and is the heart of who I am. It is also Dior, because I am in France after all. 

Click image above to see in high resolution. 

If you’d like to leave a comment please join the conversation on this Instagram! I’d love to hear your thoughts!  

My Last Supper photograph and essay “WOMAN” was first published in Men in this Town

Thank you guys for believing in my work and sharing it around the world in print!

 

When Pigs Fly…

Portrait_Jamie_Beck_2

When I first started my journey to France I got a new piece of jewelry, something that represents my approach to life. It was a signet ring by Retrouvai, a modern heirloom designer based in L.A., with a flying pig engraved in gold in the middle.

I love signet rings with their classic monograms so this was a bit of a departure but the symbolism of the flying pig to “embody strength to overcome life’s greatest obstacles” was exactly the reminder I wanted to give myself to be strong on my new journey in a far off land with a foreign language I did not speak, I was in a town I’d never been and was living in an apartment I’d never seen before, in the middle of nowhere. Fast forward five months and everything worked out.

It wasn’t always easy.

I have cried from frustration, fear, exhaustion, confusion but now I’ve grasped the swing of things. I’m a better person. I’ve learned so much about myself and grown immensely by doing something so completely different than the life I had created in New York. I am stronger. I’m a better photographer, I’m an inspired artist. But perhaps more important than any of it, I took the courage to live one of my dreams.

When you test what you can do you realize that anything is possible. The limits we create in our mind are just that, creations of the mind. Every time I slide this ring on or off or catch glimpses of it reflecting the light I think about that line engraved on the inside, nestled against my skin, a message that is one of the things I most believe about how to live a fulfilling life… “Anything is Possible.”

“A wise man once said anything is possible when you stop believing it is impossible.”

More stories from my life in Provence here.

My New Year’s Resolutions

newyearsresolutions_2017

I think this picture kind of sums up 2016. I haven’t spent much time reflecting back, only looking forward. Defining how I will shape 2017 and what I hope to achieve from it. My personal New Year’s Resolutions for 2017 I’m making public here to have a place I can come back to and remind myself of the goals. And you know, if you say it out loud you’re more likely to accomplish it.

 

Above self-portrait inspired by Milio BURQUIN’s painting, La buveuse d’absinthe taken in my home in France in Rouje shirt with a traditional French Pastis in hand.

 

  1. Put stronger ideas, meaning and emotion into my photographs.
  2. Take fewer photographs to make more impactful ones.
  3. Study the light of Provence. Break it down into a scientific equation.
  4. Add the passage of time into my photographs through movements like in a symphony.
  5. Shoot more 4×5 film
  6. Make photographs more like paintings.
  7. Get a dog. IT’S TIME.
  8. Build a darkroom.
  9. Move to California.
  10. Work on empathy.
  11. Define the purpose of my photographs.
  12. Define myself and style as a photographer and apply it to everything, not just my personal work.
  13. Make commitments.
  14. Set new professional goals.
  15. Create one photography tutorial a week on social media to share my knowledge and continue to build a community over our shared passion.
  16. Create one film noir short on social media based around a 24 hour story once a week.
  17. Shoot more ballerinas.
  18. Shoot more flowers.
  19. Stop wasting. Wasting food, wasting money, wasting products.
  20. Live with less.
  21. Shoot more for others.
  22. Make a home.
  23. Save money for real vacations, not work vacations.
  24. Finish the new photography portfolio site.
  25. Finish the Cinemagraphs site.
  26. Create Cinemagraphs for art, not commerce.
  27. Do something good for my body’s health everyday through physical activity.
  28. Stop drinking all together.  Drink less 😉
  29. Find a way to create more romanticism in my work.
  30. Build the world I want to live in, not the one others want for me.
  31. Learn to be more comfortable sharing my life.

“If to live is to express the emotions of life, then to create art is to express the life of emotions.” -Edward Weston, Group f.64

On Learning French…

jamie_beck_learning_french_001

One of the first questions everyone asked me when I told them I was going to France for an extended stay was, “Do you speak French?” My reply: “Non.”

When I was growing up in Texas and it came time to learn a second language I declared I would be taking French, to which my parent’s reply was “no, you’re taking Spanish. You live in Texas, after all.” But in my mind, I wasn’t going to stay in Texas and wherever that life was taking me I was sure it would have much to do with Paris. I lost that battle and I regret not fighting back harder for what I wanted now, while reflecting back from a small French village where 90% of the population only speaks the local vernacular.

I took private lessons (if you are in NYC and want my tutor’s info, email me. He was fabulous!) before arriving which was barely enough to make me appear to be not a total idiot. Perhaps the most important thing he taught me was Je suis désolée… I am sorry. I think a lot of people would be terrified to live in a country where they can’t communicate but this sort of thing doesn’t bother me, it’s part of it. It’s part of the opening yourself up to new experiences and putting yourself in unfamiliar situations to test your character on how to survive each day and make it the best it can be.

When I arrived at my little apartment in the south there was an old stack of books on the fireplace mantel, faded from the sunlight streaming in the window on those gloriously quiet afternoons and dusty from years of idle use. Sitting there, just the size of my palm, was an old french language handbook from the late 1960’s. I sat in the sunlight that afternoon practicing the unchanged phrases of French culture and wondering as I felt the texture of the old thin paper between my fingers, what wary travelers had held this book in their hands and fumbled through the phrases as I am today. I imagine them filled with hope that each line of expression will unlock another door in my journey through this foreign land. Where did this book, stuffed into a back pocket, take them and who will possess it after me? What is it that brings us all here, to France, weaving an invisible thread between us?

I have for most of my life been an incredibly social person. My mother always called me a social butterfly. Living in a place with no one to talk to was a release of an invisible social responsibility I had given myself. I don’t know anyone and I can’t really know anyone. There are no parties to go to, no friends to call upon to meet up for drinks. I can’t check in with the neighbors or commit myself to random photoshoots.

It was a relief.

Taking socializing off the table opened up so much time for myself to focus on other things, and to think about photography. It was in a sense a freedom from obligation and made me feel invisible. When you are invisible you are free from the definition you have created for yourself, or has been created for you, and can become a truer form of what you are destined to be.

As the days have turned into weeks people have begun to recognize my face around town. I keep a pretty set routine. I go to the patisserie first thing each day for my baguette. Then to the café for my cafe créme. I buy my cheese at the market from the same man and my eggs from this adorable older couple. Then this marvelous thing started to happen. They each started trying to teach me words. Always with an expression of amusement they say it slowly to me, I repeat it back to them, they say it again back to me. I try to remember it the next time we meet. In these moments I feel what a 2 year old child must. My cheese monger taught me plus and minus, my little vegetable grocer taught me rosemary, the woman at the fromagerie taught me Bon Dimanche (Good Sunday), which is used around town starting Saturday afternoons. This past weekend the organic grocer emptied out my coin purse onto the counter and sat their teaching me how to count change in French. Connecting with another human though their kindness and patience of sharing their knowledge with me has been one of the most generous gifts I’ve received.

I can’t believe I could have possibly lived my life without ever knowing these human experiences, the freedom from myself and the beauty of kindness in others to want to help you learn and participate in this shared life with all walk through together.  Though for the most part I have no idea what these people in my little village are saying to me, I feel more a sense of community with them through their kindness toward me than I have ever felt before and the opening up of my brain as it makes room for new words.