The question of what I do continues to be a source of sorrow for me. I don't do anything that people pay me for. At times I feel like I don't do anything... that it's like I don't exist... that I don't do many things that others value... that I don't really make a significant contribution to this thing we call life. It concerns me greatly that I consume more than I contribute.
But then today I pondered upon my past photographic work I've done... I thought about words I have written... I thought about musical ideas I have tried to write down or play... And I suddenly have a vague sense that "I exist(ed)"
In the moments of pondering if I ask myself what I do... I suppose I attempt to capture fleeting moments, fleeting thoughts, fleeting ideas... And I hope there is somehow meaning behind the fleeting. I seek to capture those moments I find moving, appealing, or somehow significant to me, and hope that what I capture can somehow bottle up the essence of that experience, even if just a little. And somewhere behind all of my actions I secretly hope that what I do is somehow worthwhile, and that it matters... that I actually do contribute something, rather than nothing...
No comments:
Post a Comment