Portraits of the Things That We Become. [August 27th, 2011]
The endless arms-race. The insatiable urge. The foot danging over a ledge, and the empty void below that beckons you forward. The voice you follow blindly; like the distant whisper of a lover lost in a maze. The false promises you repeat in the mirror. The achilles heel that will bring you groveling to your knees.
We wanted more than our two hands could hold. What we had would never be enough. We wanted it all…and when the time came, we wanted even more. There are those of us who wake and spend the better parts of our day as cogs in a wheel. There are those of us who chase the aftertaste of our unfulfilled dreams with the promise of another purchase. Our homes, like museum exhibits of wants and waxen impulses . Our insides, like gaping mausoleums after a New Orleans storm. And always, the ever-present fear of opening the front doors to ourselves and knowing that no one will be home…even when we’re standing in the living room.
Despite what some would have you believe, the clothes never make the man. Unless there isn’t much of a man there to begin with. The line may be thin, but it is distinguishable. The difference between those of us who take pride in becoming something better, and those of us who preen and posture insatiably; straw men with boredom and bespoke suits for backbones. There is more to us than what our hands can acquire in the mad rush between the green and red-lit intersections of our short lives. Sometimes, the secret to living a better life isn’t to bury yourself in things that help you forget your current one. Sometimes the sum of who you are is made of things you can’t touch.
Photography by the wonderful Rose Callahan for the Dandy Portraits.