I’m re-reading The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. It’s really affecting my thinking.
As most of you probably know, it takes place in the 1930’s and tells the story of the Joad family’s journey from their farm in Oklahoma to California, where they hope to find a better life. They’ve been “tractored off” their land by a combination of the Great Depression, bad weather and the advent of agri-business (one man on a tractor can take the place of twelve or fourteen families). The banks now own the land and put profit before all else. Sound familiar?
I remembered the broad outlines of the story from the first time I read this book, a long time ago. What I am struck by now, with this reading, is the breadth of detail, the mix of story with document (or, maybe, information).
Politics, nature, family dynamics, square dancing, religion, camping in ditches, how to change a connecting rod in an engine, and the list goes on. All the stuff of human existence is mixed in together, given equal weight. And interspersed within the story are short, poetic chapters that flesh out an even broader perspective.
I’m pretty sure The Grapes of Wrath is not really informing my current project, but it is seeping into me. Its form, its content, its way of seeing life, are all seeping in. And isn’t that why we look and read and think?
And, one other thing: A photograph of Florence Owens Thompson hangs in my kitchen. It’s an alternate frame of the more famous image known as Migrant Mother, by Dorothea Lange. When I look at it now I see it in new ways, with a deeper understanding.
I’ve just finished writing a grant. And let me tell you . . . trying to succinctly define/describe a project as amorphous as the one I’m working on is a can of worms. It’s not as though I’m shooting a series of portraits of trans people, or landscapes on the edge of town. That stuff , while it can be tricky, is pretty straight-forward, with lots of precedents and a handle (or is that: hook?) that the jury can grab ahold of.
In my head I have a pretty good idea what I’m trying to do. I’m sure you, too, sometimes have a feeling that is deeper than thinking, where, in a split second of clarity you just know something. Except it’s all in your head and almost impossible to verbalize. Problem is, you don’t really know anything until you can say it out loud.
That’s the reason I write my blog. It’s also a reason to apply for a grant: you are forced to make the idea(s) behind your project concrete.
I’m trying to keep my application clear and simple, but I’m also throwing in some highfalutin words to, you know, let the jury know that I know what’s what. Here’s a paragraph from my application . . .
I also had to submit 12 images to support my application. So, for the first time in a long time I had a hard look at what I have so far done. The subject matter is (as I have planned) all over the place, but I think the way the images feel binds them somehow together.
In the end what I did was, I chose 12 images that are the bones of one appendage of the work. And I kind of overstated it, too, brought some obviousness forward. That way, at least, there might be some cohesion for the jury to grasp. I’m not sure how much more plain I can (or want to) make it. Here are three of the 12 images I submitted . . .
Last week I wrote a bit about photo contests. I reckon getting a grant and winning a contest are kind of similar. If the jury is sympathetic to your work (or, maybe, friends with you) you have a chance of being a winner. But it’s still a crap-shoot. The plus side of applying for a grant is that, win or lose, you are forced to think through and write down the aims and ambitions of your project. That, and there is no application fee.
Of course, if you just want to sort out what you’re thinking, you could always start a blog (or a personal journal). That’s free, too.