August 8, 2007
The Mind’s Reality Becomes a Visual Reality
written by Steven Barrymore

AS A CHILD

I would lie on my bed on a somewhat boring day, and like every bored child I would open up my fantasy world. Staring at the ceiling I would follow the cracks in the white painted old plaster. Some of these cracks lead to surface imperfections. Blotches of plaster of various depth and dimensions. I would stare at these plaster blotches for what seemed as endless time. The blotches would form shapes like clouds in a sky. Faces, animal shapes, odd shapes would present themselves on the cracked old plaster ceiling. As the child is acclimated into society the fantasy and visions fade, as society frowns on nonconformity. And we do want to conform. Be socially acceptable. I held on to my nonconformity. I was very fortunate to meet a very special person. A woman 20 years older than I. She became a mentor, a dear friend and a soul mother. We viewed the world as nonconformists yet played the social role. Keeping the fantasy and visions alive in our heads.

AT THE AGE OF 20

I started having issues with what people were saying about me. They were making comments that were mean and hateful. I would stare at their face, watch their lips move and hear viscous statements. I would hear these statements in my head. I was not able to recognize that I was having a nervous breakdown. The voices in my head, to me, were real. My dear friend, knowing my situation tried to convince me of these voices in my head were not real. I thought my parents were dead, and no one would be truthful with me. I would not hear the lies from people trying to convince me otherwise. The voices were real, in my head. I was placed at a psychiatric lock down unit and held for 72 hours then transferred many miles in an ambulance to a psychiatric ward at a hospital. After a few days I convinced the ward staff that I was well. They discharged me. I was discharged out to the same world, a world of voices in my head. The world I entered was still hateful and mean. This world in my head got worse. My dear friend convinced me to enter the hospital initially, knew the world in my head was socially unacceptable and dangerous. She had her ex-husband escort me back to the same hospital. This time, they would not let me go. I had schizophrenia; medication and social therapy were prescribed.

I complained to the hospital staff that other persons being admitted to the psychiatric ward after my admittance were being released. Even those who had tried to commit suicide. Their response was that they haven’t figured me out yet.

A day pass was offered to me so I may visit a halfway house 20 miles away for an interview for my stay after exiting the psychiatric ward. I took the offer, made my trip on public transportation, alone. And returned that night before my allotted time was up. Victory, the ward staff were pleased. About a week later I was released, given a name of a psychiatrist and a prescription for Stelazine. After a few visits to the emergency room due to the side effects of Stelazine, involuntary muscle spasms and twitches in the face and body, I told my psychiatrist that I had enough. No more Stelazine.

25 YEARS LATER

On a Sunday, Easter Sunday, my friend was in a hospital bed. Admitted after a routine blood oxygen level test was below acceptable limits (image 1). She was having extreme difficulty breathing. Visitors to her hospital room were required to wear a facemask over their mouth and nose. There was no diagnosis and precautions were taken in case she was contagious with tuberculosis. She was in quarantine, the only patient in the room.

image 1

On this Sunday before visiting my friend in the hospital I took a road trip in search for photographic subjects. On my journey I happened upon a church in a very small town. The classic white painted wood clapboard-sided church with a red tile roof and high bell tower. The presence of this church seemed to over power this rural community. I took a few photographs of this interesting and charming church, but did not immediately see anything that caught my attention. I returned to the hospital. Entered the hospital room. Put on a facemask and had a wonderful visit with my friend.

On returning home. I removed the media card from the camera and transferred the images to the computer. Briefly viewed the images and opened one for post editing. The usual editing began with resizing the image then saving a copy. Some burning and dodging. Next my attention turned to the sky. Basic blue with some clouds. As I started to work with the sky, something came over me. I was almost in a trance as I adjusted portions of this seemingly ordinary sky. As if I were a painter. A Jackson Pollock. I threw my energy into this sky. Moving my chair closer to the image on the screen. Not having much interest or caring what I did to the sky. The process became magically automatic. My energy level slowed down and I pushed my desk chair away from the desk to view the full computer screen. I was overcome with emotion. This ordinary sky became ethereal. Abstract and surreal, a renaissance painting (image 2a).

Months earlier I had scanned some photographic slides taken in the 1980’s. The post processed sky image of the white and red church reminded me of a similar image I photographed around 1985. The bell tower of a church in San Francisco. I was shocked to see that both photographs contained similar images (image 2b).

My friend left the hospital and returned home.

While my friend’s ex-husband and I were at the hospital pharmacy getting a refill on her medication. I chose to stay in the car as he went inside the hospital. As my anger and distress over my friend’s illness grew, I got out of the car to walk around in an attempt to clam down. During my walk, and not far from the car was a tree. An expressive tree. This tree became a reflection of my anger and distress (image 3)

IN 3 MONTHS

My friend was dead. She had stage four lung cancer, and died in her bed at home. Her ex-husband was there at the time of her death. My father died, in reality, around the time the 1985 photograph was taken. What did these images in the photographs (image 2b) represent nearly 20 years apart? I photographed a thought provoking image three days before my friend died (image 4). This boarded up house in the photograph was not on my usual path I travel for photographs. It was miles off the usual path. I followed the voice in my head on the road to this house.

image 4

A VISUAL REALITY

What was triggered in me after my friend’s death? Not a vicious world of inner chatter viewed on the lips of strangers. What was triggered, was a visual world of unique and real images. The photographs I began to take have a life of their own. Some of these subjects I photograph may be viewed as being anthropomorphic. Having mammalian characteristics. Each person will see his or her own blotch in the old painted plaster on the ceiling. I developed a web site, http://www.stevenbarrymore.com/, imagesmagical.com to offer a view of the reality I see and photograph. Another thinking photograph (image 5), part of the collection at http://www.imagesmagical.com/, was taken during my friend’s illness and our process together as we talked about her dying.

image 5

Copyright 2007 Steven Barrymore. Being of Life — the Blog. All rights reserved worldwide. This article and /or pictures may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the written permission from the author Steven Barrymore. View the magical photographic print collection from Steven Barrymore at Images Magical http://www.imagesmagical.com/