Nonstop

by Martha Medeiros

  Caught on Camera

  One of the best DVDs I’ve watched this year was Life Through a Lens, a documentary about the career of the American photographer, Annie Leibovitz. I recently had the chance to see all of her work in an exhibition in Paris; the photos she took of her family, her rock phase when she was the chief photographer of Rolling Stone magazine and the pinnacle of her career at Vanity Fair. I consider photography to be an art due to its capacity to capture the soul of the subject and to reveal something to us that the eye may overlook in the moment.

  As a child my dad would not let a single event pass without taking pictures: Christmas, birthdays, picnics at the beach. Click, click, click. We would keep still for ages, my brother, my mum and I, three smiling statues, waiting for the moment he would find the best angle, the right focus, the best lighting and only then push the button. At the time, digital cameras were just for the Jetsons.

  I have taken many pictures of my children when they were little, and recorded trips, special events and other moments that don’t happen every day, so nothing too out of the ordinary there. And like everybody else, I tend to think that only the way I live is the norm, but normality has changed a great deal lately.

  Today, with a mobile phone in hand, you register births, tsunamis, fires, sex, concerts and crimes committed right in front of you, including perhaps, ones committed by you.

  I wonder: if you don’t register your experiences and emotions, does that mean they don’t exist? That you no longer exist? It seems like it.

  In a catastrophic scenario, I imagine we will soon forget all that hasn’t been recorded on camera. If we want to remember a trip or a party we won’t be able to without a camera. That moment your boyfriend proposed, that walk alone by the shore, a night time swim, that breakfast in bed watching a Charlie Chaplin film, a declaration of love in the middle of the highway – if you haven’t photographed any of this, has it really happened? Can you remember life without cameras?

  My last two trips abroad were camera free. I went there and back without taking a single picture. To many this may imply “She didn’t really go”. But I did. Life also happens without evidence.

  Returning to Annie Leibovitz: among her photos, you will find the last days of her father and of the writer Susan Sontag – the two people in the world she loved most.

  Photos of each in their last agonising moments are included in the exhibition, and on the DVD. Annie Leibovitz is an artist and her lens is her eye. She doesn’t separate her life from her work, yet even with the consent of those photographed, I felt like an intruder into those most profound and intimate moments of life departing. Commendable as a journalistic record, but unnecessary as a personal farewell.

  Meaning that, personally, I think there are some moments that are sufficiently strong to embed themselves into our minds and our minds alone.

  The Elegance of the Intellect

  Anyone can have access to the wonders of technology, but the icing on the cake is still intellect. It’s what everybody frantically searches for.

  But where does it hide?

  In the human mind. Well, in some of them.

  I can’t help but wonder what will become of us if we don’t maintain the already feeble ties with literature, if the school curriculum doesn’t create more space for culture, if everyone keeps communicating with acronyms and is unable to pursue a discussion with reasoning. From generation to generation the access to art, history, and philosophy gets more negligible. The overwhelming amount of information available creates the delusion that we know everything, when in truth we know very little, and our children will know even less. Because, ultimately, who will choose to teach without a decent work place, with a low salary, and with the lack of respect teachers face these days? The better qualified will naturally find better ways to make their living. It’s an appalling risk for society. Without a good standard of education, without the very foundation that forms us as human beings, we will have only mediocrity and superficiality, which by and large, are already abundant.

  I know this is a catastrophic vision and there will always be a class of intellectuals. Yet, what we should aim for is the expansion of this class. What defines intellectuals is a contentious issue; however, I’m not talking about highly academic opinions but simply the ability to think.

  The fact is we have become an irresponsible society, failing to value any kind of refinement. Knowledge is elegant, to think is elegant, to read is elegant, and this elegance should be accessible to all. To illustrate this, I’ll mention a taxi driver with whom I had a conversation the other day. He told me his views regarding the country’s affairs, of which he had a very good understanding. He expressed his thoughts clearly, used good language and made his point without trying to convince me or anyone else to think like him. He drove safely and was always polite. It was almost uncanny.

  That reminded me of an excellent book called The Elegance of the Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery. The story is about a concierge in a sophisticated apartment building in Paris. Despite her rough appearance and her menial occupation she is passionate about art and culture, and is more knowledgeable than the snobbish majority of the residents. But she fears that any display of learning would cost her her job, so she maintains a conventional façade and does what is expected of her – to be uneducated and uncultivated – therefore enabling everyone to fit into their roles accordingly. She has more than just an engaging mind; she has the elegance of saving her self-important, uncultured employers from the prospect of embarrassment.

  We may prosper economically, but how regrettable it will be for us to be a rich nation full of mediocre people.

  Love Works in Mysterious Ways

  While having dinner with two of my friends one evening, I suddenly felt like I was watching a play I had seen many times before. As usual one of my friends was complaining about her chaotic relationship. She was wondering what she was doing with that foolish boyfriend of hers, etc., etc. She was planning to break up with him again, but we knew all too well the hell she went through when they were apart last time. As I have a thing for dramatic love stories, I was finding it amusing to hear that story again. The analyst in our trio said, “If I were you I wouldn’t break up with him. Sometimes we desperately cling to a relationship only once it falls apart.” Genius!

  From that moment on, we started discussing this undeniable truth: in some relationships, his absence feels heavier than his presence. By the way, I believe this is true for both genders. We may question day and night whether our relationship is worth the effort. We wonder if one day we’ll learn how to live with someone so different from us, or if we’ll always be at each other’s throats. Obviously, there’re no answers to these questions. We only ask them out of habit, as a way of guessing what the future holds. But despite having no guarantee that things will work out fine, the relationship survives. Why? Because even though we have our doubts, desire is still there – and so is love. Yet, there comes a day when, during a tough argument, one of us puts an end to it all. Do we now have the long awaited freedom? Not always. Many times, it’s then that our freedom ends entirely.

  In spite of her complaints about her disruptive relationship, our friend’s life fell into disarray after each breakup. She would think of nothing else but him. No matter how much she tried to remain detached, her life would revolve around the chaos of his absence. Her thoughts were occupied either with revenge or despair, or getting him back or never seeing him again. Everything she did, she did with him in mind. Only when they got back together – and they always did – would she free herself a little from this emotional turmoil.

  I had never seen things from this angle before. I had always thought that this feeling of anxiety was due to a claustrophobic relationship, and peace would only come at the end of it. Alas, love works in mysterious ways.

  My friend finally ended her complicated relationship and is now in a stable marriage. That conversation around the table happened years ago, but I’ve never forgotten t
hat paradox that explains the instability and anxiety we get after a bad breakup. Why do we get this urge to put an end to a difficult relationship? What guarantee do we have that life will become easier when we are out of it? Sometimes it’s less painful to stay until we fall out of love. That’s what the analyst meant at the time. Don’t rush yourself into ending something that hasn’t yet finished. Wait until there’s nothing left and then call it quits.

  Behind the Counter

  I was sunbathing by the pool in a hotel when I noticed a little girl around seven years old; she was watching the waiter serve the guests. When he left I could tell an idea had popped into her head. She fetched a piece of paper and asked her mum and dad what they would like to order for lunch. They each placed their order and the girl carried on in a very professional manner: “And what would you like to drink?” With the orders written down, she disappeared for a moment and then came back with the imaginary meals, with a proud look on her face.

  It brought back memories of when I was her age and loved to pretend I was a secretary. Locked in my room I spent the afternoon typing memos, making lists, organising files, smoking one pencil after another, work driving me mad. I also dreamt about being an air-hostess and played pretend shop assistant countless times. My friends and I would get groceries from the kitchen and we’d set up a supermarket in the garden. I, of course, wanted to be the cashier. I’d scan each product, put it in a bag, and give the bag to the customer, always remembering to give the right amount of change with the pretend coins.

  I wonder if these days children pretend to be managers, entrepreneurs, presidents – in short, the boss. I don’t think they do. These ambitions come later when they start to be programmed to make money, to have power, to be the top dog. Before the promise of wealth and social advancement sets in, what children really want is to be part of the masses. Children aren’t silly – they know which side has more fun.

  I know there are as many girls who want to be supermodels as there are boys dreaming about the life of a footballer – their ultimate goal being fame and fortune. They are tragically misled. But this girl from the pool reminded me that before ambition takes hold, there are still children pretending to be hairdressers, taxi drivers and waiters, professions that seem more entertaining. Playing doctors is quite popular too, I seem to recall…

  Which is better: employer or employee? For those of us who have crossed the line from child to adult, there’s no doubt that it’s best to be our own boss – even if achieving a high standard of living and a degree of security requires effort and study. But we also know that money can be a trap. We become hostages to its rules and conventions, we yearn for things we don’t need, but which somehow seem important to have. Once we are at the top, there’s no going back.

  The joy of serving others rather than being served doesn’t last. However, as innocence retreats, it’s comforting to know that at least as children we believed in a more hospitable world, not yet overtaken by the difference between giving orders and taking them.

  Happy for No Reason

  Happiness doesn’t come out of the blue, so when someone says, “I’m so happy,” there’s usually a reason for it. It could be a new crush, a promotion, a long awaited scholarship, the loss of those extra pounds, or some other special event. But there’s always a reason. Of course we hope for this happiness to last as long as possible, but we should not forget that good news fades with time and it’s not advisable to rely on it for happiness.

  Let’s say, we’re happy because a new year approaches and hopes are high. Happy because all the bills have been paid. Happy because you’re soon to go on holiday. Happy because you didn’t hurt anybody’s feelings today. Happy because someone paid you a compliment. Happy because your bed is waiting and there’s no better place in the world.

  Forget it. These reasons may be trivial, but they are reasons.

  Happy for no reason? No reason at all?

  Why do we endeavour to be happy in the first place? Searching for happiness can be hell, we all know that; still, it’s not like we’re short on advice for this topic either. And why do we need it? Who is to say we will all get there through the same path?

  Personally, I like people who strive to be joyful, who don’t get caught up in the daily dramas of life, thus they don’t torment themselves and others. But here’s the thing: happiness is also possible without “success”; happiness is possible without joy, because happiness is serene. It is a state of awareness. It’s to have the skill to cope with the inevitable. It’s to make the most of unforeseen circumstances. It’s to be astonished by the situation in which you find yourself in and still be able to laugh, understanding it’s a side effect of being alive.

  Blessed are those who give themselves a break. Who don’t condemn themselves for not reaching a goal nor for their failures, don’t torture themselves for their contradictions, don’t punish themselves for not being perfect. They only do the best they can.

  If we are to master a skill, let it be the skill to free our thoughts from scrutiny, from the need to fit in society and be free at the same time. Acceptance and freedom simultaneously? It’s a hell of an ambition. And it requires boundless energy.

  Life isn’t The Proust Questionnaire. You don’t need to tell the world what your qualities are, what your favourite colour is, your favourite food, or what animal you’d like to be. So much obsession with self-knowledge. Enough of self-knowledge. You are what you are, an imperfect being with good intentions who can change their own personal views without the slightest guilt.

  Perhaps that’s what it means to be happy for no reason.

  The Compact Era

  I was on a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Porto Alegre. The man sitting next to me was reading Portrait in Sepia by Isabel Allende. At the end of the flight he closed his book and said to his wife: “To me, books don’t need this many pages. A summary of the story would be more than enough.”

  Some people choose a book according to the number of pages in it. As for myself, if there’s something that never intimidates me, it’s a massive book. True, it’s not exactly pleasant carrying something as heavy as a brick around, but that doesn’t affect the enjoyment of reading it. Long books, however, are an exception. In every other respect I am a ‘Compact Enthusiast’.

  In cinema, for example, I don’t understand three hour films. It was much better when films lasted two hours, at most; screenings at 2pm, 4pm, 6pm, 8pm. Now, sessions run at the weirdest times: 2:10pm, 5:25pm, 8:50pm, and the thing never ends!

  And where do I begin with theatre plays? Honestly, it should be a law – nothing longer than ninety minutes. I like theatre very much, but I also like dinner very much. Even so, I don’t like to prolong my stay in restaurants, neither do I like staying too long at parties, or being away from home and my normal routine. I don’t like anything that exceeds my patience and drains my energy.

  Nothing of what I’m saying is worthy of applause, I admit. It’s good manners to take your time, enjoy all there is, let things take their course. In theory, I agree. In practice, less so. I don’t know how to deal with situations that drag on without purpose – especially too many words. I get anxious around people who take ten minutes to say something that could have been said in three, or people who waste hours on the phone and don’t get to the point, or songs that repeat the chorus to exhaustion. I’d cut off about four “…na, na, na, na, na, na, na, hey, Jude…” at the end of the Beatles song. Horror of horrors! Not even the Beatles have been spared!

  There is always the orator who loves the sound of their own voice. There are emails longer than a master’s thesis. There are endless doctorates and soap operas. Can anyone explain to me why there are still soaps that last months and even years?

  Am I giving the impression that I’m one of those people who never slows down? Who doesn’t enjoy the journey? If that’s the case, allow me to clarify my position. I still relish pleasure and relaxation, and I enjoy the journey. I just don’t want to end up worn
out and out of breath.

  To prove I’m not a completely lost cause, there are still long things I appreciate, such as friendships, walks, conversations around a table, our lifespan. And good sex, of course.

  Now tantric sex, though, is another thing I don’t understand, five hours to reach an orgasm? Don’t people have work to do?

  Internet Trolls

  I’ve been watching these people for a while and my feelings for them range between repulsion, fear and dismay. But the one that prevails the most is pity. They are trolls and can only express themselves through these demeaning and spiteful comments.

  It’s not new but it got out of proportion with the extraordinary reach of the Internet. Previously these mean-spirited people couldn’t spread their malice very far, and their hurtful comments would only be seen by a handful. But now, through social networks, their foolishness reaches such huge audiences that they get giddy. If you select your sources of information wisely you may have been spared. Well done! But, if out of curiosity you want to know how these information sites work, just choose any one and read the comments people leave – it’s really disheartening.

  Let’s have a look at two headlines which attracted attention recently, if for only a couple of hours. The first was about a girl who jumped from the Eiffel Tower, in Paris. In a matter of minutes there were 1,581 comments left by these half-witted people, whose sole intent is to gloat over the misfortunes of others. They have no common decency – it was just a mass of nasty comments from an astounding number of miserable people scattered around the world. On the whole, this meanness is stark evidence of unhappiness.

  The other headline announced that Venice had its first female gondolier. After centuries of male dominance there was now a woman taking visitors around the most magnificent places in Italy. Naturally this news would not catch the world’s attention as, for example, Michael Jackson’s death, but it’s nice to see women taking another step towards equality. This headline could have brought some praise for the achievement, or even have been ignored, which is also acceptable, but no, these wretchedly unhappy people, having nothing better to do, were quick to express their prejudice with small-minded comments. This goes beyond ill-humour, because these people are actually proud of their stupidity.