Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Friday I went to Darkover, using my mother's van. I didn't have money for a room, so the plan was to commute to the con. I took what I needed out of the van, played for dancing, put things back in the van, ran out for fast food with silmaril, came back to the convention, sorted out what was what and who was where and whether or not I needed to help pick up a bandmate who was stuck at a garage on the other side of the city, fetched what I needed for the Homespun Ceilidh Band concert out of the van, changed into my kilt, played our concert, watched Cliff Art perform, got into a cool conversation ... then, in the wee hours, I loaded up the van again to go home. But not everything that had been in there was still there.

Hotel security suggested I move the van from the parking lot to the little spot in front of the main door while I waited for the police to arrive. I got home a lot later than I thought I would.

Saturday I felt pretty wretched physically, and called in sick. Missing a performance I've committed to is a major bad thing for me, but I wasn't in any shape to drive. I figured I'd rest up and at least make it to the Regency ball and the rest of the convention, but when I felt well enough physically, I still couldn't cope emotionally. I stayed in bed. Sunday and Monday too. I'll try really hard to get to Thrir Venstri Foetr rehearsal tonight, but I'm not doing well.

I've got a lot to complain about lately, but I do try to make my complaints entertaining or at least insightful (not that I always manage that). This time I don't think I can muster either of those. This hurts too much.

The thief or thieves punched a hole in the passenger side door of my mother's van, just above the lock. Fortunately they didn't get my guitars (which were with me) or my recorders (which I'd forgotten at home), but they did get yet more of my 35mm camera gear. Worse, they got the bass krummhorn that I received about a month ago and had never even gotten a chance to use in a performance, the one willed to me by a friend who died of cancer earlier this year. (I had taken it to the dance on Friday, but none of the tunes had bass lines suited to the instrument. I had hoped to play it at the Regency dance on Saturday.) A beautiful instrument, an instrument there's no way I could have afforded on my own, a reminder of a dead friend, and something the thief probably won't have any idea what to do with ... gone.

Worst, two borrowed cameras that other people had trusted me with were taken. anniemal's box camera that she'd had for ages, and the borrowed 4x5 view camera. Again, something more expensive than I can afford, and in this case an important tool belonging to someone else. Stolen on my watch. In addition to all the hurt and discouragement, I haven't wanted to write because of the shame. I brought it to the convention because I had an idea for some shots that could really benefit from that large negative (though I was going to have to get a little experimental to deal with the flash); I didn't take it into the hotel because I was carrying so much stuff I wasn't sure I could watch everything adequately while I was on stage. I know better than to leave things in my car in my own neighbourhood (the camera bag stolen several months ago was taken while I was carrying stuff into the house), or to leave anything visible in a shopping center or mall parking lot this time of year, but I was out in quiet Timonium, in an area where there shouldn't have been any random passers-by to be tempted, and the van has tinted windows and everything was tucked down between the seats. Still, I took the camera out of my house, and it got stolen. And I am crushed. And I can't imagine how the onwer is going to feel.

I was really excited about the 4x5 camera. I had so many ideas for it. And I was looking forward to seeing how the two shots I hadn't gotten developed yet worked out (the first two were underexposed -- the next two were still in the camera bag). Now I won't know whether those shots worked, and I won't get the chance to try the other photos I had in my head.

I have had big plans for photography in general. I've shot a few weddings, made a lot of art, and was hoping to actually earn some money with my cameras. I just needed to learn how to market myself and my work, and to come up with money to prepare prints for a show. I've made it my practice to make sure I have a camera with me wherever I go, ever since I was in a grocery store that somebody set on fire, and didn't have a camera. And when I go to a festival or a convention, I carry a few cameras, different lenses, and flashes, because there's likely to be something interesting and I might want to use both colour and black-and-white, for example. I've added "and photographer" to the what-I-am/what-I-do part of my self-identification.

But the thefts have sucked the joy out of it. I'm seriously considering just giving up. Maybe even selling the camera gear I've got left to pay bills.

I feel like I can't win. I started with a camera and two lenses I couldn't really afford but managed to stretch for. Then I was given another camera and one lens. Then the first camera died (broke in a way that was not cost-effective to repair). Pawn shops and eBay provided the next few, which were 30+ years old and on their last legs, and some of those broke. Then I lucked into similarly old but better maintained gear. And some more modern (20 years old) equipment. Most of what I bought, I bought before my finances got as dire as they are now. And even then, every piece was a stretch. But what I bought was augmented by hand-me-downs, "found this in the attic and didn't know what else to do with it" surprises, and even significant gifts from near-strangers I met on the net, some of whom requested anonymity. While there were still significant gaps in my toolkit, I felt like I was on my way to assembling a robust, if not modern, set of gear to use for the kinds of photography I wanted to be doing.

My house was burgled in January 2001. In addition to the burglar alarm, the thieves got away with nearly all of my zoom lenses and my macro lens, some filters, filter adaptors, and assorted other small accessories. That hurt. I did manage to replace a couple of the zoom lenses, but have been shooting with primes a lot more since. In May 2003 my camera bag was taken from the trunk of my car as I was carrying things back into my house after Balticon, and they got two cameras, all of my filters, a borrowed autowinder, several more lenses (including zooms and a macro lens that were replacements for ones stolen in 2001), a flash, lots of film, and assorted small stuff. The range of types of shoots I could go on went way down at that point. Now I've lost two more 35mm cameras, the 3-D camera, the two borrowed cameras, yet more lenses, all but one tiny flash, a mess of film, and some important accessories. I no longer have a portrait lens, a nice flash, or a K-mount wide-angle lens. And I no longer have any hope.

Let's face it; it was miraculous that I'd gotten my hands on all that gear in the first place, what with the lucky pawn shop finds, the hand-me-downs, and the gifts. A fine use I've made of the gifts -- it's now like I feel I can go asking for more when a) they were random kindness to begin with, not something I "deserved" or an investment, and b) gee, I couldn't hold onto them very well, could I? And I have less money to play with now than I did before. I can't even afford developing -- I've got about 200 rolls of film waiting for the day I can afford to get them processed; other than two sheets of 4x5, the only film I've gotten developed recently have been rolls I shot for other people (who paid for the developing) and the roll I shot for the "found cat" signs when Perrine showed up. So what's the point anyhow? I keep seeing these cool images that I want to capture on film and show to others, but I can't afford to get the film processed, so it sits in my freezer indefinitely. And even with the pictures I've already made, I can't afford to get them printed in sizes suitable for hanging, so I can't even mount a show to try to sell them. I was supposed to have an exhibit at XandO coffeehouse up in Charles Village in September, but I was never able to pull together the money to make the prints. My big break that I was so excited about when it got scheduled never got to happen.

I want to throw something. I want to break something. I just have to make sure it's not something expensive.

So I guess it's time for me to return to the decade or so that I spent wandering around seeing things everywhere that looked like they needed to be made into photographs but not being able to do anything about it. Then it was because I had no camera at all; now it's because the pain of being robbed has sucked the joy out of the art -- every time I see a shot that would work better with a different lens, a lens I no longer have, I'm going to want to cry -- and because I can't afford to develop the film anyhow. Like I said, maybe I should sell my remaining gear and stop pretending I ever had any chance of becoming a real photographer.

And God forbid I ever leave my house with more stuff than I can comfortably carry on my person all day, ever again. Except maybe for travelling to Pennsic. Do I dare take two guitars, recorders, guitar-stands, sheet music, and a drum with me, even without the camera bag? My shoulders might get tired and I'd have to set something down. Maybe I should strip down to just the six-string, maybe the bag of recorders, and my purse when I leave the house from now on. Versatility is for people with roadies. I can't afford to be that much of an artist.

All of this ties into a larger frustration with how my life has been steadily going downhill over the past dozen years. Things break that I can't afford to fix; things wear out that I can't afford to replace; I've lost my health insurance and am about to lose auto and life insurance for not being able to pay the monthly premiums; I can no longer buy the painkillers I need to be able to function well enough to earn the little income I managed to earn before; I've entered the financial death-spiral I've feared for so long and seen myself on the edge of -- I haven't been on the edge, I've been afraid to admit I've fallen in. I'm doomed.

And it's getting very hard to get out of bed.