I finally put pen to paper. It was a glorious physical embrace. The blue ink danced upon the fibers as I conducted their music. A long time ago I bought a large 3-ring binder and a college-ruled notebook for me to use while researching Nordia's story. Since then I managed to place a lovely print-out of her face in the clear-view front outside pocket. The insides remained untouched except for the photocopy of the Nicaraguan book about Colina 110 I had managed to acquire from the Library of Congress. It served more as a decoration than anything else. A reminder of a dream. A promise to protect. Void of any real activity until last night when I woke them from their slumber.
I had finally decided to take some notes. And I filled 7 pages with content. I had wanted to do this physically and not digitally as to better absorb the information into my memory. The subject was, "Pictures from a Revolution," a 1991 film following journalist Susan Meiselas as she seeks to track people she photographed ten years earlier during the uprising. I had already watched this dvd once before. I decided early on to just sit through and watch it without being preoccupied with jotting down the details. I remember it really struck me back to hear the personal stories of so many different people. There was much emotion behind every perspective. I honestly don't remember when I watched it, but I quickly realized it must have been before my summer trip to Nicaragua. I was reacting to things now that I didn't notice before. The sights, the sounds, the accent and the slag were all more familiar to me now. I had a new appreciation for what I was witnessing with my trip in recent memory. Even though August seems long ago at this point, it's impressive to witness what can be recalled by the simplest triggers.
I originally turned to this dvd after a frustrating failed attempt to begin reading the Spanish-language book. I hadn't realized how weak and out of practice my Spanish reading comprehension was and decided I needed to warm up with something simple. A dvd with English subtitles was perfect. I watched it but didn't take notes. I knew I had to revisit it but was for whatever reason was delayed. The film is from the perspective of a photographer trying to document history in the making. After I had gone to Nicaragua and discovered the beautiful picture of my mother, grandmother and aunts I was reminded of the power of a picture once again. I knew that would be my first step.
More time passed again in my usual pathetic ineffective way until in March I traveled to Milwaukee, Wisconsin to visit my little sister for her 25th birthday. We decided to visit the art museum by the lake. They had a special exhibit celebrating 75 years of color photography. As we were walking along the corridors I noticed hidden away in the corner two very familiar pictures. My body had recognized them and pulled me over before my brain could process what I was seeing. I called out to Jessica as she was already moving in the other direction. On display were two photographs from Susan Meiselas taken during the Nicaraguan revolution. What was Nicaragua doing in Wisconsin? In a museum filled with mostly white patrons, we two sisters found ourselves staring into a glimpse of our mother's history. It was the craziest affirmation of sorts.
So then, exactly two weeks later, I am revisiting those exact same photographs in the dvd once again. Now I acknowledge them with authority. I appreciate them on a new level. Taking notes was a bit odd because I was pulled in so many directions. Part of me was trying to capture the facts, or observe the sights and people while another side was more in a journal-mode wanting to claim the emotional journey. I wasn't exactly sure what belonged in the note-book. I had to pause the dvd a lot so I write down some important quotations. The very words of the Nicaraguan people resonated deeply. There was much richness to behold.
A first step, a baby step, but a step none-the-less. And a step in the right direction. I look forward to making more contact with pen, paper and anything along the path that this road has to offer me.
