Familiar strangers

This evening I came across a website developed by Pony Hill, the man behind Pony & the Pickups. Ever hear of 'em? No, me neither - but, given that they do play a song called 'Carolina Girl,' they can't be that far from my heart. (That said, a second tune on the same album, 'Cocaine & B*t@ches,' does imply that we may have our differences, as well). Anyway, Pony's close to completing a new album, and two months ago he noted that he's thus in the process of selecting a cover photograph. And that, in turn, quickly led to an important observation: that there are really only six sorts of photographs from which to choose (at least, for a country-inflected rock act like the Pickups). Specifically, those choices include:

1. The band sitting on an old car
2. The band holding instruments
3. The band standing in front of an old building
4. The band in front of a stone or wooden wall
5. The band staring off into space at various angles
6. The band walking toward the camera

Rings all too true, no? To be sure, those six genres cover a huge number of album covers. But in fact I'm tempted to stretch the observation, and to note that they cover a lot of other photos, as well. For instance, while in San Antonio a few weeks ago, L. and I took Cleo to the Alamo. And, now that our girl's nearly five, we figured we could ask her to take a few shots of us for the scrapbook. Given the location, we lined up a classic number 3: that is, we were standing in front of an old building. And Cleo, unsteadily holding what suddenly seemed like a massive camera in her tiny hands, prompted us to say cheese and... took the shot above. Or, to put it more accurately, asked us to say cheese and then waited about six seconds before shooting the picture, as we began to stroll back toward her.

The result was unexpected: instead of getting the posed picture that we'd planned, we got something quite different: a sense, I suppose, of what we look like to Cleo, as we approach her. (And it's nice to know that we do smile as we do so, even when we don't think we're being photographed). But look: we also got, in the process, a nice number 6: the band, that is, walking toward the camera.

We'll never be, I suppose, on an album cover. But, still, the photo touches me. For one thing, it's an all-too-rare piece of proof that L. and I exist, in our own right, as well; that is, it's a slight corrective to the fact that Cleo has been in roughly 98% of the pictures we've taken since 2009. But I like it, too, because of the way that Cleo is still also present: in the background, as photographer, and in our eyes, as we approach her. It's an image that reverses my sense of self, and that gives me a view of her own experience. And that reminds me, then, of a song by Pony & the Pickups. It's a tune called 'Familiar Stranger.'