Synchronicity and liminal space
Last fall, I had a chance meeting that led rather unexpectedly to one of the more exciting, and most public, projects I’ve ever been part of. On April 14th, the band Grand Duchy is releasing their debut album Petite Fours in the US, the cover of which I was the photographer for. Normally, this would be less exciting, though certainly exciting enough, but in this case, the band has a pedigree that is international. Frank Black, aka Black Francis of the Pixies, is the name most people recognize if they don’t know the name Grand Duchy, which is the collaboration of him and his wife, Violet Clark. The opportunity to photograph them presented itself in a conversation in a grocery store.
I now face another opportunity that presented itself by chance. I had been nominated to vie for the Santa Fe Prize, an annual competition from the Santa Fe Center for Photography. While I was not chosen, the nomination included an invitation to Review Santa Fe, the portfolio review event that takes place every year. What make this odd is that I have no recollection of entering, nor do I recognize the name of the person who nominated me (the founder of Blurb.com, a photobook publisher.) And yet, the synchronicity presents itself, of things that seem to just happen to us but, traced back, can be attributed to some action we took.
What I find most interesting is how these sychronatic (?) moments propel us into the liminal space. I can almost feel myself entering that state of change as this happens, as the agreement is reached to photograph an international music legend, as the email arrives informing me of my nomination. Everything after that moment is changed – whether or not I win the award is inconsequential, whether or not one album cover leads to another is superfluous. After it presents itself, but before it happens, I sit vibrating in this state of anticipated change, not yet changed from the experience, but no longer the person I was.