Drifter Self Portraits

(Images provided by the Drifter–Boo and Vincent)

I only show myself when the holy spirit of creation is upon me.

Or in its aftermath.

Or in the lead-up to it.

Or in some other form of extremity that embodies some sort of emotion that can be used for good in this world, if one looks hard enough, one way or another.

I have pictures of myself where I look one hundred and ten years old.

And not a healthy one hundred and ten, like Moses was when he died.

They say he was as strong and mentally acute at that age as he had been at forty. And that his sight and hearing were as strong as they’d ever been, too. But it didn’t stop him from dying.

Yes, I have pictures where I look bad old.

Beaten and broken, weary and bloated, or shriveled, wasted and worn, worn out.

I only keep these pictures for myself (for now), in the same way that Hamlet held up poor Yorick’s skull to his own (for now) living face and spoke to it.

A memory of the future, which is the definition of memento mori.

I started experimenting with drawn and photographic self-portraits in the 1980s, when I was in my teens.

I was partially glad when the Selfie came around, because it partially justified me, at least in the legend of my own mind.

Before that, even people who were otherwise on my side would sometimes make fun of me for taking “selfies” – before “selfie” was even a term, or a word.

But ever since there were cameras, there have been poets who have done this.

Walt Whitman, Philip Larkin, and Robert Johnson are only three examples.

I was raised in the Lutheran Church in Michigan; their religious art influenced me in enduring and subconscious ways that I can’t even diagnose in myself because they go so deep.

Other influences on my self-portraits include classic album covers, certain movie posters, author photos, and of course the classic self-portraits by the great classical artists.

I had a stroke at the age of 57 in the Year of Our Lord 2024.

After that point I started making self-portraits just to prove to myself that I was still alive – as alive as ever, or even more so.

I had one grandmother who remained youthful up until the very end, at 88. I had another grand who remained youthful until the age of 92 (and then her slow decline until “the end” at the age of 94).

I only make the self-portraits on my regular phone. No tricks. I’m no technologist. As in all art, spontaneity and selectivity are the keys. These, and dogged determination.

I got this phone three years ago. I’m 58 now. So I call all of these self-photos the 55 and Up Series. Almost everything else disappeared with the other phone.

I also make the pictures to taunt all my enemies, and all the people who left me in the dust when I didn’t want them to.

There were others who left me in the dust and I was okay with it: or even goaded them into doing so.

Signing off for now until next Sunday: “The Drifter.”

12 thoughts on “Drifter Self Portraits”

  1. Hello Drifter

    Your current portraits suggest a person much younger than 58, so you have cut back some years.

    Boo is ageless and timeless and all other goodthingsness. I think Twain was one of the first multi photographed authors. Some were shy and even though they lived during photography hid from it.

    In the greater sense you are on a mission of self exploration, which is an artistic and worthy thing.

    Another great weekly!

    Leila

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    • L.A.

      The Drifter thanks you for putting up with his nonsense.

      And Boo thanks you for using the word “goodthingsness” in reference to him, even as he takes another nap.

      Some time around 15 or 20 years ago I found out through my research that the 3 most photographed people in the USA (before Twain) of the 19th century were Abraham Lincoln, Frederick Douglass, and Walt Whitman. And that there were (and are) around 150 photos of each of them.

      And the hilarious part of this is that both Abe Lincoln and Frederick Douglass were (of course) famous during their lifetimes; but Walt Whitman was NOT famous.

      And yet, good old Walt, who had a sense of humor at least as good as Twain’s, made sure that he was photographed just as much as the famous people around him. (And he deeply admired both Frederick Douglass and Lincoln.)

      It wasn’t an era when a poor, unfamous poet like Whitman would’ve been able to own, or operate, his own camera.

      And yet he somehow went around and made sure other people took the photos for him – to the tune of 150 times. Thereby inventing the “selfie” at least a century and a half before anyone else did. It can be seen as vanity or it can be seen as sticking up for the “little guy,” the so-called average person. I like to see it as the latter (mostly).

      The two known photos of Robert Johnson were also created by himself. (He who died unfamously at the age of 27 thereby helping to create what we now know of as the “27 Club” – hello Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse, we miss you!)

      D

      (PS

      The Drifter talked about Quillemenders on Literally today…)

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    • Dear Judge JPM, Q

      Thank you for taking the time to send your message; always a haunting and hilarious joy to hear from you.

      Boo says thanks for calling him a singular Hound; or he said thanks before he went back to sleep for another nap, one of many that will be taken today.

      I look forward to 40 years from now.

      I suppose it can all be contained in those three immortal words, Versatur Circa Quid!

      Thanks again!

      The Drifter

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  2. Well I think you are a fine looking man for any age. Enough to have some character stamped in but still fine looking. I do like facial hair (on a man Ha) my hubby has had a beard for decades and my son has just been sporting one. I’m glad that you appear to have fought off the effects of the stroke as well because that must have taken some work. Wishing you long long life with abundant health and happiness. dd

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    • Thank you, Diane!

      You’ve made me feel less embarrassed by all of this which a part of me definitely is (was) but for some reason I feel that I have to (or should) do it anyway.

      And I’m glad you like beards on men. Someone disappeared out of my life in 2019 (red-haired, blue-eyed theater professor and actress) and felt like she had to cite the untrimmed beard as one reason on her way out the door. But she knew I wouldn’t get rid of it anyway. So it probably had more to do with the clash of wills than the actual beard.

      I was about to shave the beard once in 2018. Then I heard Trump say he hates beards.

      So maintaining the beard while living in a low-level Fascist country has now become one reason I won’t get rid of it. That and I don’t have time to shave even though I’m unemployed (technically).

      The stroke was a wake-up call that stopped me doing a bunch of things that probably would’ve killed me anyway! Every time I almost die I become more convinced about how NOT scary it is. It almost feels like someone is sending me messages helping me get ready for the big event whenever it comes (and I’m aiming for at least 80 at this point, but if Someone has other plans, I can accept that as well).

      Thanks again Diane, very much truly appreciated!

      Dale

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  3. chrisja70778e85b8abd's avatar chrisja70778e85b8abd says:

    Hi Drifter

    This is thought provoking. I like the art history of your selfie before the selfie.

    The way we view ourselves over time brings a range of feelings. I remember staring at an old picture of myself when I was a child and it overwhelmed me with grief.

    I can see this affirmation of the self image as a proof of life, especially after a stroke.

    Looking out from the invisibly of the face is a strange experience. We construct an image and project it. But I think this leaves all of us and every living thing at a disadvantage, because others can so clearly see us. When one loses this self image that’s when you’re hit and might wish for a constant mirror like a glass of water. Like looking out from a swirl of nothing. “Who am I?”

    My mind went to an ironic little story by Oscar Wilde. “Narcissus and the Pool.” Its only 200-400 words maybe less or more–very cool read.

    Christopher

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    • CJA

      I read “Narcissus and the Pool” by Wilde, at your recommendation!

      I love Oscar but I did not know this story before then, so thanks!

      Probably less than 200 words, and so memorable it has the punch of biblical parable, almost.

      THE ENDING of this piece is amazing.

      It summarizes, in so few words, what ART itself does and is supposed to do, and with an ironic twist, too!

      DWB

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  4. chrisja70778e85b8abd's avatar chrisja70778e85b8abd says:

    Dale

    Glad you liked it!

    I was also taken by that little piece of writing. Yes the ending pretty well does it. lol!

    Christopher

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