I am a performer. For the past decade or more I have walked on stage in a variety of costumes and attire to be viewed, heard, scrutinized, judged, and ignored. With all of these moments I have had my cello with me. My cello is part of me and defines almost every aspect of my life. I consider it my partner. For years I have used it to tell stories and to connect with others. It is very rare that I appear in a photo without it. However, I often find myself wanting to let go of the instrument because I feel bound by it. In these shots, I have a certain sense of vulnerability that probably has more to do with the lack of instrument by my side than from appearing nude.
The first time I gazed at these photos, weeks after they were taken, it was through the lens of our pandemic which has overtaken everyone's reality and exposed the ruptures between us. The timelapse feels significant. Now, more than ever, my cello will be less and less a part of my life. Almost overnight, I lost my livelihood and the chances of its recovery are uncertain. My world, and the world of my colleagues and community that I desperately love, seems to be over; at least as we have known it. Everyone is aching; hurting.
There is a sense of foreshadowing in these pictures; capturing a time and place I could have never anticipated.
Prophetic vulnerability.