By onekindredspirit

I don’t care to photograph cars. There’s something about it I don’t like, something to do with the male gaze.

In feminist theory, the male gaze describes the depiction of women in the visual arts and literature, from a masculine, heterosexual perspective, with women being depicted as sexual objects for the pleasure of the heterosexual male viewer. It’s about objectivity and patriarchy.

Am I woke for cars?

A friend once said, “Wokeness is just embracing empathy for other people, creatures and the environment.” I liked that, but I’ll add ‘things’ to the list.

I don’t care to photograph cars because it feels eerily like an extension of the male gaze. Those sinuously sleek, curved lines of the XJ6 Jaguar beckoning, beguiling and seducing the heterosexual male photographer.

It’s not the car’s fault, I know that.

I do, however, photograph a lot of headstones. I love the dead. They are peace loving, generally. Their sins and flaws of character, great deeds and wealth are all flattened out, 6 feet under, in a democracy of clay.

So when I passed this car the other day and caught the light on the bonnet and the organic nature of the lichen and moss growing on the panels, glass and grill, I was put in mind of a headstone, with good reason.

This car is the site of a personal tragedy for someone I briefly knew.

He was a man engaged in a complicated relationship with himself, an engagement that eventually lead to his self-destruction.

Highly intelligent, yes. Gifted, definitely, but suffering from a personal resentment and grievance that was unappealing to many. Instead of internalising it, he shared it around or, at best, left it thinly veiled.

I like the ideas of Gabor Maté, the Canadian psychologist. He said - Don’t ask, “What have you done?” But rather ask, “What happened to you?”

This is a photograph of a headstone, for one of the democracy of the dead.

Don’t cry

It’s not a car

It’s a cradle for the democratic journey.

Words and Polaroid - One Kindred Spirit