Documentation

I've been thinking a lot lately about the power of documentation.

A lover once told me, "I feel like as you go through your day you're also writing about it in your head." She seemed a bit concerned by this: not concerned that I'd write about her, but that I might somehow not be fully living my life because my writer's brain never turns off.

And I have to say, at least in part: guilty as charged. I think of myself as a poet and a writer at least as much as I'm a witch. I have published in print and electronically under five names, put out two 'zines, helped produce three others, have run two Web sites, and currently have more blogs than I can count on one hand. Granted I'm no Ana Voog, but I've done a pretty good job of documenting my life, with more or less artistic license.

And, that changes how I look at the world.

The first change is somewhat passive. I constantly collect images for poems. I sometimes think of pithy phrases for my blogs as I go through my day. I am constantly scribbling down ideas for blogs or articles or books. So that's true.

More than that, there's something about documentation that makes me actively push myself into a different life than I might otherwise have. To write on a topic -- and I have a few I write on -- I need to keep up at least a bit on that topic. To write about magick and power exchange means that I have an extra incentive to keep honing my knowledge about two of my favorite things. I am generally not content to have a boring day; that gives me nothing to write about. (Yes, I realize Plath could wax rhapsodic about picking her nose. But please, let's not make her an example.)

It's not just writing. When I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to be Andy Warhol - not to be famous as an artist in my own right as much as for touching and connecting others' fifteen minutes of fame. In my twenties, I created and hosted salons and played yenta to other artists. I wanted, and still want, to lead my life as art. And so I've always surrounded myself by creative people, and so I tend to watch what they do as well: visual arts, performance arts, songwriting. I have no skills in those arts, but have a deep appreciation for them. I can only manage a good camera well enough to photograph well behaved subjects like artifacts and museum pieces, so of course I'm amazed at how these artists capture everything from gorgeous landscapes to writhing bondage babes. I've been intrigued by photography for most of my adult life, at least as long as I've been writing. Self-photography intrigues me. Little image blogs. Large installations. But I tend to watch it, not do it. And I'm okay with that -- the photography has other uses for me.

The community whose SIG I attended last week has both a bondage SIG and a photography SIG, and there seems to be a solid overlap. And so, as I found myself tied six ways to Sunday, there were also flash bulbs going off in all directions, photographers setting up shots, and the lively interplay of artists between the photographers, riggers and bottoms, who in turn seemed to keep switching roles. Naturally, I loved it.

And now suddenly I find myself with hundreds of shots piling up. In a few short months I've gone from the girl with the "don't photograph me" band on her arm to a massively documented bona fide rope slut. Just like with my writing, the representation is not the experience. (And I've been a postmodernist long enough to never expect it to.) And yet the representation is its own thing: a reminder, a testament, and ideally a dialogue with the experience. I find myself wondering, along with: what affect will this tie have on my bottom? also: what will this look like? what is the symmetry or deliberate asymmetry? how will this look at thus and such angle? Along with: how does this rope feel to be in? or: how can I do some yoga and dancing in this suspension? a bit of: how can I vamp to the camera? A physicist or post-modernist might call this observer theory: the camera does not merely document an event, but changes its very nature.

Perhaps that's what my lover was getting at. And I have to cop to it. And, I can't say I see it as a bad thing.

The SIG was going at a much higher level than I've seen before for demo and teaching work. Was it just the nature of the community (which has a lot of very good riggers)? Perhaps. But I like to think there's something else at play here. Rope is an art form which is beautiful in part because it's ephemeral. But photography changes that dynamic a bit. The ropes aren't just ephemeral and dynamic. They're also processual - the process is the product, and the documentation helps retain that. And of course the photograph takes the rope a step further into a tool for product: the finished photograph. So now we have three levels of art going on at the same time, at least: the ephemeral feeling of rope on body and power exchanged, the process of the tying and untying, the product of the photograph.

There have long been days I've wanted to play Kiki to someone's Man Ray, so perhaps it's no surprise I seem to be surrounded by photographers. There's something erotic about the dynamic when artists of different media come together: dancers and musicians, riggers and photographers, visual artists and writers. The dance between arts has an erotic charge as hot as sex: the orgasm that starts between the ears. If I recall correctly, the Thoth deck has art as alchemy, and that's it exactly: the third being that emerges when two creative beings collide.