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John Palcewski's Journal

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Faceless
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Faceless doll in store window, Rome, settembre 2005


Passages in Exodus and Deuteronomy forbid the making of anything that is in the likeness of male or female. Which is why the Amish of Pennsylvania do not put faces on their dolls. In some strict Amish homes, even these are not allowed. A child instead is given a piece of wood wrapped in a blanket to serve as her own little baby.

Before the Amish arrived, Native American Iroquois told of a wonderfully crafted doll who went from village to village to play with the children. They all would tell her how pretty she was. Soon she became vain, and remained so despite The Creator telling her this was not the right kind of behavior.

One afternoon the doll was walking by a creek and she glanced in the water. She admired herself, she couldn’t help thinking how lovely she was. Then the Creator sent a giant screech owl out of the sky and snatched her reflection from the water. When she looked again, she had no reflection.

The faceless doll (above) took me back to the early 70s…

Beginning at dawn I prowled the streets of Rome hung over and still half drunk, camera in hand, deep into a frenzy of repeated shots of everything interesting that I saw. I did not trust the light meter because after all, it just might be lying to me. Or perhaps in my fumbling intoxication I had set it improperly.

Therefore to be absolutely sure I would begin at the indicated exposure, and then “bracket” by making additional exposures three or four f stops above, and the same number below. Surely among all these would be a single image with just the right balance of highlights and shadow detail.

My perception of Rome in those early days was informed by the works of my then favorite author, Alberto Moravia. I fully identified with the despair of his characters. I, like them, was in the firm grip of faceless authority, and I loathed it.

What’s more I cringed at the thought of being locked for the next 20 years in a marriage in America that had been the most profound mistake of my life. But my wife was four months pregnant, and I therefore had an obligation I could not avoid. For me, a terrifying burden.

How to escape? In the evening I sat in the hotel’s lounge and drank vodka. I asked the bartender if he could find me a puttana. “No,” he said smiling, “but perhaps a pretty boy might be to your liking?”

The thought nauseated me. I felt the contempt in his gaze. Later I overheard him talking to the bell boy. “L'americano pazzesco,” he said, and they laughed.

What would my “superiors” at the magazine in New York do if I did not return with all the pictures they'd commissioned me to take? Was it even possible to disappear? How would I live here in Rome? Most likely I'd never get a job because I spoke virtually no Italian. Maybe I could become a thief. Or a gigilo. Maybe I ought to drink myself to death.

Would I ever escape?

No, I didn’t think so.



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faceless

(Anonymous)
I want you to know I really have enjoyed reading your journal-the photos-thanks

You're welcome!

You continue to knock me down with the things you write here. But in a good way really, I wouldn't accuse you of assault or anything. ( it is a compliment really, I am just not awake yet so coherence is difficult for me. so sorry )

I'm happy you are finding these posts of interest...thanks!

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