Iris and Oculus: An Experiment in Ambiguity

Cover page Title and Photo

Iris and Oculus: An Experiment in Ambiguity

Gabriela Gonzalez Carpio Independent Study Project 2017 The Taft School

For Dad. Here it is: my first book.

Iris and Oculus Iris is the actual; Oculus is the virtual eye. There is no right or wrong answer here. The way we see the world is a reflection of the lives we think we lead. This series of photographs and words are no exception. Iris and Oculus is an year-long experiment in ambiguity, a collection of universal human sentiments that can be interpreted in more than one way.

By contemplating these pieces, my hope is that we reflect on our own stories, even the ones we wish were real.

Earth and Mars You left me something to talk about.

Something to pull out on days when I want to remember what life really is.

Some days I call it regret, sometimes bravery.

I didn’t know my words would bounce off like asteroids, leaving craters in their wake that I might never fill.

Your heart doesn’t ride your letters into these spaces.

For a while, I thought they might.

Now we just orbit each other, Like Earth and Mars.

We both look for light, but not from each other Because that’s only a job for the sun.

Only she can make you feel warm From so far away.

I Know This I know how chocolate melts On the roof of my mouth Even faster With the help of hot tea I know how ink bleeds On my journal pages If I’m not careful All familiar things No matter how many times I turn the same corner I always linger Between right and left It’s been four years And I still ask myself: Is it the studio or the stage?

Disease of the Mind No matter how many times I turn the same corner, I always linger At the intersection -- I forgot to bring sneakers to hip hop rehearsal.

This is the second time you’ve asked me What time do you have to be there?

Where was it you went?

I respond with a wrinkle between my brows and articulated words -- You forget how it goes.

Grandma, she can’t even see No matter how she holds your photograph, It’s your voice that is strange And her kindness with strangers That is familiar.

We’re the ones that memory forgot.

Rainbows There’s bubble tea in the servery Your cup is round and full What color are they?

The bubbles You ask.

Blue.

My brother is wearing an orange shirt red pants a green sweater something blue.

I open to the page in his homework book with bubbles And asked what color are they?

Blue?

No. He sat behind circular glass and metal Tried to make out letters from far away And pigments from cards full of foam And invisible numbers.

You’ll never know.

Not you, not him.

Every color is a little lie It’s up to you to decide what rainbows look like.

Parallel Universe You ask permission You make your way to an intersection You keep straight Turning left into my room You are sitting on my white chair Advancing over my memory foam mattress And tribal print Jazz softens your breath You’re looking at me Me, looking out the window You tuck a flyaway curl away from my eyelash As the snow falls behind us *** I walked over the snow in my favorite sneakers Basketball shorts, and a cap I reached down to pet the dog That only seems to bark When I’m around.

Then I turned right in the middle of the hall Went down three steps.

Every time I’m halfway to her room, I feel like I’m being watched But then I get there And the feeling goes away. *** It’s you again Your voice You greet the dog -- it doesn’t bark as much this time.

Your bow legs make you waddle As you turn right

You keep walking You keep walking You keep walking You don’t turn around You don’t even say hello *** It’s time to say goodbye So I turn right Towards the exit.

I pull her close Moving towards the door So no one can see.

The light from the coca-cola machine Brightens her cheeks I kiss her once -- too audibly for these thin walls It feels public, Even if no-one is watching. *** You turn left one night You laugh with me -Change the vinyl on the record player.

You Are flattered I made you a cup of tea Are In awe of the way I fix my hair --in mirrors Are smiling when I read to you in French You... *** She’s the only one I see *** Wish you would say hello.

Woman of the House Sometimes she leaves plastic bags Full of gifts on my bed.

Unless I’ve had my fill, Her food doesn’t taste good.

On her, we all depend.

Nobody’s back Bends as low To raise the ground Or reaches as high To bring us down to meet it.

Painters, We. The painting It’s one of those that stares back at you, like a Mona Lisa.

The river -- the one I picture, but to which I have never been -- flows for someone The clouds float above Sometimes too fast for me to make shapes In the mornings, the sun greets me.

My face feels warm.

So why do I like the dark better?

Is it because the sun shines brighter on someone else’s skin?

The wind stops when someone else Walks down the hill.

But not for me.

The Mona Lisa’s don’t stare anymore.

The clouds mirror the snow covered ground -- shapeless.

The birds used to sing when I walked out.

Maybe I should try a different time.

Every waking moment, The earth is hearing For my spontaneous illusions, but not listening.

Perhaps this is why the canvas is the best listener And the brush, the best translator.

About Oculus I’m gripping this metal machine Scavenging for an answer -- an alternative He stands in front of me As if staring at my face Will conjure the words he seeks I burrow into my coat Protecting myself From the pull of his eyes -So I close mine He disappears With the April snow And all other things that don’t belong I’m sinking into something sweet.

I’m slipping into a still state.

I’m singing a softer song.

I hope it’s not Oculus.

Up Ahead A stick shift and an automatic can get you to the same place.

If we traced our foot steps, We would find that even when Taking similar paths, We step on different stones.

No matter how much we wish To not have wet our feet, We won’t unsee the coat on our toes Or the evenness of moist skin.

Reverse, reverse The more we try To go back in time, The faster the clock moves forward.

Drive, drive Right when it feels like the end of the road The last of your gas The terminal hour -- That’s when you shift gears.

Thank you to every teacher whose ever allowed me to indulge in my artistic curiosities. To every teacher whose ever provided me a creative outlet especially, Ms. Sarah Surber, Dr. Amanda Benedict and Mr. Ray Pierpont.

A special thank you to Mr. Yee-Fun Yin, for advising me through this project, inspiring me and giving me the tools to express myself through photography’s many lenses.

My gratitude to Magda Kisielinska, Sumi Kim, Trevor Esilu, Emily Weaver, Chloe Frelinghuysen, Raya Petrova, Andrea Gura, Milan Moudry and my little brother, Chris for modeling.

Š 2017. All poems and photographs by Gabriela Gonzalez Carpio All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical , including photocopy, scan, recording or any other storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the artist.

Watertown, Connecticut, USA