Albert by Michelle Caplan ©

HoboEye Art:
Michelle Caplan, Los Angeles, CA

There is a loneliness that jumps from a discarded photograph that I find impossible to ignore. Questions race through my mind when I look at a photo of a stranger. The normal, stock questions that tell our brains what we are looking at. Our minds move so quickly that for a long time I was not aware that these questions really even existed. That they skip through my head, waiting to be answered. Who is this person? Where was this picture taken? Where were they going so dressed up? What did they see in their life

One day I could not stop looking at a photo of a bear someone had taken on a trip to the Zoo. I had collected it and pinned it the wall near my desk. I would be at the computer and find myself staring at it when I would look up from my work and my mind would occasionally wonder. I even dreamt about it once. I kept thinking about the observer, the person who took this photo to remember their trip. On the back they had written “San Diego 5/30/26”. In my mind I saw a father holding his sons hand while with the other he held up his camera to capture the beast on film. Had they ever seen a live bear before? It probably never happened that way, but it is something I imagine could be one possibility, one of millions. I realize that this photo is from a time before my own father was born. My Grandmother was 11 years old. What was the world like then

Through my life, being a child of divorce and other circumstances, I rely a great deal on the photos I have from my past to remind me of experiences, holidays, birthdays, friends from elementary I have lost touch with, moments in my life I seem to have completely forgotten. I cherish the images of a grandfather I never met, of a forgotten mother, my 13th birthday. In a fire, I know what I am grabbing. So my question is how is it possible for so many images and lives to end up in a strangers hand?

The people in my work, for all intents and purposes, have been forgotten. I find their photos at the bottom of boxes, in discarded albums, lost between paperwork stacks. They where and are someone’s family. Time does not change that. It is inconsequential how long it has been since a person has lived or died. They existed and made a mark on this Earth. It is heartbreaking that they are not remembered; forgotten in such a way that their image, their memories, are discarded. Keep in mind that my interpretation of who this person was is completely uninformed. The only tools I have are the clues I can find in the picture and  the use of my imagination to conjure up a narrative for a person I have never met and will never meet. They will never meet me. And yet we are bound for life.

On the other side of this profession I have chosen are the commissions. I learn a lot from these collaborative projects because they are driven by a real story, not just what’s in my imagination. I have an opportunity to look outside of myself and go through an experience rich with discovery. I get to glance at a wife through a husband’s eyes, or a child through a parents’. I get to know people and their passions, while creating one of mine. There is inevitably a little bit of me on that canvas, and we are joined, linked for all time. I become part of the story.

My passion for collage began at a very young age. In 2000 I obtained my BFA in Graphic Design at the School of Visual Arts. I then went on to work in the Art Department at some of the top publishing houses in New York City designing a vast and varied number of book covers. Today my work is a reflection of that passion, melded with the graphic arts skills I honed during my tenure in publishing. My education and work experience as a graphic designer have come together on the canvas in the form of Collage Portraiture.

My commissions have included wedding portraits, portraits of family pets, beloved automobiles and even a place of birth which holds a special meaning. I am constantly on the prowl for beautiful images in need of narration, and stories that need to be shared.

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