Fade to White

SSS #001

Hopefully one day they’ll think I was famous. A thousand years from now, maybe some archeologist or someone will comb the digital archive and stumble upon my body of work and declare that he has discovered a new species of a celebrity. Maybe then my image will have real worth; maybe then I’ll be validated. Instead of being frozen in time, I’ll be frozen in history.

I remember when I first came to New York. I used to envision my name on Broadway marquees, ringed by bright white light bulbs, cameras flashing as I stepped out of a stretch limo with a gymnast’s grace, my calves flexed and my toes pointed as my million-watt smile dazzled the premiere’s lucky attendees. Why did it all go wrong? Or, why did it never go right? At first I thought this malaise would pass, but it just seems to be life’s condition. My expectations will never match the reality. The raisin in the sun is me.

The camera flashes again, but my eyeballs are too scorched and my smile is too frozen to react. This job has reduced me to a caricature of myself. It feels as if I’ve been in this studio forever; the lack of windows and artificial lighting make it seem like both a moment and an eon have passed, my dreams ringing in my ears. Millions have seen me, but no one really knows me, not even me. Somewhere in the distance I register the photographer saying my name, but I don’t answer, instead responding with my same smile. A stock photo gets only a stock reaction.