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About ten minutes later, Dr. Jensen steps over to where Wolfgang and I are sitting together, conversing about the latest teen book turned to overly hormonal movie. We both want to see it.
Dr. Jensen briefly looks at the prints Wolfgang accumulated for his photo series based around coffee. There’s a lot to go through since my friend has gone down two different paths with his images. He has made a study of production with photographs of beans, equipment, and the final liquid product, and another study of the social aspects, which include baristas and people consuming the caffeinated beverage. The overall critique in regard to the composition of each image is worthy, as expected because Wolfgang has a keen natural instinct for the arts, but he needs to tighten up his focus a little for a targeted impact.
Dr. Jensen then turns to me. “EJ, let’s see what you have.”
I sift through my collection of black-and-white images, sorting out my favorites and what I consider my better work.
“What is the exact focus of your study?” he asks, browsing my selection of favorite images.
“Water,” I state firmly. “But it feels like something is missing.”
“These are all different. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He separates three images from the others, closely looking at each one. I study the pictures—a puddle, a running faucet, and a fountain image taken at a downtown water sculpture on the square.
“Yes, but they’re all linked by water, which is my subject.”
“But they all convey more than that, and they have a different”—Dr. Jensen circles his hands in front of his torso as if he’s turning the wheels of his vocabulary—“message.”
“Yeah.” I bite my bottom lip. “I guess in some ways. Maybe I need another environment to connect them better?”
“No, you have plenty to work with here.” He fingers through the prints set aside, pulling out two images from the downtown fountain shoot. “You have more in this environment. I don’t think you need another way of showing water, but rather, you need to explore it further in one place. Dig deeper.”
“Deeper,” I mutter.
He hands me an image of water suspended in air, a droplet caught midstream, sparkling in the sunlight. The fluid almost glows independently in contrast to the background. There’s something ethereal about it, and I didn’t originally pull it as a favorite.
“This one,” he continues, “is very interesting, more so than all the others. The way the liquid is caught in the light is like—”
“A religious experience?”
“Some might see it that way. It’s all up to interpretation, but that’s the art in it.”
Holding the black-and-white image he chose, I begin to get lost in the story of the water and the symbolism in my own mind. This simple droplet of water could very well convey the fragile beauty of life. It’s a living spirit that causes my heart to flutter with delight, connecting myself to the moment. It’s not just water. It’s everything, if I allow it to be.
“I see what you mean,” I say, awestruck that it was there all along.
“Do you think you have a good direction now?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Very good. Email me if you have any questions.”
Dr. Jensen steps away, heading toward another student waiting for his insightful advice. I gather up my prints, stuff them back into my bag, and exit the classroom with Wolfgang by my side.
“So, what do you think you’re going to do about your project?” he asks, playing with the ends of my hair.
I zero in on his hand near my shoulder as his fingers continue to run through the white-blonde locks. “What are you doing?”
“You really do have the best hair,” he says with a charming flirtatious innocence. “I can’t help myself.”
I give him the what-in-the-hell-are-you-talking-about eye.
He removes his hand. “You know about my hair fetish.”
“I do?” I enunciate. “Is that why you keep your head shaved?”
He rubs the dark stubble on top of his skull. “Not on me. I like it on others. You’re your own masterpiece. Every person is.”
