How much do we project our interior world on the canvas of the world at large?

I posed this question in a reply to comments on a recent picture which started an interesting dialogue with Leslie

Reid. I am curious if other members have thoughts on this subject or perhaps experiences that touch on this. I'll

try to post the picture to give you some reference (this is my first time starting a forum thread, so I'll just try to take

a stab at it). I've asked Leslie to repost her replies and I will do the same with my answering comments, just to start

the ball rolling. Here goes.<div></div>

<p>That is an interesting question, Jack--the world as a Rorschach test... I suspect the answer is "a lot," and I suspect that that's the basis for so many photographers having their own individually recognizable styles. I can be standing right next to someone, looking at the same thing they are, and yet be seeing something completely different than what they see; we end up with two completely different photos. What we see depends a lot on what we want to find, and what we want to find depends a lot on our inner worlds. And that's one of the reasons that looking at someone else's photos is never boring--as viewers we're learning a lot about other ways of seeing the world.</p>

Leslie

Thanks for your always thoughtful comments. I think I'm more interested in the photographer, how he or she

sees things, than the photograph itself as a stand alone artifact, as fascinating as it may be. I consider the

photograph more as an inevitable projection of the personality and character of the photographer. I think that

photography, as with all the arts, is tied up with the idea that we are responsible co-creators of the world we

experience and think that our perception calls forth the world, filtered through and in line with all the

programs and associations we've assimilated over our lifetime. I believe as we become more aware that

what we see is not objective reality but merely a personal (and largely subconsciously chosen)

representation, the possibilities shift. We are able, at least for a brief few moments, to escape from the tight

confines of the fire lit clearing we call reality and peer a little deeper into the shadowy forest which is the

domain of the unimaginable and the magical. For me, that's an intriguing though daunting proposition and I'm

always looking for fellow travelers along the way, people who are more interested in questions than answers.

After all, it gets pretty lonesome on the trail when you have no one with whom to share your ideas and

suppositions.

<p>There’s a lot of food for thought there, Jack, and one of the things your comments made me start thinking about is what it is about the process of making a photo that is so satisfying, exhilarating, and in some way essential to my being happy. I guess some would say there’s a need to express oneself, but that doesn’t seem to quite fit—that implies that there’s an audience to express oneself to, and it implies, also, that the reward comes with displaying the image instead of in the making of it. For me, it seems like the most potent moment is as I’m first arranging the image in my mind, before I even click the shutter—the kind of “aha” that comes with seeing something that speaks to me, and puzzling out how to turn that “speaking to me” into an image that also speaks. For me, that’s the moment at which reality gets re-visioned into the projection of possibilities from the inner world of my imagination. Making the photo in some way makes visible the world that I want to be there, and that, in a sense, makes it more real to me, whether or not I look at the photo again (I’m reminded of the roll of 72 images I took with a half-frame SLR on which the sprocket holes tore on frame #4—I’ve still got the images in my mind that would have been on a sizable proportion of the 68 frames that never existed—the magic happened when I was designing the images in the viewfinder). How about you?</p>

Leslie, I think there's more than one way to skin a cat and how we do it doesn't matter as long as the cat

gets skinned. Your photos speak for themselves and certainly testify to the effectiveness of your calm and

well considered approach. I'm a bit more random, bordering on chaotic myself. I try to keep my mind as

empty as possible and quiet my constantly jabbering internal dialogue when I shoot; It's important for me to

keep my perception in neutral, just letting what I see flow by. When my attention is snagged by something in

particular, I focus on that. Even if the subject is interesting the further problem is relying on habitual

compositions. Habit and routine more than anything put us to sleep. The idea for me is to wake up to the

world around us and to see anew what we usually pass over without a second look. I live in Nakazakicho, a

quaint neighborhood of small shops, old homes and narrow, winding streets (there are few real

neighborhoods left in Osaka) so one weekends especially, the place is crawling with photographers.

Sometimes I think they're searching more for Nakazakicho as the neighborhood equivalent of

Disneyland. than what's really there. Most of the time we only see what we expect to see. Personally, I'm

looking for something just outside of what I expect to see. In photography at least, I like surprises and that

means changing your usual perception of things; not going with the crowd outside nor the one inside your

head.

<p>Leslie, I think one (I) can express oneself (myself) even without an audience. I work on photos all the time that I wind up not showing anyone because they just don't make the grade. But I consider that work a very important part of expressing myself, even if it ultimately doesn't make it as a finished photo. When I watch movies alone, I may cry or laugh out loud, or ooh and ahh and those are all me expressing myself . . . for myself. I don't think expression implies either an audience or the display aspect. Maybe communication implies those things.</p>

<p>Jack, I take a communal/holistic approach in my thinking about these things. I think photos reflect not only the photographer's mind and emotions but a lot of photographic traditions, prior and current styles, societal and cultural influences, etc. I tend not to think in terms of interior worlds because I think the interior and exterior can't be easily separated, perhaps not at all. What is personal to me is so informed and molded by the outside, by my history, which includes others and what they've said and done, the reactions I've already received from people (even if I don't intend to take them into account, I believe they have some effect), cultural symbols and grammars I've naturally adopted, etc. Since I do so many portraits, I also think my photos reflect much about the subjects as well and I think non-portrait photographs reflect on their subjects as well. It's important that I think the work of a photographer like Walker Evans, of course, reflects his view of the world, but also reflects a world, real and one that existed. It may be only a part of that world, but I don't believe his work is limited just to HIS part of the world but rather to A part of the world.</p>

<p>While what you say, Leslie, is true that the same scene will often be photographed very differently by different photographers, I'd venture to bet that if you gave a thousand photographers the same scene to shoot, none would be exactly the same but very many of them would be quite similar. And I think that's why each generation has a relatively few great artists who live on. It's more the rare person who sees the world really differently and uniquely, while most of the rest of us are seeing the world with varying degrees of shades of difference. And even among those greats, I think there is often more collaboration or at least shared sensibility than we tend to give credit for. Yes, of course, Picasso and Braque were both strong individuals with independent visions. But look at how their work adopted certain new vocabularies and look at how closely the two worked together and even competed. Competition, in important ways, is as much a matter of sharing as it is a matter of asserting oneself. The reason there is a classification "Impressionism" and "Expressionism" and "Surrealism" is that a lot of people worked on a vernacular of their times, separately but in many ways together.</p>

<p>What I see in photos is multi-dimensional, reflecting the photographer, the subject, the times, and many, many things that go into the work.</p>

<p>I guess part of my puzzlement over “expressing oneself” is that I’m not quite sure I understand what it means—is it the joy of creating something? or showing who one is? or conveying a message? Or all of those? I think it’s the first of those that resonates most clearly to me.</p>

<p>And your point on influences is well taken, Fred. I came to the bemused realization exactly 18 days ago, as I was selecting which calendar to reuse for the year, that a large part of my aesthetic sense for landscape photography was molded by the calendar images I grew up with. I selected a 1989 Galen Rowell. (Makes me wonder how influential those calendars may actually have been)</p>

<p>But, like Jack, what I’m really searching for when I’m out with a camera—or looking at others’ photos—is something I’ve never “seen” before, even if I’ve looked at it 100 times. Sure, I’ll take the photo of the sunstruck barn, and I’ll enjoy it, but it’ll be mentally filed with the others in my “sunstruck barn” category; and I’ll also deeply admire others’ photos of sunstruck barns. But the one I'll choose for my wall is one that shows me some aspect of a sunstruck barn that I've never seen before. Show me a row of trashcans waiting for a schoolbus (<a href="/gallery">Gallery</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/user?user_id=1572283">Jack McRitchie</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/member-photos?user_id=1572283">Photos</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/folder?folder_id=1093096">September - You Don't Know What You Got Till It's Gone</a><strong> > Young Trash Containers Waiting…) </strong>or an exhausted unicorn with an accordion (<a href="/gallery">Gallery</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/user?user_id=2361079">Fred G.</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/member-photos?user_id=2361079">Photos</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/folder?folder_id=1070326">Newest</a><strong> > sunday afternoon, new york…) </strong>or steam devils coming off a real-life Turner seascape (<a href="/gallery">Gallery</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/user?user_id=6951897">Michail Lipakis</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/member-photos?user_id=6951897">Photos</a><strong> > </strong><a href="/photodb/folder?folder_id=1095331">1_LATEST_2017</a><strong> > Steam Devil II --- …)</strong>, and my mental image of reality is changed forever--and I like that. A lot.</p>

<p>Maybe another consideration with expressing oneself is that there always already is an audience, of 1 - the photographer. Even if you're excellent at pre-visualising, the actual photo itself is still a creation in itself that isn't necessarily what you previsualised. There is also communication back to oneself. And sure there is joy in creating something; I guess if there wouldn't be we wouldn't keep up carrying a camera around.</p>

<p>I full agree with Fred that the inner and outer world are somewhat hard to see as fully seperates, I read the inner world more as "what drives somebody to take his particular photos". Even when you can recognise the influences, the cultural fingerprint and/or biases/opinions/convinctions, then still there can be that final personal touch. Yet, in the back of my head niggles the idea of gazillion of photos that are perfectly exposed, perfectly framed and have no intent beyond showing what was in front of the lens, and which succeed at that with flying colours. These photos seem devoid of a personal touch, but rather some search for technical excellence and adherence to rules and the expectations of others on how a photo of that subject ought to look.<br>

If that also would talk of the inner world of the photographer, what does that tell us? Yikes. And there are just too many photos like that for me to think things are that bad. No gazillion inner worlds looking like a desert wasteland with a calculator.<br>

<br />So a first assumption here probably needs to be that the photographer is actively looking to express in a personal way, and is not too disturbed if people, or even the majority, cannot care for those photos. A photographer who is comfortable with the idea that photo and subject in photo are 2 different things, and that a photo isn't displaying some reality, but rather an interpretation.<br>

That assumption in itself probably already indicates a certain level of introspective self-consciousness and a need for that creative aspect. And limits the number of photographers by a lot too :-)</p>

<p>So things start to intertwine here a bit, I think. We're talking photographers (and viewers, certainly as important) who are conscious about the personal creative expression in their photography, and in those photos you find aspects of that personality in how things are visually expressed.<br>

That doesn't make it less fascinating, but there is a level of intent at play, no matter how things come around. It's not so much a Rorschach, though it can be an ambiguous puzzle all the same. Deciphering the intent and red herrings in a body of work isn't less valuable or interesting just because it's intentionally there, after all. For the viewer, the discovery is no less.</p>

<p>Personally, I actually don't look for pictures, but happen to find them. The outer world is very much part of my photos. I just walk around, take it in and whatever touches me, I'll have a shot at. Quite recently I had to move, and find myself now in a different culture, climate and surroundings - one I know awfully well because it's where I used to live before from birth. And as familiar as I should be with it, I'm not yet seeing those photos. Maybe because there is no surprise, less curiosity. Or maybe it does simply take time to parse that new/old reality again through the mental filter to start seeing the details that may work.<br>

Which is a long way of saying the process isn't that easy. It's not from inner to outer. It's also the outer that pushes and pulls the inner into directions. It's messages that form in your head driving you to make photos, and it is messages in photos that drive you to understand yourself better in what you try to say.</p>

<p>The <em>projection</em> is the game: the guessed-at, assumed rules of the game — the boundaries, the goals, what matters and why — <em>before</em> it's played. Some games consume their content (chess); the vagueness of the mishmash of what is visible of world 'games' (i.e. life) make game watching circular: as the play exceeds the game, we correct the game and try again.</p>

<p>A game that assumes play is not a game. A player that assumes a game is not a player. World content is so multi-layered as to give only the most fleeting of recognitions of bits of simultaneous multi-game play. But a <em>projection</em> demands past > present > future cognition/assumptions.</p>

<p>In other words, <em>projection</em> isn't a solid, practical, neat and tidy, studious activity. It's a desperate, unavoidable, never-ending striving for equilibrium, location and orientation.</p>

<p>Leslie, here's a couple of ways I think about expression . . .</p>

<blockquote>

<p>something that manifests, embodies, or symbolizes something else<br /> the look on someone's face that conveys a particular emotion</p>

</blockquote>

<p>They're similar, in that the look on one's face can be seen as the embodiment of emotion. The way I'd put it is that your joy of creation is just that, the joy of creation. And your creating is an act of expression.</p>

<p>For me, your words "showing who one is" would translate to "showing an aspect or side of ourselves." And with any photograph that's combined with "external" things. I think of myself as <em>becoming</em> more than <em>being</em>, so I don't think I'm ever showing who I <em>am</em> as much as who I'm <em>becoming</em> . . . which implies an unknown future and even a not-fixed past, since there will always be different perspectives from which I will view my own past, as I grow. I think my photos show more of a personal process rather than a personal who.</p>

<p>I understand your thoughts about finding something new or seeing something in a new way. For me, that's something different from projecting oneself onto the world or into the photograph. Some very imitative and derivative work is actually very revealing about the photographer.<br /> _________________________________________________<br /> <br /> Wouter, I like the idea of the audience of one . . . as long as it doesn't make us all schizophrenic. ;-)<br /> <br /> On the joy of creating . . . I do think some artists suffer through their art and, for them, it isn't about joy. There's catharsis, for some there's simply <em>having to</em> photograph or paint, and there are many very painful artistic journeys.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>Yet, in the back of my head niggles the idea of gazillion of photos that are perfectly exposed, perfectly framed and have no intent beyond showing what was in front of the lens, and which succeed at that with flying colours. These photos seem devoid of a personal touch, but rather some search for technical excellence and adherence to rules and the expectations of others on how a photo of that subject ought to look.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>Yes. To me this would be part of the negative side of the communal aspect I was talking about. Where we become simply part of a mindless herd rather than a contributor to a shared sensibility. The latter is more creative and empowering than the former.</p>

<p>On intent, I think what's NOT intended can be as or more expressive and more revealing than what IS intended. At the same time, I do think that when one photographs intentionally, one is often more likely to create a personal vision which is meaningful. But I do think some of our more subconscious motivations lead to a lot of important stuff in our photos.</p>

<p><em>[As always, I believe one can shoot intentionally while still being spontaneous. Intention does not necessarily mean staging photos or pre-planning them, and staging or pre-planning does not mean a lack of spontaneity.]</em><br /> <br /> I like the way you describe your own working process and I think it's what gives your photos a sense of place, which is different, I think, from a personal projection. I think there are personal aspects of your work as well, but the sense of place is important and not as personal a matter, as you seem to be saying as well.</p>

<p>Interesting thread, Jack. Since I have little time now to digest the posts already submitted, I'll let the following comments on one of your images speak for me.</p>

<p>Jack, if I didn't know that the symbols in this image are Japanese, I would have taken them as religious symbols belong to an aboriginal culture, especially that of Australia. In fact, I think I see I see a didgediroo lying on its side in the background.</p>

<p>I'd like to borrow a word, in abbreviated form, from Julie - project. Every time one clicks the shutter of a camera, one engages in a project. But this doesn't mean simply that the photographer has planned to shoot the photograph by means of thinking about exposure, shutter speed, aperture opening, level of sensitivity, whether to shoot handheld or with the aid of a tripod. It means in part that the photographer has made a decision (or perhaps a series of decisions) to shoot a photograph. The project is a conscious act, which rests with a human being. The act results in a photograph - an object. Of course, borrowing from Fred's initial post, the decision may be based on a variety of factors and influences.</p>

<p>I hope the above is reasonably clear. </p>

<p>Couple things come to mind. One is that we as humans share common genes as well as environments with stable properties that have been unchanged since the beginning of human evolution: the horizon, sun, sky, sunsets, physical things like that. We also share visual systems which are emotionally attuned to certain features of the environment, probably for survival. We also live with other humans and are greatly attuned to facial expression and posture, etc. So in some sense, the “canvas of the world at large” has already “projected” itself onto us! Because of these factors, we tend to be more similar in our photography than different, as mentioned by Fred. We are drawn to the same things. I also agree with Fred that there are some individuals who are different enough in their creativity to expand on what has already been done before them. It’s just going to happen, given the quantity of people in the world. I think humans are naturally creative and we enjoy our own creativity as well as the creativity of others. Like Wouter, I don’t look for pictures, I just react when something “grabs” me and I photograph it if I can. My interior world is being stimulated by the external world and something new is created by the interaction, or something like that!</p>

<p>Fred, indeed my point about intent was that the intentional act of making photos tends to lead to a personal vision more likely. To me that does not exclude the subconscious motivations (in fact, I think I float on those more than I depend on the conscious ones), nor the importance of those. Ultimately, those things all come together in the actual choices we've made once we press that shutter - it may be a very deliberate and well-crafted composition, lighting set up precisely and with care, or it may be just that instant blimp catching the attention. There is a series of decisions, concious or subconscious, that preceed that "click". I guess what Michael means with a project. Our intent lies in those decisions and the likely outcome they'll have.<br>

I guess in short is that I do not see intent as a fully reasoned, conscious decision, but rather as the underlying urge to make the photos. Maybe my use of the term is a tad loose indeed.</p>

<p>The more I think about it, the harder I find it to see the inner world as seperate from the outer world; they constantly interact and shape the way we see things and want to see them. We evolve and change. As Steve notes, a good part of that is also shared (be it some sort of innate ability, or cultural). In a way, maybe outgrowing that shared part with its predictable reactions is what makes it hard to get that personal touch in photos and really manage to express oneself.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>outgrowing that shared part with its predictable reactions is what makes it hard to get that personal touch in photos and really manage to express oneself.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>That seems to me to be true. Our inner sense, values and motivations are partly innate (including learned), partly shared with others. I think what I am often looking for is a creative process and result that derives more from my inner world than that shared with the outside one. I think that is what also incites the great artists who not only do that but also communicate their unique vision to others (Munchen and Van Gogh did not fully succeed in that communication within their lifetimes, but the meaning of their art is now part of the established outer world). Whether I succeed or not is measured as much by the values of my inner world as those of the outside world. <br /> <br /> Expressing oneself also exists of course when the approach and results are very much in step with the art conventions or preferences of views of the outer world, although oneself may be more diluted.</p>

<p>I think the great artists through history are all motivated by different things. I've never thought there was one overriding motivating factor working for all or most of the great artists. If it were the case that artists' motivations had something so strong in common, that would be a significant example of a herd mentality and lack of uniqueness.</p>

<p>Compare this, the middle verse from Elizabeth Bishop's poem <em>The Map</em>:</p>

 

<blockquote>

<p><br />The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.<br>

Labrador's yellow, where the moony Eskimo<br>

has oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,<br>

under a glass as if they were expected to blossom,<br>

or as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.<br>

The names of seashore towns run out to sea,<br>

the names of cities cross the neighboring mountains<br>

-the printer here experiencing the same excitement<br>

as when emotion too far exceeds its cause.<br>

These peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger<br>

like women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>.<br>

...with David Sylvester's description of the painter Chaim Soutine:</p>

<blockquote>

<p>... this becomes Soutine's pattern (one that is highly consistent with what we know of his personality): to put himself in a position from which he feels that something is threatening him, so that he must attack it, wrestle with it, twist it, wring its neck. It is as if he can only make contact with the external world through an act of violence and violation. It is painting as a form of in-fighting.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>Bishop's mapmakers are cool, detached, in love with what they have done. Soutine is hot, violent, close-up. Or as Sylvester writes, this "signifies a refusal to maintain 'a respectful distance,' expresses a will to intimacy, whether that of sympathy or that of insolence ... "</p>

 

<blockquote>

<p>If it were the case that artists' motivations had something so strong in common, that would be a significant example of a herd mentality and lack of uniqueness.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>If you are referring to my statement about great artists being inspired by their own inner world, I absolutely fail to see that a common aspect of greatness like being primarily directed by his or her own inner world and imagination would constitute a "herd" instinct. That might be the case of not great artists who may be content (and even commercially successful in some cases) to simply follow the crowd.<br /> <br /> On the contrary, greatness is dependent upon breaking away from the common mentality and thought and achieving original works (Original - "created directly and personally by a particular artist; not a copy or imitation"). I am very surprised that you have yet to discern that in your own study of the thoughts and works of great artists.</p>

<p>I think Salgado was inspired by environmental concerns and social responsibility.<br /> <br /> I think Stieglitz was inspired, first, by a desire to elevate photography to the status of art and then by a desire for photography to find its own voice as a separate medium.<br /> <br /> Dorothea Lange claimed to be motivated by the courage of other people.<br /> <br /> Not being a great artist, myself, I can tell you I've been motivated by older men willing to be seen and people with disabilities working hard and playing fancifully.<br /> <br /> I never got the sense that most photographers and artists, great and small, were so self-absorbed as to be motivated by their own inner world.<br /> <br /> I honestly do not think most artists are motivated by achieving originality. The way I see it working for many is that their genuine motivation or inspiration by things in the world and/or ideas they find significant and moving, along with talent, results in their achieving something original.</p>

 

<blockquote>

<p><em>I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.</em> —Claude Monet</p>

</blockquote>

<p>There are two different things being said in the thread. The OP's point seemed to ask whether we project our interior world onto the world at large. Though I don't think there's a clear distinction between interior and exterior, I do think photographers project themselves to varying degrees onto the world. The second point is about <em>motivation</em>. I think artists and photographers are motivated by all sorts of things.</p>

<p>Some interesting examples you cite Fred of what motivates certain artists/photographers. I agree that artists like Monet was inspired by flowers and water lilies and how they reflect light. The interior world is made up of such affinities. When jack is querying -<br>

<br>

"How much do we project our interior world on the canvas of the world at large?"</p>

<p>is he referring to the exterior elements that inspire or motivate the photographer or is he thinking more of the way the artist deals with the motivational subjects in his specific way? I guess that I interpret the interior world as being that of the photographer's lived experience, his values and how his brain deals with creation. Those thoughts, whether very personal or sometimes influenced by the group values or aesthetic (exterior influences), are more what I was thinking of in suggesting that good artists are less influenced by how others might create something and much more personal and original in their creation. I think the latter interior world is what makes a (very good to) great artist. </p>

<p>Monet projected his interior world of how he imagined and perceived light and plants onto the outside world by his works and no doubt influenced others, just as Van Gogh, in seeing the world in a specific manner (like his famous painting in greenish tones of fellow inmates walking around in a circle during daily exercise - constrained perspectives and activity of the incarcerated and perhaps of his temporary mental state - or his swirly renditions in other paintings of skies and landscapes, a then unique product from his imagination. Those personal creative thoughts and actions may be what Jack is thinking, and myself, when he refers to projecting the interior world onto the outside world?</p>

<p>I am also a very limited yet committed artist/photographer. Sometimes I think I am projecting my interior world onto the outside world, but that may be fanciful thinking to a large degree, obfuscated perhaps by what one may call a repetitive style which others may recognize as one's own. So that jury is definitely still out.</p>

<p>I am very appreciative of those artists that through their interior world of imagination, insight and unique creation produce great works and communicate their personal and original creations to others, thereby projecting that to the outside world.</p>

For me, the question of one projecting oneself onto the world at large is different from that self-projection being one's motivation or the desire to

be original being one's motivation. I'm not denying that Monet and the rest likely project a lot of themselves on the world.

But I think people engaging in photography and painting who concern themselves with that self-projection often come off

as self-conscious and less than authentic and those who concern themselves with their own originality often come off as

forced. I think many of them don't quite make it to artist precisely because of that. On the other hand, I think the artists

who are motivated by deep connections to their subjects, such as Stieglitz to O'Keeffe or Weston to his pepper or

Mapplethorpe to the possibilities of daring to expose fringe sexualities with a classical luxurious photographic flavor that

he could apply as well to Cala lilies are the ones who do wind up projecting themselves genuinely and being original as well.

<p>Fred, your initial posts today say it all.</p>

We are quite sure of our reality; after all it is real enough to us. But what we define as real necessarily implies

limits. Since how we see and what we expect to see is the organizing principle that creates what we consider to

be the real world, when we somehow manage to create space between our expectations, our deeply

programmed beliefs and ourselves, other interpretations and understandings are possible. I'm not so much

interested in the motivation or the why but the simple shift in perception itself and its effect on our work and

indeed on our life. This is the reason I started this thread although I didn't express my question very clearly. I

would appreciate any personal anecdotes that might shed some light on the process of seeing and later I'll add

some of my own. I don't expect any ready answers but I'd welcome accounts of personal experiences that led you to perhaps question the way

things are (or are supposed to be).

<p>"later I'll add some of my own"</p>

<p>You just did, in your post, re this thread — without apparent irony.</p>

<p>Made me smile.</p>