Mimesis
by Lily M.
A picture is worth more than a thousand words.
But it needs to come alive, you see? And not simply be stills of an object, or a beautiful view, or the big, blue sky. It needs that certain moment, in which the sun casts a weak light, that produces a fickle shadow, and suddenly… It's there. You can't say exactly what it is. You can't put it into words – but it's there, that odd, pretty angle that brings about more than just a picture.
It is hard to convey emotions in photographs. To give meaning to what was only a single, simple frame in the course of the movie we call life. When do we know it's the right time to take a shot? It is such a subjective art, photography is.
Miharu found it fascinating.
Yukimi has taught him to see beyond what he sees. To not limit oneself – to set oneself free. It was not an easy task; Yukimi was far from a great teacher. Or was he? He wasn't quite sure. All he knew is that the ex-Kairoushuu left him to do his own work, commenting only occasionally – and impolitely –, to try and be able to pass some of the techniques over to the boy.
And he really, really found it fascinating.
To pose for a photo? Stop all natural actions and leave behind all that was themselves… That's why those old family photos ended up looking embarrassing. It had to be abrupt, it had to be an impulse, and without anyone announcing it; it had to be at the right angle, with the right lighting, and then it was done, without even the good old click anymore.
Miharu tried to capture as many emotions as he could.
It was rather funny, to finally feel that feeling of – belonging? No, that wasn't quite it. Maybe it just felt – right? No, that was far from it too.
Why bother naming it, he thought. It was good to finally feel something.
To be able to capture emotions… To have them for himself, and only for himself… Could they become his, in the end? Or was he just trying to fool himself?
He pointed it at him, and shot. The flash didn't even blind him, on that sunny day. He brought the digital camera to his eyes, to see what had become of that picture – such a random, forced picture, wasn't it? –, repeating over and over in his mind…
What will I see?
The angle was wrong. The camera was too close to his face, and part of it was cut off. He felt… nothing, as he suspected. It wasn't a true moment. He could almost have said "Cheese!". But he had been curious, hadn't he? To see if he could convey those emotions, if only slightly. To make them surface, to actually see them, see that they were real.
Somehow, he had expected his eyes to be blue.
Somehow, the day felt colder.