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beetigerI got into the car just before 7 am. The little thermometer on the dash read 64 degrees coming out of the garage. Within a minute, it was reading 52. I could deal with that. Over the course of the drive, it dropped down to 46. 42. 39. I turned the defroster on. 38. By time I made the turn on the little side road by the big heritage oak, it was reading 36. I'd always said that my big fuzzy slippers could keep me warm naked in a snowstorm. I hoped I was right.
Maybe a dozen people had gathered by the time I arrived, people of a pretty wide variety of shapes and sizes, men and women. There was a lady taking people's signature releases, and there were two reporters there from the local paper. I wondered whether the articles would sound more like "famous photographer chooses our town's Heritage tree for photo shoot" or like "a bunch of random naked people were cavorting along Route 22 in 36 degree weather". I let the man from the free weekly interview me, though I don't think I said anything interesting. I introduced myself to the photographer, Jack Gescheidt, who was very sweet and had a warm and gentle energy about him.
By the time he gathered us all together, there were about 20 of us. He told us he had some ideas, but that we were collaborating. He told us that the town did not allow people to climb the tree, though the shapes of the thick low sprawling branches pretty much begged you to. He asked if we had any questions. One girl, probably the youngest person there, in her early twenties, with pretty blond curls and makeup on, asked how many people were actually there to be in the picture. Perhaps she thought that the older men were just there to gawk, that some of the couples had one person who was there only reluctantly to try and support their partner's perverse desire to hang out with naked hippies in the fall frost. Everyone raised their hands, except for the reporters and the photographer's assistant.
"Okay, don't get undressed yet, just go play with the tree, see what you think you want to do." We did. It had great wide branches, covered with moss, and knots and depressions deep enough to stick your face in. There was a lightning rod like a leash around the most vertical branch and going down to the ground, and a little support that looked like an old man's cane holding a heavy branch a foot or two off the ground. It was still, very quiet. I've been able to get energy from trees before, but this one I couldn't understand that well from where I was. It was old, and slow, and nearly asleep. There weren't nearly enough fallen leaves around it; the town was doing a very meticulous job blowing them away.
Jack suggested that maybe we'd fan out along the ground, and shape ourselves like roots that mimicked the splayed shape of the branches above us. "Heads or feet toward the tree?" I asked. "Good question," he answered, "let's try both". People began to lie on the ground, heads toward the tree, each naturally finding a spot. I was near the trunk, near the center, a little curled. Jack rebalanced a bit by asking people to move from the left to the right, reminded people that when the actual photoshoot started they'd need to lie flat to the ground. Then he asked us to turn around, feet to the tree, and people naturally spread their arms above their heads. From that position, you could see what the branches above you looked like, the morning sun beginning to come through, the birds stopping in for a moment. It was instantly right.
"OK, warm up for a few minutes, then we'll do it." Some people went for a little jog, some just put on an extra blanket and stood around. I went into the car with my friends Sandy and Murray, and sat in their back seat with the heat cranked up, and shared some hot chocolate heavily laced with Amaretto, and put my slippers on.
Everyone disrobed quickly, easily, without a fuss. The air really wasn't very cold, though the ground was. I carefully put my glasses on top of my sweater on a pile on a blanket, and spread out with the other people. The consensus was that no one was that cold except for their feet. The energy had changed completely from the "dressed rehearsal"; people were focused, and although I'm still unsure if the tree had noticed us, people were much more focused on the tree rather than on worrying about being cold. It was utterly beautiful. And although I could feel the energy of all the other people on the ground, hear them breathing and sometimes chatting, I couldn't see anything but the shapes and colors of the branches above me.
There was another shot on the other side of the tree afterward, after a quick break in which Jack reloaded his film, and repositioned himself, and people wrapped up in blankets and coveted my slippers. People were getting a bit cold by the second shot, though the sun had actually warmed the ground some by then; a frail cheerful man, probably in his seventies, shivered next to me like a leaf but didn't complain. The photographer asked if we wanted him in a shot. We did, but teasingly yelled at him to hurry up if he was going to get undressed.
Everyone was a bit disappointed when we didn't do a third setup. I'm not sure if it was the reporters or the assistant or just the photographer's good sense that said that traffic was getting too busy, that he didn't want to have trouble, that we'd gotten what we needed. He promised to come back in the summer. People hugged, and some lingered, but I didn't. Not for not wanting to, really, but I had somewhere to be, and the magic had already happened.
8:45 am. 46 degrees. Driving back home, without underwear. A "just say yes" kind of a morning, just being human, just being alive.
I can't wait to see the picture.
(You can find Jack Gescheidt's work at The TreeSpirit Project.)
Maybe a dozen people had gathered by the time I arrived, people of a pretty wide variety of shapes and sizes, men and women. There was a lady taking people's signature releases, and there were two reporters there from the local paper. I wondered whether the articles would sound more like "famous photographer chooses our town's Heritage tree for photo shoot" or like "a bunch of random naked people were cavorting along Route 22 in 36 degree weather". I let the man from the free weekly interview me, though I don't think I said anything interesting. I introduced myself to the photographer, Jack Gescheidt, who was very sweet and had a warm and gentle energy about him.
By the time he gathered us all together, there were about 20 of us. He told us he had some ideas, but that we were collaborating. He told us that the town did not allow people to climb the tree, though the shapes of the thick low sprawling branches pretty much begged you to. He asked if we had any questions. One girl, probably the youngest person there, in her early twenties, with pretty blond curls and makeup on, asked how many people were actually there to be in the picture. Perhaps she thought that the older men were just there to gawk, that some of the couples had one person who was there only reluctantly to try and support their partner's perverse desire to hang out with naked hippies in the fall frost. Everyone raised their hands, except for the reporters and the photographer's assistant.
"Okay, don't get undressed yet, just go play with the tree, see what you think you want to do." We did. It had great wide branches, covered with moss, and knots and depressions deep enough to stick your face in. There was a lightning rod like a leash around the most vertical branch and going down to the ground, and a little support that looked like an old man's cane holding a heavy branch a foot or two off the ground. It was still, very quiet. I've been able to get energy from trees before, but this one I couldn't understand that well from where I was. It was old, and slow, and nearly asleep. There weren't nearly enough fallen leaves around it; the town was doing a very meticulous job blowing them away.
Jack suggested that maybe we'd fan out along the ground, and shape ourselves like roots that mimicked the splayed shape of the branches above us. "Heads or feet toward the tree?" I asked. "Good question," he answered, "let's try both". People began to lie on the ground, heads toward the tree, each naturally finding a spot. I was near the trunk, near the center, a little curled. Jack rebalanced a bit by asking people to move from the left to the right, reminded people that when the actual photoshoot started they'd need to lie flat to the ground. Then he asked us to turn around, feet to the tree, and people naturally spread their arms above their heads. From that position, you could see what the branches above you looked like, the morning sun beginning to come through, the birds stopping in for a moment. It was instantly right.
"OK, warm up for a few minutes, then we'll do it." Some people went for a little jog, some just put on an extra blanket and stood around. I went into the car with my friends Sandy and Murray, and sat in their back seat with the heat cranked up, and shared some hot chocolate heavily laced with Amaretto, and put my slippers on.
Everyone disrobed quickly, easily, without a fuss. The air really wasn't very cold, though the ground was. I carefully put my glasses on top of my sweater on a pile on a blanket, and spread out with the other people. The consensus was that no one was that cold except for their feet. The energy had changed completely from the "dressed rehearsal"; people were focused, and although I'm still unsure if the tree had noticed us, people were much more focused on the tree rather than on worrying about being cold. It was utterly beautiful. And although I could feel the energy of all the other people on the ground, hear them breathing and sometimes chatting, I couldn't see anything but the shapes and colors of the branches above me.
There was another shot on the other side of the tree afterward, after a quick break in which Jack reloaded his film, and repositioned himself, and people wrapped up in blankets and coveted my slippers. People were getting a bit cold by the second shot, though the sun had actually warmed the ground some by then; a frail cheerful man, probably in his seventies, shivered next to me like a leaf but didn't complain. The photographer asked if we wanted him in a shot. We did, but teasingly yelled at him to hurry up if he was going to get undressed.
Everyone was a bit disappointed when we didn't do a third setup. I'm not sure if it was the reporters or the assistant or just the photographer's good sense that said that traffic was getting too busy, that he didn't want to have trouble, that we'd gotten what we needed. He promised to come back in the summer. People hugged, and some lingered, but I didn't. Not for not wanting to, really, but I had somewhere to be, and the magic had already happened.
8:45 am. 46 degrees. Driving back home, without underwear. A "just say yes" kind of a morning, just being human, just being alive.
I can't wait to see the picture.
(You can find Jack Gescheidt's work at The TreeSpirit Project.)
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Date: 2006-10-23 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 12:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 04:02 pm (UTC)Frozen!
Date: 2006-10-23 04:06 pm (UTC)Trickster
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Date: 2006-10-23 08:59 pm (UTC)So many people with bare skin against tree bark... eeee!
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Date: 2006-10-23 09:35 pm (UTC)