Letting It Go

All art is, by its very nature, ambiguous. Everyone will experience it differently, even if they agree on the theme or subject. You yourself will experience it differently at different times.

Whenever someone says that their interpretation is the only one, I get a bit annoyed. First, are they the author? If so, I cut them a bit of slack, because they created it. Still, it may have spoken to someone in a way that the author did not forsee or expect.

Nothing has quite dominated the entertainment landscape in recent memory the way the movie Frozen and its music has. So, naturally, I've read and heard a lot about "what it really means." Some of it is perceptive, and some borders on delusional, if you ask me. Still, I feel compelled to add my voice, because I thought that certain things were obvious, but I don't see them in many discussions.

Discussion of Frozen must include discussion of the juggernaut that is "Let It Go." I do not recall any song saturating popular culture the way this one has. Good heavens, it's everywhere.

And it's gorgeous. It's beautiful music. It's fun lyrics. To my mind, though, too many people stop at the "empowerment anthem" take, and don't look any deeper.

Sure, we're thrilled for Elsa that she's not huddling, terrified, alone in her room any more. I like to think that, had her parents lived, they would have quashed that, but (disturbingly) they don't seem to have discouraged it. Obviously, it's not healthy. Of course we're happy for her.

BUT.

There's some very large problems with deciding that this is the pivotal moment, that it's all about her breaking free and living her own life. She's still alone, for one. She won't let anyone near her. Isolation is isolation. Her current choices have made a mess for everyone else, too. Her orphaned sister feels even more abandoned. The kingdom that her parents cherished is without leadership. And, oh yeah, - "You kind of set off an eternal winter. Everywhere." These things are bad.

So, we have to look at the before and after, the cause and effect.

Elsa is different than other people. She has an ability that few have. (She controls snow and ice.) It doesn't worry her or make her feel special - it just is. Most of the time, she uses it for fun. Then, accidentally, she hurts her sister, Anna. Her sister is as much to blame - she didn't listen - but Elsa feels that it's her fault.

Those the family turns to for help unwittingly reinforce the idea that it was, indeed, Elsa's fault. Her ability, what sets her apart, was the cause, they say. She can't control it, which is dangerous. Others will fear her and her ability, and may strike out at her in anger or fear. So, the ability must be squashed and ignored. It's what's best for everyone.

But Elsa can't squash it. It's still there. And they're right - she can't control it. So, she hides. She equates squashing her ability and isolating herself with being "good." To be a "good girl," she can't be herself, or be around other people.

It's important to remember here that being embarrassed or shunned was not her primary concern. Her biggest fear was hurting someone, especially someone that she loved. She's willing to be miserable if it keeps them safe.

Of course, that can't go on forever, especially when she has to take on adult responsibilities. She must be around others. And, because that ability is still there, and because she can't control it, it shows up in the most inconvenient ways, at the most inconvenient times.

So, Elsa runs. She has to get away from other people. When she's truly alone, she thinks, she'll be free. She can be herself, and let what makes her different loose, give it free reign. She can do anything she wants to. "No right no wrong, no rules for me," she sings. When she stops trying to be "good," she'll be happy, she's sure.

But life doesn't work that way. Her sister feels abandoned, and that hurts even more because of the loss of their parents. The citizens of the kingdom feel abandoned, because they counted on her and she left them. Plus, the actions that Elsa did take have endangered everyone's health and safety. She was afraid that she might hurt someone, and now she's potentially hurt hundreds or thousands of people, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

Because she's never learned how to manage her abilities or feelings, how to truly cope in healthy ways, she just runs farther. She feels like "a fool," she fears harming others, but she just can't see any way out except more of what she's already done. The problem is, none of that has worked.

While it's a lovely song, I dislike focusing so much on this moment, because things are such a mess here. Nobody is happy; nobody is safe.

A lot has been written and said about two of the movie's lessons, that evil can come in an attractive, smiling package, and that the love of your family is "true love." Disney and its subsidiary companies have explored both of those ideas in many ways in recent years. Gone is the idea that the villain will be ugly; look at ABC's Once Upon A Time with Lana Parilla and Rebecca Mader. Look at the new Maleficent and Angelina Jolie. Both Once Upon A Time and Maleficent have also had "true love's kiss" be delivered by a family member, by a mother (or "godmother") to a child. I think that recognizing those lessons is extremely valuable.

I think, though, that the powerful lesson taught in the last few scenes of Frozen speaks just as loudly. Elsa, Anna, indeed the entire kingdom, are not safe and happy when Elsa is isolating herself and denying what makes her different. They aren't safe or happy when she just unleashes her power. Everyone is both safe and happy when she learns to control and apply that power.

Think about a power that most of us have - the power of speech. We eagerly teach our tiny children to speak, to recognize and use words. We're thrilled when they do. But almost from that very first moment that we ask our little diaper clad cherubs to say "mama" and "dada," we teach them that there's a proper place and time for words, and there's some words we shouldn't say. We shush them in quiet places like church or a waiting room. We teach them to wait their turn when others are talking. And, the older they get, the more restrictions we put on what words are OK. It's not OK to call other kids names and hurt their feelings. It's not OK to lie. It's not OK to bully or gossip. Once we start hitting adulthood, there's actually laws - slander, plagiarism, perjury, even advertising laws - that govern what's OK to say and what's not. Despite the fact that speech is important - indeed, almost necessary - we can't just unleash it and let it run where it will. We shouldn't "let it go."

Any other ability or aspect of human personalities is the same way. It doesn't matter if you can freeze things, conjure fireballs, read minds, talk, build, create, teach or anything else. It's not in squashing and denying it or in turning it loose that we'll be happy and productive. It's all about control and application.

I think that's what Elsa (and everyone else) has learned by the time we leave her creating a skating rink for delighted citizens, with friends and family around her. Sure, there were people who reacted with fear or anger, but they were the minority. Sure, it's possible to hurt others, but it's not inevitable. It's not a choice between being "good" and "no rules." Using this gift wisely is the goal.

The Eye

Photographers and artists talk about having "the eye." My friend Linda told me a story about going along with a photographer friend while he shot photos. He'd set the camera up on a tripod, frame his shot, then call her over to look through the viewfinder.

"I'd look, and I'd say, 'Where is that?' He'd point, and say, 'Right there,' but I could never find what I saw in the camera. I'd be standing right there, and I still couldn't see it."

We have always handed cameras to our kids, especially on vacation. When they were too small to handle a "real" camera, or when they were headed somewhere that we thought one might get lost or stolen (like summer camp), we gave them disposable cameras.

When our son was 3, we were headed with him to a nearby lake to take photos while the "big kids" were in school. We stopped at the home of a friend of my husband's family; she needed help with something, and my husband had volunteered. She had a rug made from the skin of a wolverine, and my son was fascinated. He asked her, "Can I take a picture of that?"

"Sure," she said.

We reminded him to turn on the flash indoors, and he said, "I know." Then he squatted down right in front of the rug, and shot it head on, with the wolverine's glass eyes looking right into the lens. My husband and I looked at each other and said, "He has it." Most people, even adults, would have stood over the rug and shot downwards, getting the whole thing in view. Not my kid; he knew, instinctively, where the good angle, the dramatic angle, was.

We usually have more than one camera going at any one time. My husband and I take jobs solo when the schedule dictates it, but it's always best to have both of us. A week ago, we were photographing our niece's wedding. One of us had the telephoto lens, good for zooming in for closeups, and the other had the wide angle lens, good for group shots and sweeping vistas. It saves time; at the exact moment that one of us is taking this shot

the other is shooting this.

We do this without actively communicating what we're doing. After so many years, it's a well rehearsed dance.

Sometimes, though, we'll be thinking the same thought at the same moment. Then the photos from the two cameras look like this:

When my son was 16, he went to Paris. We sent one of the good cameras, of course. There was no way a member of our family was going to Europe without decent equipment. While on a tour bus, he took this shot:

 Two years later, I took this from a Paris tour bus:

Genetics? Training?

I didn't see the images together until months after we got back home. It was a nice moment to say, "Yep. That's my kid."

The Eye of the Beholder

As a creator of art myself, I tend to be pretty laid back in my attitude about art other people create. I don't like to over criticize; I don't feel that others need to pass some kind of litmus test before I consider their creations legitimate.

I also think that the purpose of hotel art is to be almost nondescript. Hotel art tends toward the pleasantly bland, like plain oatmeal. Hoteliers don't want guests stealing the art off of the walls.

I also think that's an untapped source of revenue, though - "Like this painting? Buy it at checkout!" It might be a bit of a pain in the butt, stocking all kinds of prints behind the desk, but without frames, they wouldn't take much space. You wouldn't have to charge much to make money.

Anyway, that's not the subject at hand.

I recently stayed in a very nice hotel. It was a high rise condo building - not normally my first choice, as I'm not a big city dweller. Some of the units were owner occupied, and some were short term rentals. The property was downtown in the Honolulu business district, walking distance to banks, offices, and the courthouse. The hotel had conference facilities and the like. Instead of a regular room service menu, they had a brochure for local places that would cater your meeting.

I have to assume that they assumed that the guests wouldn't be spending much time outside the property. That's the only way I can explain the art.
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In the kitchen, there was a print of ferns - that was the only remotely tropical subject. In the bedroom, there was this print:

Outside the window was this building:

I've zoomed in, obviously - it wasn't that close. I'm trying to demonstrate something. Yes, indeed, it is the same building. I'm really unclear on the thought process at work here: "Look! Here's what's right outside your window!"

At least the architecture is interesting. I am entirely baffled by the largest piece of art in the place, this watercolor hanging over the dining table:

Yes! It's a painting of a stoplight! Whose idea was that? Why in the world would someone say, "You know what? I really want to paint a traffic signal." It is beyond comprehension that someone would say, "This is what I think best represents Hawaii."

Was it specially comissioned? Were the property owners hoping that people would forget that Hawaii has beaches, waterfalls, luaus, boating and many other places and activities more exciting than a stoplight? Are they afraid that if you spent all day at meetings, in your suit and tie, you would become unhinged at the sight of palm trees and beaches? Were they hoping you'd feel good about long work days if you could look at the art in your room and say, "Hey, I saw that. This trip hasn't been wasted."

It's a mystery.