The Tabeguache Band of Colorado: Known Today as The Uncompahgre Ute

The Ute, pronounced as "yoot," refer to themselves as the Noochew or Nuuchui, meaning "Ute People." The term "Utah," the name of the state, originates from the Spanish word "Yutah," which describes the Ute as the "high land" or "land of the sun."

Renowned for their courage, some historians believe the Ute possessed comparable skill and cunning to the Apaches. In the past, they occupied an expansive territory of approximately 79 million acres in the Great Basin region. Their extensive travels through the picturesque mountainous landscapes of the Western region led them to establish trails, the remnants of which proved invaluable to the white settlers who eventually displaced them.

Early observers noted the remarkable proficiency of Ute women in tanning hides, which served as valuable trade items and were used for clothing. They adeptly worked with buffalo, deer, elk, and mountain sheep hides. Ute women typically adorned themselves in long, belted dresses, leggings, and moccasins. Meanwhile, men wore shirts, leggings, and moccasins for their daily activities, reserving elaborate feathered headdresses for special occasions. During times of conflict, many men painted their bodies and faces using yellow and black pigments. Women occasionally painted their faces and adorned their hair partings. Some Ute individuals pierced their noses, inserting small, polished animal bones, while others tattooed their faces using cactus thorns dipped in ashes. Both men and women occasionally wore necklaces crafted from animal claws, bones, fish skeletons, and juniper seeds.

Early Ute ceremonies involved clothing embellishments such as paint, hair fringes, rows of elk teeth, or brightly dyed porcupine quills. Later, as the Ute acquired beads from European traders, their costumes incorporated intricate beadwork.

The Ute held two significant ceremonies—the Sun Dance and the Bear Dance—which continue to be performed annually.

The Sun Dance reflects a personal desire for spiritual power provided by the Great Spirit, but each dancer also represents their family and community, transforming the dance into a communal sharing experience. The Sun Dance is based on a fable about a man and a woman who left their tribe amid a severe famine. During their voyage, they discovered a deity who taught them the Sun Dance practices. When they returned to their tribe and performed the ceremony, a herd of buffalo appeared, putting an end to the hunger.

The Sun Dance ceremony encompasses several days of clandestine rituals followed by a public dance around a Sun Dance pole, symbolizing the connection to the Creator. These rituals involve fasting, prayer, smoking, and the preparation of ceremonial objects.

Describing a modern Sun Dance atop Sleeping Ute Mountain, journalist Jim Carrier recounted, "Night and day, for four days, the dancers charged the pole and retreated, back and forth in a personal gait. There were shuffles, hops, and a prancing kick. While they blew whistles made from eagle bones, their bare feet marked a 25-foot (7.5-kilometer) path in the dirt."

The Bear Dance, conducted annually in the spring, venerates the grizzly bear, revered by the Ute for imparting strength, wisdom, and survival skills. In earlier times, the Bear Dance coincided with the bears emerging from hibernation and aimed to awaken the bears to guide the Ute towards bountiful sources of nuts and berries. The dance served as a joyous social occasion after enduring a harsh winter.

The Bear Dance involves constructing a sizable circular enclosure made of sticks, representing a bear's den. Music played within the enclosure symbolizes the thunder that rouses the slumbering bears. The dance follows a "lady's choice" tradition, allowing Ute women to show their preference for a certain man. The Bear Dance ceremony traditionally lasted for four days and four nights. The dancers wore plumes that they would leave on a cedar tree at the east entrance of the corral. Leaving the feathers behind represented discarding past troubles and starting fresh.

MY PHOTOGRAPHS AS RESIDUE
My photographs for this project are what I consider residue. Residue is a small amount of something that remains after the main part has gone, been taken, or been used. It’s a lot like memory. The function of photography is to somehow "show" the memories and residue of a person, place, or thing.

I’m approaching these ideas indirectly. It’s a conscious choice to make the work somewhat abstract, like all memories are. This isn’t a documentary project, although it’s difficult to put anything in a box. There are elements that seem to fit, at least somewhat, into the documentary category. However, I would never consider this work documentary photography. The context and narrative provide the direction of the work. It’s my personal journey to discover answers to questions that I’ve wrestled with for decades. There’s no doubt it’s interdisciplinary work, combining art and several disciplines in the sciences and psychology. I think that’s what makes it interesting.

The book, in context, will give the reader and viewer an insight, not only about my journey but also about the human condition and what knowledge of our mortality does to us. I connect the events of the 19th century clearly to the theories of death anxiety and terror management theory. I show both the beauty of the land as well as inferring the loss. I show life as well as death through the flora and landscape photographs. My hope is that for those who read it, it will inspire and enlighten. That it will bring forward the beauty of life and appreciation of the awe that surrounds us, as well as an understanding of how evil is manifested in our human condition.

“Mountain Bell Cactus and White Granite,” 10” x 10” (25,4 x 24,4cm) RA-4 Reversal Direct Color Print, June 29, 2023 Pediocactus simpsonii, or Mountain Ball Cactus, is a species that grows at high altitudes in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering and the Origins of Evil

WHAT MY BOOK IS ABOUT
I’ve written a lot about the work I’m doing now. In fact, every essay (on this blog) has some connection to my work, either directly or indirectly. I’m incredibly fortunate to have the time and solitude to do the work, both writing and making photographs. I don’t have to think about anything else. I’ll write more about this later in the essay, but I wanted to share what my book is about. This is just a high-level, simple view of the content.

I’ve been studying and researching the theories of Ernest Becker for several years. His ground-breaking ideas about what drives human behavior got me deeply interested in death anxiety and terror management theory. The crux of my book is about the events of the 19th century and what the colonizers did to the indigenous people here. It’s not really about what they did, but why they did it. The acts of genocide and ethnocide and the psychology of “othering” have preoccupied my interests for decades. I’ve visited the death camps in Europe, and I’ve studied about slavery and atrocities throughout history, from Pol Pot to Darfur and Rawanda. I’ve always wondered why these things happened and where evil came from. I explain what Ernest Becker’s thoughts were and why I agree with them.

This is what my book is about. I unpack these theories in the context of what happened to the Tabegucahe Ute people, the Nuuchui people—the People of the Sun Mountain. I use my photographs to subtly speak to how they lived, the symbols they used, and the land they managed for time immemorial. I also tell my personal story about how a creative life has always been a priority. I explain how these theories have affected me and how this very project is an act to buffer my own existential terror.

They say “Hindsight is 20/20.” It’s true. When we look back at situations, we can see them clearly, unlike at the time they were happening. When I look back at how I spent my time, I realize that most people are preoccupied with making money and paying bills. I know I was, at least for the most part. I can say that I was aware of what was going on, but I couldn’t do much about it. So I made the best of it. I spent 20 years working as a photographer for the American Federal Government and six years serving in the United States Army, three of those years as a photographer.

“The mission of every man is to fulfill the lie he incarnates, to succeed in being no more than an exhausted illusion.”

— Emil Cioran

Our culture is set up as a psychological coping mechanism. In other words, it’s designed to keep you busy and only allow a small amount of “down time” or “thinking time.” Some people get no “down time” or “thinking time.” Their days are full from sunup to sundown. Busy, busy, busy. That’s our motto. It means you’re “doing something.” And “doing something” is preferred over not doing something. Why is that? Well, if you weren’t “doing something,” you would have time to think. Thinking can be dangerous for people. Thinking leads to awareness, or even an awakening. If you are aware or awake, you can see the world for what it is or, more importantly, for what it isn’t. And with that awareness, or awakening, you discover your place in life. You discover the reality of life—what’s important and what’s not. The things I thought were important 20 years ago are meaningless to me today. Some might call that wisdom, but I’m not sure that it’s wisdom. I think there’s a large part of it that is revealed to you as you step away from the cultural constructs. Think about how many Americans are going to wave flags, watch parades and fireworks, eat hot dogs and hamburgers, and drink beer next week. They will do it almost as a reflex, as a “we’re supposed to do this” kind of thing. It’s a cultural construct that millions of Americans lean on to bolster their self-esteem. It buffers death anxiety. This is what Becker lays out so clearly in The Denial of Death. This is what his theories are based on. Understanding the cultural constructs in which we live and the reasoning behind them—once you understand these theories, you can not only live a more full life, rich in awe, gratitude, and humility—awe, humility, and gratitude effectively mitigate death anxiety—but a more authentic life.

Bottom line: You can reduce the anxiety and the neurosis that accompany the existential dread that we all face. I’m addressing these ideas in my book. I’m also showing how a creative life deals with death anxiety and what it means to create.

IN THE SHADOW OF SUN MOUNTAIN: THE PSYCHOLOGY OF OTHERING AND THE ORIGINS OF EVIL
My book has two main goals. Firstly, it aims to shed light on the significant impact of theories concerning the fear of mortality on human behavior. Effectively illustrating how a particular historical event serves as an illustration of death anxiety and terror management theory achieves this. The central focus of this work is the genocide and ethnocide of the Tabeguache Ute Native American tribe, who once flourished on the land I currently reside on in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. By examining these psychological frameworks, the underlying causes and inevitability of such atrocities become apparent. Secondly, this book seeks to outline how my own creative pursuits have reflected these theories.

I’ve written a biography of my creative life. In that, I’ve included events in my life that served as death reminders and how I became aware of my own mortality at eight years old. I’ve included how these questions have been a central theme in my photographic work for over 30 years. As I’ve written this out, I've connected the dots about how I’ve mitigated my own death anxiety using art.

A Painterly Desire

I’m reading about Otto Rank’s take on creativity. How a creative life can buffer death anxiety and how there is a dark side to the theory as well. I’m writing about a lot of this in the introduction to my book.

“Rank asked why the artist so often avoids clinical neurosis when he is so much a candidate for it because of his vivid imagination, his openness to the finest and broadest aspects of experience, his isolation from the cultural worldview that satisfies everyone else. The answer is that he takes in the world, but instead of being oppressed by it he reworks it in his own personality and recreates it in the work of art.”

— Ernest Becker discussing Otto Rank in The Denial of Death

The evolution of this project has been enormous. The journey has taken an organic and authentic path to what I feel is the best work and the biggest contribution I’ve made in my creative life. I talk to my wife frequently about how few people “get this” or are interested in it. We have conversations about what that means or doesn't mean.

For me, it plays no role in my ambition and desire to make the work and offer it to the world. I have to do it. I can feel the effects of the work in my own life. I see photography and art in such a different way now. I see life and human behavior in a new and different way. I feel like I’ve grown and evolved immensely while making this work—it’s humbling and awesome.

I know I would have a larger audience for the project if I paid more attention to social media and marketing. I just don’t have that in me, and I couldn’t care less about it, to be completely honest. However, I do want people to engage with these ideas and my work. Maybe it’s for a different time or a different place. I’m not sure and can’t be bothered with that now. I just need to do the work and keep writing and thinking. I’m so grateful to have the time, health, and energy to do this. I’m thankful beyond words to live a life like this. I do appreciate those who read my essays and rants. I truly appreciate the feedback and the conversations I’ve had because of this project and posting these essays. Thank you. It means a lot to me. You know who you are.

“Rocky Mountain Raspberry Flower and Mullein in a Glass Graduate,” 10” x 10” (25,4 x 25,4 cm), June 10, 2023, RA-4 Color Reversal Print (direct positive, in camera, no negative).

I’ve always said that I’m a frustrated painter. I’ve been experimenting with the technical aspects of the RA-4 reversal process (direct color prints) to reflect that desire. I have a filter pack that I’ve dialed in to compensate for the RA-4 color paper. I use my old Petzval lenses for all of these images, and between that old glass and my exposure times, I can get very painterly-looking images. I truly love them. My filter pack and this high-altitude light render black as red or reddish-magenta. The Rocky Mountain Raspberry plants started flowering the other day, and I knew they wouldn’t be around very long, so I crafted a scene where I could have a “painterly” background and isolate that beautiful white flower. I am very pleased with the results. I really love the “apocalyptic” sky in the one print too. The process reveals such wonderful renditions of the flora here.

I’ll continue to work over the summer. I plan on making several landscape images as well as some fauna prints. I’ll continue to work with the flora as the new season brings life to the mountain.

“Rocky Mountain Raspberry Flower and Mullein in a Glass Graduate,” 10” x 10” (25,4 x 25,4 cm), June 10, 2023, RA-4 Color Reversal Print (direct positive, in camera, no negative).

Death Near and Far

"The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life"

Chapter 9: Death Near and Far

• Death: Out of Sight, Out of Mind?

• The Power of the Unconscious

• Death Can Be Hazardous to Your Health

This is a reading of the book "The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life" by Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, and Tom Pyszczynski. Quinn reads a chapter every week and then has a discussion about it. This book, along with "The Denial of Death" by Ernest Becker, is the basis for Quinn's (photographic) book, "In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering and the Genesis of Evil."

When: Saturday, May 13, 2023, at 1000 MST

Where: My YouTube channel and Stream Yard

YouTube: https://youtube.com/live/OIiP8PxUqQ8

Stream Yard: https://streamyard.com/sj22vz87ji

#intheshadowofsunmountain #ernestbecker #deathanxiety #denialofdeath #sheldonsolomon #jeffgreenberg #tompyszcynski #terrormanagementtheory #thewormatthecore #quinnjacobson #studioQ #chemicalpictures #proximalanddistaldefenses #ra4reversal

Body and Soul: An Uneasy Alliance

“The body is the closest that we come to touching any kind of reality. And yet we have the desire to flee the body: many religions are based entirely on disembodiment, because the body brings with it mortality, fear of death. If you accept the body as reality, then you have to accept mortality and people are very afraid to do that.”

— David Cronenberg

“Body and Soul: An Uneasy Alliance” is chapter 8 from “The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life,” by Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, and Tom Pyszczynski (co-creators of terror management theory).

If you join me on Saturdays (on my YouTube channel), you’ll know that we’re going through this wonderful book and learning a tremendous amount about how knowledge of our impending deaths drives so much of our behavior, good and bad. I’m posting this as a follow-up to the reading and for those who have watched or listened to the video.

Sub-Chapters and Notes

DISTANCING FROM AND DISPARAGING ANIMALS

• We regulate activities that remind us of our corporeal nature.

• We alter and adorn our bodies.

• We scrub ourselves to eradicate any scents except those that come from bottles or spray cans.

• We use “rest” rooms to discretely dispose of bodily excretions.

• We recoil in sophomoric mirth (amusement) at the sight of animals copulating.

• Disgust: We are “disgusted” by far more than rotting flesh.

• Bodily secretions like blood, vomit, urine, and feces are more disgusting after thinking about death.

• We are determined to deny our animality. We want to separate ourselves from animals; we want to be special and superior to the “lowly” animals. Animals remind us that we will die. We hide all of our animal behavior; we have toilets, plates, forks, spoons, and cups; we shave, we wear clothes, and we disguise sex as “love.”

THE MORTIFICATION OF THE FLESH

• We believe we are superior to all other life forms (Bible, created in the image of God, etc.).

• Scourging purifications. Whipping the flesh, conquering the flesh—Saint Paul, “Live by the flesh, you will die, put the deeds of the body to death, and you will live.”

FOR BEAUTY, WE MUST SUFFER

• We decorate our flesh with ink, piercings, scarring, etc.

• We distinguish between the world of culture and the world of nature (man vs. animal).

• We have a need to reduce our resemblance to animals; animals remind us of death.

• Eating from the Tree of Knowledge made the naked human body shameful; it revealed the “worm at the core." - death

• We go to great lengths not to look old—cosmetics, surgery, etc.

• Hair: Hairy bodies have always been associated with uncivilized, amoral, sexually promiscuous, and perverted animality.

• Transforming from animal to human through modifications—piercings, tattoos, and scarification—reinforces that we are more than mere animals.

• Neck rings, feet, waist, and head binding permanently disable people for “beauty” and “status.”

• Millions of Americans get plastic surgery every year; the need for a “youthful appearance” is paramount!

“SEX AND DEATH ARE TWINS”

• Sex is both exhilarating and frightening to us.

• Ernest Becker said, “Sex is of the body, and the body is of death.”

• Sex is a potent symbol of our creaturely, corporeal, and ephemeral conditions.

• Sex is first and foremost a glaring reminder that we are animals; next to urination and defecation, it is the closest human beings come to acting like beasts.

• We recognize that animals and humans have sex in the same way.
  Reproduction makes us painfully aware that we are transient ambulatory gene repositories (pass it on and die).

• Ernest Becker was right then when he proclaimed that “sex and death are twins." Thinking about death makes the physical aspects of sex unappealing, and considering the physical aspects of sex nudges death thoughts closer to consciousness.

• We manage our death-fueled anxiety about sex by imbuing it with symbolic meaning, transforming it from the creaturely to the sublime, thereby making it psychologically safer.

• We transform sex into a cultural ritual, making it less animalistic.

• Animal lust becomes human love.

LA FEMME FATALE

• Women’s bodies and sexual behavior are especially subject to rules and regulations.

• Men have always made the rules, and women arouse sexual lust in them.

• Disgust with menstruation and lactation: a lab study

• From time immemorial, men have utilized their superior physical strength, political power, and economic clout to dominate, denigrate, and control women, as well as using women to serve as designated inferiors in order to prop up their self-esteem.

• Women make men hard, and this makes it hard for men to ignore their own animality.

• The reason so many men are misogynistic is because they are reminded of sex when encountering women, they are threatened by this.

• Men are reminded of their animality through the sexual arousal of women and are reminded of their impending death.

• Many major religions belittle women, making them subject to men.

• Widespread patterns of violence against women may well be partially rooted in men’s sexual ambivalence; the conflict between lust and the need to deny animality makes men uncomfortable with their own sexual arousal.

• Being an embodied animal aware of death is indeed difficult. We simply cannot bear the thought that we are biological creatures, no different from dogs, cats, fish, or worms. Accordingly, people are generally partial to views of humans as different from and superior to animals. We adorn and modify our bodies, transforming our animal carcasses into cultural symbols. Rather than thinking of ourselves as hormonally regulated gene reproduction machines bumping and grinding our way toward oblivion, we “make love” to transform copulation into romance. And when women ooze hormones, blood, and babies, men blame them for their own lustful urges, which serves to perpetuate negative stereotypes about and justify abuse of women.

• The terror of death is thus at the heart of human estrangement from our animal nature. It isolates us from our own bodies, from each other, and from the other creatures with whom we share noses, lips, eyes, teeth, and limbs everywhere on the planet.

“Humans cannot live without illusions. For the men and women of today, an irrational faith in progress may be the only antidote to nihilism. Without the hope that the future will be better than the past, they could not go on...
Humanists like to think they have a rational view of the world; but their core belief in progress is a superstition, further from the truth about the human animal than any of the world’s religions. Outside of science, progress is simply a myth.”

— John Gray

The Last Messiah - Peter Zapffe

“One night in long bygone times, man awoke and saw himself.

He saw that he was naked under cosmos, homeless in his own body. All things dissolved before his testing thought, wonder above wonder, horror above horror unfolded in his mind.

Then woman too awoke and said it was time to go and slay. And he fetched his bow and arrow, a fruit of the marriage of spirit and hand, and went outside beneath the stars. But as the beasts arrived at their waterholes where he expected them of habit, he felt no more the tiger’s bound in his blood, but a great psalm about the brotherhood of suffering between everything alive.

That day he did not return with prey, and when they found him by the next new moon, he was sitting dead by the waterhole.”

— The Last Messiah - Peter Zapffe

Peter Zapffe was a Norwegian philosopher and writer. In this passage, he describes the existential crisis of humanity and the realization of our place in the cosmos. It reflects on the moment when early humans, represented by "man," became self-aware and conscious of their own existence.

Initially, man is depicted as naked and homeless, symbolizing a sense of vulnerability and a lack of purpose in the vastness of the universe. However, man's "testing thought," or his capacity for reasoning and contemplation, allows him to marvel at the wonders and horrors of existence. This suggests that self-awareness and consciousness bring both enlightenment and anguish as man grapples with the mysteries of existence.

The mention of a woman awakening and urging the man to go and slay represents the emergence of survival instincts and the beginning of human civilization. Man equips himself with tools, represented by the bow and arrow, which symbolize the development of human intellect and technology through the marriage of spirit and hand.

However, when the man goes out to hunt, he realizes a sense of interconnectedness and empathy with all living beings, as reflected in the "psalm about the brotherhood of suffering between everything alive." This suggests a shift in man's perspective, where he starts to see himself as part of a larger web of existence rather than a superior predator. This realization may have led to a change in man's behavior, as he no longer returns with prey but instead sits by the waterhole and eventually dies.

“Man is a tragic animal. Not because of his smallness, but because he is too well endowed. Man has longings and spiritual demands that reality cannot fulfill. We have expectations of a just and moral world. Man requires meaning in a meaningless world.”

— Peter Wesel Zapffe

Zapffe's passage reflects on the human condition, the complexities of self-awareness, and the existential struggles that arise from our consciousness and perception of the world around us. It presents a philosophical exploration of the nature of existence, the search for meaning, and the consequences of self-awareness.

I read Thomas Ligotti’s book, “The Conspiracy Against the Human Race,” a while back. I don’t recall how I ran into his writing; it must have been a book review or something when I was doing research and reading on existential philosophy. Regardless, it is mind-blowing. I wouldn’t say it’s for everyone. It’s dark, scary, and sticks with you. He’s known as a horror writer. This is horror, but in a more realistic way. I’m not sure I’d call him a nihilist, but he’s something akin to that—definitely an anti-natialist. Antinatalism, or anti-natalism, is the philosophical position that views birth and procreation of sentient beings (including non-human animals) as morally wrong. Antinatalists therefore argue that humans should abstain from procreating.

He wrote a lot about Peter Wessel Zapffe in the book. I can get on board with Zapffe, for the most part, anyway. I really like Zapffe’s essay, “The Last Messiah.” It’s littered with metaphor and meaning regarding the human condition. I’ve quoted the beginning of the essay above and wanted to share a tiny bit of insight about it. In this essay, he addresses the giant deer (Irish elk) of long ago that evolution got wrong. The animal grew antlers that were almost 12 feet wide (almost 4 meters)! The antlers were so heavy, they pinned the animal’s head to the ground. Needless to say, the animal went extinct. Zapffe compares human consciousness to this animal’s overgrown antlers.

Zapffe suggests that, like the antlers of the Irish elk, human consciousness is a maladaptation that brings about its own downfall. While other animals are able to live instinctively, without the burden of self-consciousness, humans are burdened with an awareness of their own mortality and the inherent meaninglessness of existence. This awareness creates a tragic contradiction in human life, as humans strive to find meaning, purpose, and significance in a world that appears devoid of inherent meaning.

His analogy of the Irish elk's antlers serves as a metaphor for the heavy burden of human consciousness and the existential anguish that it can bring. It reflects his view that human existence is characterized by a profound sense of tragedy, as humans grapple with the absurdity and meaninglessness of their own existence.

THE WORM AT THE CORE READING

Join me Saturday, April 29, 2023, at 1000 MST on YouTube or Stream Yard for the reading of Chapter 7, The Worm at the Core. This is a big chapter for me. It informs my project and is at the center of the idea behind my current work. The next few chapters really lay out the human response to death anxiety and the denial of death.

The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life

Chapter 7: The Anatomy of Human Destructiveness

• Derogation and Dehumanization

• Cultural Assimilation and Accommodation

• Demonization and Destruction

• September 11, 2001: The Lash and the Backlash

• Dr. Strangelove in the Lab

• Nothing New Under the Sun

• Out on a Limb?

This is a reading of the book, "The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life" by Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, and Tom Pyszczynski. Quinn will read a chapter every week and then have a discussion about it. This book, along with "The Denial of Death" by Ernest Becker, is the basis for Quinn's (photographic) book, "In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering and the Genesis of Evil."

When: Saturday, April 29, 2023, at 1000 MST.

Where: My YouTube channel and Stream Yard

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNTibFMdWLU

Stream Yard: https://streamyard.com/f95s2myq8r

Finding Meaning in the Meaninglessness

“Light” This is dead Rocky Mountain barley and a small cactus flower that is blooming. This is a 10” x 10” (25,4 x 25,4 cm) RA-4 color reversal direct print (made in the camera). This is about 1 second overexposed - I really like the diptych of these.

““Man’s main concern is not to gain pleasure or to avoid pain but rather to see a meaning in his life. That is why man is even ready to suffer, on the condition, to be sure, that his suffering has a meaning.””

— Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

This coming Saturday, April 22, 2023, I’m going to read the sixth chapter of “The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life” on my YouTube show. This chapter is about symbolic immortality. What is symbolic immortality? It’s the flip side of the coin of human desiring or striving for immorality. One side of the coin is literal immortality (last week’s read), and the other is symbolic immortality. It’s a big driving force in our lives. And it’s very interesting in terms of terror management theory. If you can, join me for the reading, I’m sure you’ll find something vaguely interesting if you’re reading this.

The book really starts to take off with this chapter. To this point, the authors have laid the groundwork for the reasons we lean on repression, denial, and the transcendence of death. They’ve addressed how we use our parents when we’re children for our self-esteem, and then we separate, or individuate, and lean on culture for the all-important tools to repress or deny the knowledge of our impending death and to build self-esteem (which acts as a buffer to death anxiety). They’ve given both historical references and modern empirical evidence about how we respond to death awareness. For me, this is where these theories really take off and we begin to connect the dots.

“Humans are incredibly intelligent. On consciousness: It takes a ridiculously sophisticated cognitive apparatus to render yourself the object of your own subjective inquiry. ”

— Soren Kierkegaard

Since human beings acquired consciousness or became aware that they existed, nonexistence has become a frightening reality. Mortality is on our minds and in our thoughts; it consumes us, and we need a way to buffer, repress, or transcend it. This is true, whether we know it or not, and most don’t (it’s an unconscious activity, like most psychological events). We are so embedded or ensconced in our cultural worldview that we’re blind to what motivates our activities, shapes our desires, and drives us on a daily basis. For me, this is the most revealing feature of these ideas. We’re so far down the rabbit hole (repressing the anxiety) that we can’t make sense of these theories; we don’t understand them. That’s what they’re designed to do: keep us from thinking about becoming worm food. And over tens of thousands of years, they have become so deeply embedded in our psychological landscape that we are shielded from the knowledge of death—at least for the most part.

One way we deal with the terror of death is to transcend it; we mainly use culture to do that. Technology, religion, art, ritual, myth, family, politics, relationships, money, etc.—these all provide some form of immortality for us or ways to repress or buffer existential dread. Why are we so afraid of dying? It’s not the actual event of death that gives us anxiety (some do have anxiety about how they will die), but the knowledge of it. We are living and existing in a meaningless world. We won’t be remembered. It’s the impermanence and insignificance that give us anxiety and dread. We want to be remembered; better yet, we don’t want to die!

“Ernest Becker called this desperation ‘the ache of cosmic specialness.’ Becker states what is patently obvious to most: as humans, we constantly put ourselves at the center of the universe.”

— The Denial of Death

“Life & Light” is a 20” x 20” (51 x 51 cm) these are RA-4 color reversal direct prints (made in the camera).

As Ernest Becker, the author of “The Denial of Death” (1973), pointed out, Freud was wrong. It’s not our sexual drive that motivates our behavior and psychological gymnastics; it’s our fear of death. Peter Zapffe, a Norwegian philosopher, also addressed these theories in his 1933 essay, “The Last Messiah.” Zapffe cites four coping mechanisms we use to repress death anxiety. For Zapffe, our becoming mentally over-equipped has resulted in us becoming “fearful of life itself" and of our “very being." The degree to which we are conscious of reality, which is unlike any other species, also means that we have become acutely aware of the suffering of billions of people and sentient life on the planet, as well as the planet itself.

“The Last Messiah” starts like this (bold for emphasis):

“One night in long bygone times, man awoke and saw himself.

He saw that he was naked under cosmos, homeless in his own body. All things dissolved before his testing thought, wonder above wonder, horror above horror unfolded in his mind.

Then woman too awoke and said it was time to go and slay. And he fetched his bow and arrow, a fruit of the marriage of spirit and hand, and went outside beneath the stars. But as the beasts arrived at their waterholes where he expected them of habit, he felt no more the tiger’s bound in his blood, but a great psalm about the brotherhood of suffering between everything alive.

That day he did not return with prey, and when they found him by the next new moon, he was sitting dead by the waterhole.”

Sublimation, which Zapffe calls “a matter of transformation rather than repression,” It involves turning “the very pain of living” into “valuable experiences.” He continues: “Positive impulses engage the evil and put it to their own ends, fastening onto its pictorial, dramatic, heroic, lyric, or even comic aspects.” He also notes that the essay "The Last Messiah" itself is an attempt at such sublimation. For Zapffe, sublimation is “the rarest of protective mechanisms." Most people can limit the contents of their consciousness using the previous three mechanisms (isolation, anchoring, and distraction), staving off existential angst and world-weariness. But when these forms of repression fail and the tragic cannot be ignored, sublimation offers a remedy, a way of turning the unignorable “pain of living” into creative, positive, aesthetically valuable works. (Partially Examined Life) This is where I find myself—deep into sublimation.

Meaning and Meaninglessness
Everyone has the responsibility to create meaning in their lives. There is nothing inherently meaningful in life. Life is primarily a biological process; it goes on whether we believe in something or not; it simply doesn’t matter; the world goes on. When people ask, “What is the meaning of life?” They are missing the point; there is no meaning; you have to create it, find it, search it out, apply it, and live it. The question should be, “What is the meaning in life?” Your life. Whatever that might be, I believe whatever you do to create meaning is a good thing as long as it doesn’t hurt or infringe on other people's ways of creating meaning.

If you’re religious or have a certain faith or belief in an afterlife and believe in a deity, no problem. If you belong to a sports club or a political group and find meaning and significance there, no problem. If you have a hobby—gardening, cooking, sewing, writing, painting, or photography—that’s great! If it bolsters your self-esteem, makes you feel significant, and gives you meaning, you’re on the right track.

The problem is that, a lot of times, unconscious beliefs infringe on other people's cultural worldviews; it creates hurt, discrimination, oppression, and even death (this usually happens to members of marginalized groups). Everyone needs to find something that provides them with meaning and significance. This isn’t about being right or wrong; it’s about being human and feeding self-esteem to buffer death anxiety. We all suffer from this condition (the human condition). No one gets to say, "That doesn’t apply to me." It applies to everyone.

I’m not a nihilist, but there is some truth in the “nothingness” that nihilists ascribe to, especially existential nihilism. Nietzsche said, "To live is to suffer. To survive is to find some meaning in the suffering." I do ascribe to that idea.

William Shakespeare wrote:
"Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

I titled this essay “Finding Meaning in the Meaninglessness.” It’s a difficult thing to admit, but everything is meaningless. Everything. For context, when I say meaningless, I mean it in the cosmic sense, not the personal sense. For me, all of my pictures, all of my writings and books, all of my thoughts, my degrees, my life experiences, all of my accomplishments, even my existence, are all meaningless. It’s true, and I’m fine with that truth. What I’ve found is that, while I understand this fact in the cosmic sense, it doesn’t preclude me from finding meaning and significance for myself. All of the aforementioned things are very meaningful, significant, and important to me, including my wife and daughter, who are at the top of my meaningful list, and my friendships and relationships outside of my family.

I’ve created, experienced, and lived all of it for my mental health and well-being, not for some bigger purpose or to change the world. It’s wonderful to be alive most of the time. I’m in awe of the beauty where I live. I’m amazed at the progress human beings have made over the millennia. It’s truly amazing. I’m grateful to wake up every morning.

On the surface, it may seem that I’m trying to change the world through my work, but I’m not. If no one ever read a word I’ve written, looked at a picture I’ve made, or listened to my philosophies about life, it wouldn’t matter—because it doesn’t. They’re not meaningful or important to the bigger scheme of things (cosmic); I get that, and I’m okay with that. I’ve come to terms with it. It doesn’t depress or demotivate me either. In fact, in a lot of ways, it’s freeing and maybe even emancipating in ways. It encourages me even more to express and create.

The only thing I’ve tried to do (intentionally) in my life is encourage people to consider people who are different from them as fully human and try not to do harm to “the other.” And now, with my new work, I’m trying to help people understand what these important ideas have to offer. It would be a much better world, at least for the time we’re here, if we could come to terms with our mortality. As Albert Camus said, “There is only one liberty, to come to terms with death, thereafter anything is possible.”

Hemingway's Typewriter

Ernest Hemingway (1899–1961) was an American novelist, short-story writer, and journalist. In 1953, he won the Nobel Prize for "The Old Man and the Sea." Unquestionably, Ernest Hemingway was antisemitic. Throughout his letters, he makes nasty remarks about Jews. But Hemingway felt his prejudice had a place in his fiction as well, most notably in "The Sun Also Rises," his classic 1925 novel about a group of Paris expatriates at the bullfights in Pamplona. He was a product of his generation’s white supremacy, casual (accepted) racism, and bigotry.

Whatever you think about Hemingway, he was a talented writer and had a big impact on novels and writing. In a way, he created a genre. I studied and read his work in undergraduate school. While it was intriguing and engaging, it was littered with machismo and patriarchy, along with antisemitism, racism, and generally chauvinistic views. Some of it was relevant to the stories and characters, but most of it was connected to the time period. Hemingway was part of the “Silent Generation.”

In my new work, I write about him and his suicide in Ketchum, Idaho. It’s relevant because I ended up at his grave site in 1995. I made a Polaroid portrait as I sat on his grave, next to a dozen yellow dead roses that were there. You can read about it in my book (which will be published next year) if you’re interested. Although this Polaroid wasn’t in my exhibition (it was two years later), it made me think about my use of color photography back then and how it’s made a reappearance in this work.

It’s always a struggle for me to separate the artist from their ideologies. Hemingway fits perfectly into that dilemma. Martin Heidegger is another example: a profound philosopher who was a nazi. I struggle with this. However, I digress. That discussion is for another time.

Often, when the topic of making pictures comes up, some of the first questions are, "What process did you use?" or, “What kind of lens or camera did you use?" I always refer to Hemingway. Let me explain what I mean.

There is an important element to what materials or process(es) you use to make art. No doubt. I’ve written about this before and expressed my views clearly. They’re important for reasons, not for importance's sake alone. In other words, I don’t think you’ll hit your mark simply by riding on a process or a piece of equipment.

The materials, equipment, or process(es) need to support the work, not the other way around. If you’re making pictures in a process for the process’ sake, I think you may be missing the point. It’s like stringing a bunch of letters in a line because they look good, not because they communicate something or give context to the work (they can still look good and support or communicate an idea). My point is, I don’t know of anyone who’s ever asked what kind of typewriter Hemingway used to write "The Old Man and the Sea." Does it matter? Was it a Corona? Underwood? What difference would it make? Full disclosure: After Hemingway’s death, people wanted to know more about him, and they published what kind of typewriter he liked. This was in a very different context than what I’m referring to.

Give these ideas some thought. What are your choices, or the motivation behind your choices, when making pictures? Can you defend why you’ve chosen the materials, equipment, and process(es) you’re using?

We're Animals, With One Caveat

I’ve never considered or really pondered the fact that I’m an animal. You’re an animal, too. What does this mean, or why does it matter?

It plays a significant role in the theory that I’ve been working on and studying for this project. It demonstrates the need for humans to isolate themselves (psychologically) from other animals. It’s a critical part of believing in our illusions—illusions to alleviate our death anxiety.

It doesn’t surprise me, though. As I peel this onion of human behavior, each layer reveals something new. I see where all of this fits and why it is the way it is—we need it this way to get out of bed in the morning,

These are cultural constructs to convince ourselves that we're "more" or "above" the animals. But we’re not. The evidence is in the way we hide our bodily functions and how we eat; hiding our animality is very apparent in things like "bathrooms," "plates, cups, forks, spoons, and tables," as well as "making toasts with drinks." Think about it. Observe other animals; how do they handle these functions and tasks?

These are all cultural constructs to help us disguise or hide our animal nature—you’ll never see other animals doing these things. We even disguise our food with names like "steak" or "hot dog." Those words have no real meaning as they apply to food. They are simply used to disguise what we’re doing.

We even disguise sex, the most animalistic behavior of all. We wrap it in "love" and make it something special, rather than simply acknowledging that it's an act of reproduction—an evolutionary drive just like survival. And we do it just like the rest of the animals. This is one of the reasons there are so many taboos, rituals, and rules around sex in different cultures. Ernest Becker said, “The distinctive human problem from time immemorial has been the need to spiritualize human life, to lift it onto a special immortal plane, beyond the cycles of life and death that characterize all other organisms. This is one of the reasons that sexuality has from the beginning been under taboos; it had to be lifted from the plane of physical fertilization to a spiritual one.”

Because of its animalistic nature, it’s an act that most reminds us of our mortality. That’s why we create all of the celebrations around it: flowers, chocolate hearts, “love letters,” fancy dinners, lingerie, holidays, etc. We want to elevate it as an act of “love” way beyond what the “animals” do; we make it “special” because we’re “special.”

It’s a difficult topic to unpack in the context of death anxiety. However, at its core, it reveals our animal nature and what we’ll devise in order to never face it or even admit what it really is.

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“Yet, at the same time, as the Eastern sages also knew, man is a worm and food for worms. This is the paradox: he is out of nature and hopelessly in it; he is dual, up in the stars and yet housed in a heart-pumping, breath-gasping body that once belonged to a fish and still carries the gill-marks to prove it. His body is a material fleshy casing that is alien to him in many ways—the strangest and most repugnant way being that it aches and bleeds and will decay and die. Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order to blindly and dumbly rot and disappear forever. It is a terrifying dilemma to be in and to have to live with. The lower animals are, of course, spared this painful contradiction, as they lack a symbolic identity and the self-consciousness that goes with it. They merely act and move reflexively as they are driven by their instincts. If they pause at all, it is only a physical pause; inside they are anonymous, and even their faces have no name. They live in a world without time, pulsating, as it were, in a state of dumb being. This is what has made it so simple to shoot down whole herds of buffalo or elephants. The animals don't know that death is happening and continue grazing placidly while others drop alongside them. The knowledge of death is reflective and conceptual, and animals are spared it. They live and they disappear with the same thoughtlessness: a few minutes of fear, a few seconds of anguish, and it is over. But to live a whole lifetime with the fate of death haunting one's dreams and even the most sun-filled days—that's something else.” Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

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If we accept that we are animals, we are reminded that we will die and become “food for worms,” as Becker said—just like all of the other animals.

If you’ve seen the movie "Elephant Man," the line spoken by John Merrick really solidifies this idea. He said, "I am not an animal! I am a human being. I am a man." I know he was saying this in reference to his birth defect and appearance (the way he was being treated), but the argument still stands about how we feel about denying our animality and how insistent we are to separate ourselves from all other living things.

There can be a religious component to this belief. I understand why that is as well. In order to have the illusion of (literal) immortality, which we desire, there has to be something that sets us apart. Some religions even go as far as telling man to "take dominion over all living things and all of earth" (paraphrased). It’s easy to see how humans can believe that they are above other life. There’s another component to this: "Man was created in the image of God." This escalates into an even bigger problem. If you ask most religious people if they believe they’re an animal, they will say, "No, I’m special, created in the image of God; how could I be an animal?" This is what I was referring to in my post about Becker’s hero system. This is the religious component of that theory. It’s an effective illusion if one can maintain it. Both Friedrich Nietzsche and Ernest Becker believed that religion was no longer a valid hero system because of advances in science and technology, and because of these advances, most people have “moved on.” That’s where Nietzsche’s infamous quote came from: "God is dead." This was the idea behind it. Religion acted as a buffer against death anxiety for most people for thousands of years, all over the world, in all kinds of religions. In the last 200 years, we’ve become much more secular and tend to look to culture for our defense against death anxiety. Here again, you can see where we have denied our animality with these religious tenets—placing ourselves above every living thing and the earth itself.

What’s the caveat? What makes us different from animals? We have consciousness, or awareness, of our mortality. Your dog or cat doesn’t know that they’re going to die. They’re completely in the moment of “now.” There are no rabbits talking about being the best rabbit alive! Animals exist with instincts to survive and reproduce. At times, they may have the fight-or-flight instinct and be very afraid, but once out of danger, they never think about it again. In our unconscious mind, we are constantly in fight-or-flight mode. William James said, “There is always a panic rumbling beneath the surface of consciousness.” That panic comes from the knowledge of our impending death. Other animals don’t have this; that’s really the only thing that makes us different. It fascinates me to look at how we live and act, denying the inevitable (our death) and trying to hide the fact that we are animals. We would show our animality if we didn't have this knowledge. We would be exactly the same as all of the other animals.

I’m slowly, but surely, putting these pieces together. These are the pieces of these theories that show us who we are and why we are the way we are: human behavior. I’m specifically interested in the reasons we commit evil acts and how our death anxiety is revealed through acts of genocide, racism, bigotry, xenophobia, and “othering.” We have so much to learn about these topics. In the end, I hope to share a tiny piece about the role that art can play in disclosing ways to deal with these big topics.

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“Denial of death, or, in psychodynamic terms, repression of death anxiety, generally results in banal and/or malignant outcomes—for example, preoccupation with shopping or the need to eradicate people who do not share our beliefs in a self-righteous quest to rid the world of evil. Repressed death anxiety is often projected onto other groups who are declared to be the all-encompassing repositories of evil and who must be destroyed so that life on earth will become what it is purported to be in heaven.”

Sheldon Solomon author of “The Worm at the Core: The Role of Death in Life

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Visions In Mortality - 1993

I just finished writing about my first photographic exhibition in the biography portion of my book (Chapter 2, The Introduction). After careful consideration, I felt it was important to give my background on these theories and ideas in the context of what I'm doing now. It makes so much sense to me now. There is some kind of closure that I feel after all of these years making art about the fear of death and the human behaviors that result from it. I wouldn’t say that I was working blindly or aimlessly all those years; it was more like I was trying to express ideas that I had no concept of explaining with words. It was the intellectual part that was missing. That’s all changed now. I understand what I was doing, and it all fits together beautifully. I am beyond grateful for that.

Over 30 years ago, I was making work about the same things I’m making work about today. The difference is that I’m so much more mature (artistically speaking) and feel like I have a good grasp on these concepts and how to articulate what concerns me. I wrote about my exhibition called "Visions in Mortality." This body of work was exhibited for a few weeks in 1993 as my senior thesis project for undergraduate school.

The images were all manipulated Polaroid work (direct color positives) and poetry. Each image was accompanied by a short poem or passage. I was very influenced by Lucas Samaras and Charles Bukowski at the time. The overall theme was what I’ve always made work about: death anxiety and the knowledge of our mortality. However, as you can see from the statement below, I was venturing into the defense mechanisms that I'm writing about today concerning the denial of death.

In my book, I wrote about four of the 25 or so images from the show. “Clotheshorse,” “Coitus on a Sea of Blue,” “Ketchum, Idaho,” and this one, "Ode to Vincent van Gogh.” This is a self-portrait. I was 29 years old. The image came about by accident while moving the chemistry around during development—the lower portion of my ear was gone. After seeing it emerge, I immediately thought about the painting of Vincent van Gogh—the self-portrait with his bandage and cap—and the self-mutilation and suicide. And the Yellow House.

On the 23rd of December 1888, in a small house in Arles, in the south of France, one of the most famous artists of all time—Vincent van Gogh—feverishly cut off his own ear in a mysterious act of self-mutilation. The circumstances in which van Gogh cut off his ear are not exactly known, but many experts believe that it was following a furious argument with Paul Gauguin at the Yellow House. Afterwards, van Gogh allegedly packaged up the ear and gave it to a prostitute in a nearby brothel—that wasn’t true; he gave it to a cleaning lady. He was then admitted to a hospital in Arles, France. He died by suicide about 18 months later, on July 29, 1890.

Mental illness has been a long preoccupation of mine—all human behavior, really. I’ve always wondered, just like any marginalized community, why these afflictions happen. I feel like I have some answers now, and while they are not definitive or absolute, they do point me in the right direction for why these kinds of things happen to people. I address suicide in my "Ketchum, Idaho” image as well. It’s a self-portrait sitting on the grave of Ernest Hemingway. These questions have always been present in my work.

Here’s my artist’s statement from the show in 1993—this is verbatim:

“Visions in Mortality”
This project deals with the reality of life, which is death, both visually and textually. This project is meant to communicate the intense and complicated process of life and our struggle with mortality as we approach death.

Whether life is short or long, it inevitably consists of much pain, suffering, depression, hurt, confusion, boredom, and misery, with only a “sprinkle” now and then of happiness, joy, love, peace, honor, and understanding. So many people are on the futile quest to attain happiness and understanding through physical, materialistic, and intellectual means that they neglect to realize their failure and ultimately find themselves in a “mortality crisis.”

This project deals with both the long term “reality” of life and few and far between “sprinkles” of the good stuff. It represents what I and many others see, feel, and experience as the human race.

Overall, this imagery communicates that both life and death are frightening, beautiful, and mysterious conditions.