Only the Aperture Katherine Elizabeth Seltzer University of Texas at El Paso, [email protected]
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University of Texas at El Paso DigitalCommons@UTEP Open Access Theses & Dissertations 2016-01-01 Only The Aperture Katherine Elizabeth Seltzer University of Texas at El Paso, [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.utep.edu/open_etd Part of the Creative Writing Commons Recommended Citation Seltzer, Katherine Elizabeth, "Only The Aperture" (2016). Open Access Theses & Dissertations. 956. https://digitalcommons.utep.edu/open_etd/956 This is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@UTEP. It has been accepted for inclusion in Open Access Theses & Dissertations by an authorized administrator of DigitalCommons@UTEP. For more information, please contact [email protected]. ONLY THE APERTURE KATHERINE ELIZABETH SELTZER Master’s Program in Creative Writing APPROVED: ___________________________________ Lex Williford, Chair ___________________________________ José de Piérola, Ph. D. ___________________________________ David Smith-Soto ___________________________________ Charles Ambler, Ph.D. Dean of the Graduate School Copyright © by Katherine Elizabeth Seltzer 2016 For my mother, Antonia, and my grandmother, Concepción. ONLY THE APERTURE by KATHERINE ELIZABETH SELTZER THESIS Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of The University of Texas at El Paso in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of MASTER OF FINE ARTS Department of Creative Writing THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT EL PASO May 2016 Acknowledgements I would like to thank the following people for their guidance, encouragement, patience, comments, experience, talent, kindness, and friendship: Malena Alanís, Daniela Armijo, Paula Cucurella, Lori De Los Santos Saúl Hernandez, Meagan Kinley, Mijail Lamas, Yenny León, Fatima Masoud, Tafari Nugent, Aaron J. Romano-Meade, Daniela Ruelas, Justin David Stone, and Oscar Zapata. Paula, Saúl, Daniela, Aaron, thank you for your professional and personal support, and comic relief. Daniela, thank you for your non-judgement and for a friendship I never question. Suzie, thank you for being you; I am lucky to have met you and read your work. Mijail and Oscar, thank you for your generosity. Aaron and Justin, thank you for your seriousness and dedication toward the MFA program—I can think of no two individuals I am prouder to have written and workshopped alongside for three years; I look forward to the days I purchase your books. Thank you to my professors, Rosa Alcalá, José de Pierola, Sasha Pimentel, Luis Arturo Ramos, Jeffrey Sirkin, David Smith-Soto, and Lex Williford, and my parents, all of whom helped shape this project and directly aided me through these last three amazing years. And Paula, Daniela, Aaron, Lex, and Mom, thank you for listening. Thank you all, so much. !v Preface The concept for Only the Aperture began as a collection of twelve ekphrastic stories about twelve historical photographers, each story rendering a fictionalized creation myth of a photo by the respective photographer. I’d attempt to fill in the gaps the photo leaves out with text. I wanted to invert the lens back to the photographer and tell the story of the one hiding behind a moment, a representation, a camera by creating a fictionalized version of the characters’ reality from a projected image, pit reality against simulacrum and position the photographer on this margin. This concept came to me after a story I wrote as a final project for a class taught by José de Pierola called Minding Fiction about representations of consciousness in fiction. Actually, I wrote two stories—“Inside The Observatory” and “Right on the Spot”—early versions of “Francesca Woodman, Museum of Zoology and Natural History, 1975: Inside La Specola” and “Weegee, New York City, 1938: Right on the Spot.” The former I turned in for Minding Fiction; the latter I submitted for an Advanced Fiction Workshop with Professor Lex Williford, who I’d asked to serve as my thesis advisor regarding an earlier project. At this time, Professor Williford did not realize my mind was changing about my proposed thesis project right before my final year, and I was terrified my mind changed at all. This would not be the last time, but I’m glad it did. I’m glad I had that freedom. !vi For “Inside The Observatory,” I wrote a self-contained piece that attempted to represent human consciousness, such as we had read in novels for the course. While all the novels in Minding Fiction rendered consciousness interestingly and inventively, Joyce Carol Oates’ narrative technique in The Tattooed Girl grabbed my attention most because of its subtlety in dominance over other characters in the book, especially Oates’ use of free-indirect style of other characters through focalization of one character: Alma smiled, taken slightly aback by Seigl’s manner. She didn’t know how to read him, Seigl supposed. He was nearly forty: in her eyes, old. His untrimmed whiskers, tweed cap, professional and aloof air, his way of speaking marked him as a certain type, yet he seemed almost to be conspiring with her. Speaking so bluntly of Scanlon, as if he and Alma were in league against the bookstore owner. Seigl said, amending the harness of his words, “Most people are mistaken about most things, Alma. Most adults.” Alma smiled doubtfully. As if thinking: but adults must be trusted, who else can I trust? (76) This passage creates the effect of a quiet paranoia and self consciousness toward Joshua’s, the protagonist, development of what Antonio Damasio calls the self process in which a conscious mind goes through a series of stages in identity and thought—the proto self, core self, autobiographical self, and the reflective self. In The Tattooed Girl, Oates’ reinvention of free-indirect style also creates the effect of Seigl’s ironic self- awareness projected onto Alma, often manifesting as self loathing because of how characters feel others perceive them. This imagined perception roots in a character’s autobiographical selves and then appears in their reflective selves. From the few but impactful works I have read of Oates—“Where Have You Been? Where Are You !vii Going?”; “The Boy”; The Tattooed Girl; and “The Mastiff”—she uses this tool often, subtly but effectively, her characters always attempting to recreate themselves and always stumbling through existence. Through Oates’ usage of free-indirect style, the very process of thinking becomes dramatic, tense and risky, and so too does the character’s conception and projection of self. With Oates and The Tattooed Girl in mind, I looked to the camera for “Inside the Observatory.” I altered Oates’ narrative device of free-indirect style of other characters through focalization of one character slightly, by also applying this device to objects, most heavily, but not limited to, the camera. I looked to the camera lens instinctively for this project, knowing—as observer, subject, and photographer—that a camera alters the context of time, space, and the self through awareness of the gaze, despite a camera’s attempt to document a moment authentically. Authenticity cannot exist when a device intervenes, and authenticity cannot exist when a camera borders a moment in a frame negating greater context, and perhaps authenticity may only exist in our thoughts. In “Francesca Woodman, Museum of Zoology and Natural History, 1975: Inside La Specola,” Francesca as the protagonist focuses on what she sees without the camera—a young male guard who might be stalking her inside the museum she visits often—and what she sees behind it—herself naked with the skull of a Canis dirus in the final room of the labyrinthine museum. Projection drives much of the story and Woodman’s consciousness—what she sees, what she thinks she sees, and what she wants to see—a !viii kind of shared consciousness between Francesca and her camera, which at times seems to have a consciousness of its own. Francesca projects her self/selves into the space of the camera’s viewfinder, thus the photo, for a self that cannot authentically and comfortably exist in a reality outside the safe space and confines of her camera. In this protagonist’s case, the camera functions as a device that allows Francesca sexual freedom and autonomy, while the guard outside of the camera casually and perhaps unknowingly subjugates her. When I was in high school, I shot for the newspaper and yearbook staffs. I liked hiding behind the camera and watching. I liked existing at the center of the action without directly interacting. I liked the distance, access, and view the camera granted a teenager like me (someone who often hid behind a book). When I was 16, a construction worker heckled and chased me off site for taking pictures of the rebuilding of a grocery store after El Paso’s storm 2006. When I was 17, a couple of Border Patrol agents drove up to me, where I walked along the Rio Grande River underneath the railroad tracks, and thought me an illegal immigrant because of where I stood geographically, how I looked, and a menacing object they thought I held in my hands. When the Border Patrol agents got closer, they saw my camera pointed at Mt. Cristo Rey, smiled, laughed, told me to have a good one, and drove away. Holding the camera can feel like holding agency—you control what and how you see, depending on your !ix ability to compose and adjust—and then you watch people react to that thing in your hands. Whether or not people look behind a camera is irrelevant—we all gaze. Gaze assesses, judges, ingratiates. Photographer ingratiate themselves in the space of others solely through observation, only with their eyes. Photographers set a gaze, focus, and connect, objectify, interpret, appropriate. Photographers, through cameras, attempt to compose and exert power over the subject for a photo. Even in documentary photography, photographers impose an intention informed by time and space.