Smile for the Camera

I visited the American Visionary Arts Museum (AVAM) yesterday. My neurons are still firing. I spent a lot of time at their current exhibition "What Makes Us Smile" that featured an examination of the "architecture of joy." I read about "primitive" cultures that apparently begin arguments by laughing together so everyone is reminded of their shared bonds and common cause. Of course, "advanced" societies would never do something silly like that. Imagine a UN resolution that required all the factions in Libya to laugh with each other. Dropping bombs and firing cruise missiles is so much more effective.

While walking about the exhibition, I heard Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, which seemed an odd choice. I discovered it is the soundtrack for a short film called "Where the Smiling Ends" by Andi Olsen. I was spellbound. Olsen's film captures the moments after people stop smiling while posing for photographs at Trevi Fountain in Rome. People from all over the planet. The vast majority of people stop smiling, lower their head, withdraw, or even look sad. There are exceptions of people who manage to maintain their smile and joy but most people seem to fade after the photograph of their smile has been captured.

I've heard it so many times: "Smile for the camera." Why? Will the camera be offended if I don't smile? Will you be offended if I don't smile? Will it ruin the photograph? Or the moment? What if I don't feel like smiling?

I found this post at eHow: How to Smile for the Camera.

While I find this post odd, I agree wholeheartedly with these two statements:

The secret is to be relaxed, honest and genuine.
Laugh with sincerity.

Which makes me wonder. How am I supposed to be relaxed, honest, genuine and sincere on demand? In fact, how am I supposed to be relaxed, honest, genuine and sincere at all?

I've had the great fortune and pleasure to visit Trevi Fountain. I don't know if I took any photographs in front of the fountain. What I do remember is sharing a gelato with my wife by the side of the fountain and hearing "In My Place" by Coldplay for the first time. Those are good memories, ones that bring a smile to my face even now. The smile relates to a person, a moment, not the place itself.

Joy is a feeling. A smile is a reflection of joy. I don't know how to describe an architecture of joy but Olsen's film reminds me that people from all cultures want to feel joy but struggle to hold onto it. But we need to understand this architecture and build from it. Instead of smiling for the camera, let's smile for each other. Because I believe a feeling of joy, a genuine smile and a laugh with sincerity are key ingredients to a relaxed interaction between people regardless of culture, language, or even religion.

As one of the signs at the exhibition stated:

"Our fifteen years of thematic exhibitions here at the American Visionary Art Museum can be distilled into one effort: To destroy the illusion that we are somehow over here, and the rest of the world over there."

Tabitha

Rest in Peace Tabitha.

You woke up my compassion at a time when I thought it was a weakness. You showed me compassion during one of my darkest hours. Ours was a classic case of asking who rescued whom.

I miss you.

Maya

Rest in Peace Maya.

You showed me that if you're unsure about what to do, it's a good idea to give someone you love a kiss. You taught me that I can't control or ration love. And that it comes unexpectedly in the form of a cold, wet, pink nose.

I miss you.

Beijing

Last September I was completely overwhelmed by Beijing. With only a week’s visit, I was immersed in horizon-broadening sights, sounds, smells and sensations. I shouldn’t be surprised given Beijing’s rich history, vibrant present and bright future. But Beijing was more disorienting – yet strangely comforting – than any place I have visited.

When I travel, I am not usually drawn to the well-known tourist destinations. I want to feel the pulse of a new, unfamiliar place. To see how people live. How they think. How they feel. I don’t resist the disorientation of culture shock because it releases me from my usual mindset. Even so, I still find myself looking for familiar references when I arrive at a new place. What was the first familiar sign at the airport? A Burberry advertisement.

Once on the road, I noted familiarity in the form of cars, some of them of the luxury kind. There’s definitely money in Beijing. And lots of cars. In roughly a decade, Beijing’s streets went from having one million cars to nearly four million cars. It’s one example of massive expansion. Driving in Beijing must be fun if you have a strong heart. No one seems to use seat belts or turn signals. It seems perfectly appropriate to not only flash your high beams at the driver in the front of you but to leave them on until the car moves out of the way. The horn appears to be a proxy for turn signals and Beijing drivers use them liberally. As I learned the hard way, pedestrians do not own the road. Crossing streets often requires an act of courage or faith.

Their road infrastructure may be stretched thin, but there are staggering amounts of investments in maintenance and development of new infrastructure. Even though there are clearly signs of planning, there is a certain flow that transcends any particular timeframe. Perhaps even a connectedness between generations or a realization that some things are beyond one’s control. Groups of people practicing Tai Chi in Tiananmen Square or references to dynasties rather than dates at the Forbidden City. The mention of Gregorian calendar years seems to be for those who seek specific references. During the opening session of the conference I attended, our hosts referred to the beginning of the harvest season within the Chinese lunar calendar. I recognized the reference to harvesting new relationships but I also wondered if it was a subtle reminder to the North American visitors that we weren’t in Kansas anymore. A sign at the Forbidden City captured this connectedness over time:

“A single act of carelessness leads to the eternal loss of beauty.”

The idea that our actions today could destroy the work of artisans from the past – some of whom spent an entire lifetime working on one piece of art – is a powerful reminder that those who came before us expected us to behave respectfully so that those who follow us can also appreciate their inspiration and creation. A work of art connects people across time.

Seeing the Forbidden City gives me something to bond over with other visitors to Beijing. I had hoped to find a way to bond with people who live in Beijing. I visited a bookstore where I saw several books by familiar names: Barack Obama, Dale Carnegie, Warren Buffet, LeBron James and Sarah Palin.

Yet when I looked at the bestsellers section, not a single Western author was to be found. All I could see were books in Mandarin without any familiar names or titles. So while the bookstore was filled with books I could recognize, was I really gaining insights into the interests or thoughts of the Chinese? Yet I could tell that people like visiting bookstores and sitting down to read books (though in this bookstore people were simply sitting on the floor – no comfy chairs or coffee bar in sight). Regardless of what people read, people like to read. People like to discover ideas or connect with other people through books.

This realization made me wonder even more about common bonds between people. Are there universal symbols, signs, ideas or feelings? Beijing is awash in corporate symbols ranging from the golden arches of McDonalds to the interlinked C’s of Chanel. Yet within the bookstore I couldn’t shake the feeling that these symbols were transient.

During my final day in Beijing, I debated whether to visit the Great Wall or to wander the city. I chose the latter, ending the day by visiting the Olympic Green. It was a windy day so there were several people selling or flying kites.

As I watched the kites flying in the wind, day gave way to twilight which gave way to evening. I had not noticed the steady stream of people who now filled the Olympic Park, many of whom were kids running about with a giddiness only children seem to exhibit. At one point, a soccer ball rolled my way so I kicked it back to the child who was chasing it. Before I knew it, I was kicking around a soccer ball with him and his parents.

I bought one of the kites and noticed another child watching me. I offered the kite to him. Initially, he reached for it until his parents said something in Mandarin. No moment made me wish more that I spoke Mandarin. I kept gesturing to the child with my kite and I eventually gave it to him. I smiled at him and nodded at his parents. Eventually they smiled and the boy ran off with the kite. Without speaking a word of Mandarin, I had made connections with two families.

And then it struck me.

I’ve travelled to many places throughout the world. I’ve yet to visit one where a smile or an act of kindness does not go a long way toward building goodwill.

Are we more drawn to corporate symbols and currency rates or smiles and acts of kindness? Which is more universal?

No scene captured this question of the universal more than an encounter on the Beijing subway. A Chinese couple and their incredibly cute baby boy stood close to me. While the father held his baby, he started to nibble on his son’s ear. His son beamed, smiled and laughed. He tilted his head toward his father inviting him to nibble some more. His mother lit up with joy. One of my friends once told me that there’s no greater joy for a mother than to hear her child laughing. The couple noticed my uncontrollable smile and made eye contact. Without saying a word, they acknowledged me and invited me to share in the moment. This scene could happen anywhere in the world and could bring together people from different worlds. There is no greater invitation than asking someone to share joy. Eventually, I thought it best to lower my gaze so that they could enjoy their moment as a family.

It was then that I noticed their baby was wearing Disney sandals.

Capitalism has washed over a flattened world. It remains to be seen if kindness will do the same.

Jigsaw Puzzle

when i think about the jigsaw puzzle that is my life, i keep thinking that i have not yet found a corner piece.

Maybe We Can

In 2009, I visited Singapore as part of a whirlwind trip to several Asian cities. During that trip, I noted the leadership and arguably unusual directness of the Singaporean government in discussing the economic meltdown. I wondered what effects such an approach might have in terms of dealing with the crisis especially when compared to the approach of the US government.

In today's New York Times, Edmund Phelps wrote an op-ed piece that proposes a tax credit for companies employing low-wage workers. As the piece indicates, it might seem counterintuitive to emphasize low-wage jobs but Phelps correctly states "we need to create jobs at all levels." Apparently, the Singaporean government implemented such a tax credit and their unemployment rate is around 3%. It is a huge leap to assume that the tax credit is solely responsible for low unemployment rate. But I would assert that admitting they faced a major problem was the first step toward this type of bold, effective government action.

The economic crisis in the US is having major impacts on people and state, county and city governments. Hawaii has closed schools on Friday and Colorado Springs is turning off street lights. The town of Tracy, CA had considered charging its residents for 911 calls. They have changed their minds and now proposing a half cent increase on sales tax.

But we don't want to pay taxes. We want services without taxes and the good life without hard work. This ongoing economic crisis has different effects depending on what state you live in whether that's Hawaii, California, Colorado -- or denial.