| Jackson is the capitol of the state of Mississippi, where I live. People who live there say they are from the city and consider themselves a part of high society. Then there are those who find themselves in the capitol city, but are from small towns around the state like me. We spend most of our time complaining about city traffic, noise and houses being too close together, because, let’s face it, people live differently in the country. People from the city have a name for those who are born and raised in the country – “redneck” -- while people from the country gladly shake the dust of “society” from their shoes because they don’t give a damn about what people think. What’s more is that southern society can’t escape the term redneck either – that’s what Yankees call ALL us Southerners. And when it comes down to it, I’m not sure Jackson, can really be classified as a real city, or at least not a city like New York. With all that being said, welcome to Mississippi. My friends loveingly call me a redneck because I like to fish and hunt and I’m from a small town. But I’m not really, as far as society defines the term. I did graduate from high school without getting pregnant and am now about to finish four years of college without being in a relationship with a guy from my home town. And, I don’t live in a trailer park. Understand, there is nothing wrong with any of this at all, however, this is what society thinks a redneck is. And us small-towners might call that type of person “trash.” It’s a very intricate tangled web of classicism. I dislike it very much. So, I really don’t mind being called a redneck because “frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” The fact of the matter is, I am my Father’s daughter – my Father’s only daughter. And to my Mother I am a fighter in every connotation and denotation available in the English language. Thus, naturally, I love the outdoors like my father. It’s our way of bonding. Also, naturally, I love sipping coffee and reading just like my Mother -- Not to mention the strong will I inherited from her. But don’t mention that to her. She would deny it. Thus, I enjoy activities that are decidedly designated for males and other activities that are decidedly designated for females. While some girls secretly wish they were “one of the guys” I probably come across too much, sometimes, as one of the guys. But “sometimes it’s fun to be one of the guys,” as country singer Kellie Pickler sings. Guys, don’t run away too quickly, I’m not a he-woman. I enjoy long hot showers, painting my toenails, drooling over the clothes in JCrew and Banana Republic, cooking, gardening, and interior designing. There’s not much I don’t enjoy doing which makes it quite easy to find something in common with just about anyone. Music – you name it, I like it. Outdoors – you name it, I like it. School – I liked every subject except math. That’s why it took me five majors to figure out what I actually wanted to do with my life. I think it probably also answers why I am single. I mean, I’m not ugly or anything. The fact that I can do things that the guys can, I think, intimidates them. And the fact that I try to cultivate an interest in their interests, because I genuinely find it interesting, makes them feel like I’m trying to change to fit them. I’m not! I just see new areas to explore making them the experts on the subject being explored. The world’s my classroom and playground. Enough said. Back to how I fit in to this classicism that runs rampant. If I’m not trash, a redneck, or part of society, then where in the heck do I fit? I don’t know. I don’t fit. I am a southerner and proud of it, but I don’t fit the mold. My Mother is always telling me that I have the weirdest group of friends. One minute I’m on the phone consoling my friend, the heart broken bull rider, and the next minute I’m instructing my art major friend on how to correctly develop infrared film. (By the way, my fifth and final major of my college career turned out to be Photography.) It makes for a colorful life, the variety that I encounter. But, it also leads to loneliness, because I haven’t quite found another person similar to me. I mean, before I get in bed at night, I ask God, “Am I Weird?” No, really, I’m not kidding. Sometimes it gets to me, but for the most part I suppress the thoughts – out of sight, out of mind. Ok, now that I’ve kind of introduced myself to you, we can get down to business. I’ve been putting together plans for an upcoming photo documentary. The shooting will begin this coming weekend and will end in a gallery showing mid-semester in the spring. Don’t be alarmed, I’m not staying true to my redneck persona – no guns will be used, only my camera. I am tackling a specific group of people in a specific part of Mississippi where family and agriculture thrives. Don’t worry, no one will be seriously injured in the tackling. Like I said, I’m only using my camera. The final will be displayed in formal, sculptural, and informal ways in hopes to involve the viewer with the instillation itself. My writing from hence forth will chronicle my journey through joy, exploration, hardship, and failure, in a desperate reach towards humanity, agriculture, and family of Kemper County. |
