The Figure in the Frame: a flash fiction series & ch. 1 manhattan

 The Figure in the Frame

A Flash Fiction Series

Years ago in grad school I studied Niagara Falls and its starring role in Henry Hathaway's film Niagara (1953). Alongside Marilyn Monroe, the infamous tourist attraction - known then as a honeymoon capital for newlyweds - captured a sense of passion and danger that captivated audiences (and lovers, apparently). Because I wanted to explore an area of film that aligned with some of my other interests (literature, and more specificially, geography and travel), cinema that placed landscapes front and center immediately captured my attention. I've always been drawn to the kinds of movies that utilize their places as more than just a backdrop - there's a distinct difference between the New York City of Taxi Driver (1976) and The Avengers (2012). Where one exists as a simple canvas upon which an alien invasion threatens the entire world, the other is drawn with particular cinematic techniques (music, colour, sound, editing) that develop it as some kind of seedy, unrelenting character that mirrors the main character's troubled psyche.

It's this distinction that forced me to ask the question while writing my thesis - in what way do places contribute to the meaning of the stories we tell? For me, landscapes and urbanscapes take on an active role while telling a story. My first novel As Pure As Snow takes places in the fictional town of Korman, Niagara, and it's no surprise that inspiration was taken from my experiences growing up and living in the Niagara Region (and, of course, Niagara Falls). I described Korman as a kind of isolated haven for certain groups, a town "choked by its surrounding forests," meant to evoke a kind of snowglobe effect with it's seemingly endless winter. But I never wanted Korman to be just a backdrop for the story to take place - I wanted it to feel real, of course, but I also wanted to dissect how living and growing up and being trapped in this globe affects the characters within it's confines. This, I think, is the key to the drama I want to tell.

Naturally, while researching my thesis I came across a myriad list of terms and concepts that have continued to whirl around in my head - poetry and painting's the figure in the landscape, or Kant's theories of the beautiful and sublime. These are all ideas that we use to explore our human place within the landscapes we produce in our art. Film scholars like Martin Lefebvre have taken it a step further and applied these ideas to cinema. Places affect us physically and certainly emotionally, and in effect, we create meaning alongside them whenever we decide to cast these places within our films, or photograph them as a muse - or, in the case of this particular blog series, to write about them through fiction.

I've decided to pair two of my most personal interets for this project - writing (in particular, the slight benefits of flash fiction), and photography. I love traveling, and I've had the privilege to be able to do so more often these past few years. Those who know me also know that I love visual media - cinema, but also photography. When I try to compose a shot I try and do so with one simple rule: how best to capture our place alongside the constructed or natural environment I'm trying to photograph. There is no perfect way to do it. And recognizing that everyone will come to that place with their own experiences, I can only hope to capture a fraction of what that place means to an outsider. Everywhere I went I've made incredible memories. I met fantastic people, and I've seen jaw-dropping sights. Fortunately, I've also been able to capture some of those moments through photography. Looking back on some of those images now puts a smile on my face - those photos tell stories that I hold near and dear to me. They showcase friends, family, acquintances, even strangers with whom I've shared a simple hello with. But those stories are for me to hold onto. Just like your story might be different if you've gone to any of the same places.

So what's the point of this series, then? Why write it at all? 

Well, like I said, I've always been drawn to how our relationship with the places we know (grow up in and visit) affect us. There is an endless treasure trove of stories just waiting to be mined - the New York City I visited and the New York City you visited (or the New York City Scorsese lived in, or the New York City Travis Bickle inhabited) are totally different cities. Sure, they contain the same landmarks, the same street numbers, and the same subway lines - but they also carry with them the scars we bring onto them through our own navigation of those places. And what are places if not a collection of human experiences - of stories?

The parameters are set: using photographs I've taken of people composed within the frame, I hope to write a collection of stories that test the boundaries of genre and fiction. If I fall short of achieving anyting so grand, I only hope to stretch my creative muscles between work on my longer fiction projects. So far I have nearly 40 photographs from trips I've taken in the past 5-6 years. Because I'm working within the realm of flash fiction I hope to complete as many stories as I can. I won't use any names or stories that apply to anyone in the particular photographs; instead, I will only use these images as a source of inspiration for the story that comes to mind when I look at that particular image. Maybe one day I'll write a post about the process behind this inspiration. Who knows. 

For now, lets see what kind of happy, twisted, exhilarating, creepy, sad, funny, wild fun we can get up to.

CM.

1. manhattan

     Looking out over the sunset, he wondered if the city beneath it was staring back at him. People were mere specks in the distance, while boats motored silently along the water. It was peaceful up here—almost ethereal. The sun disappeared along the horizon, but not without casting its heavy set yellow and orange shadow, soon to cascade into a brilliant crimson hue. The point where the sun met the city line reminded him of a bonfire, rippling along the clouds, its vibrant reach stretched from coast to coast.

    Here, he thought about her. Well, not her anymore—not the way he wanted to remember her. But the spirit of her. The memories. They played out in his mind like a montage: walks along the water, hikes in the forest, a summer kiss. And though those events happened miles and miles away, looking down at the Manhattan skyline brought those memories flooding back. With them came a tear to his eye, crystal and still. It held there for a moment, wetting the ends of his lashes, then dropped over the edge of the Empire State and into the void of New York City.