{04} One continuous mistake.

Coucou, mon amie!

We had our first snow in Paris while Saturday slipped into Sunday and I slipped into sleep. The air smells like cold. And I’ve been thinking about mistakes.

Back in July, a handful of friends from the SF Zen Center and I started something. We study one koan per season (a koan is essentially a Buddhist riddle). Summer was There is nothing I dislike. This fall we’ve been sitting with The Woman at the Inn. The question at its center: Is there light here? Here? Here? Here? Light in washing dishes. In grief. In the mess of everyday life. In your literal shit.

This question has led us everywhere. Discussing a quiet, sometimes subconscious fear of joy (of impermanence). Of being agenda-less. Of the expectations that block what’s already here. How a ‘mistake’ is often just light we haven’t yet recognized.

We talked about the Buddhist idea of Oshaku Jushaku — to succeed wrong with wrong, or one continuous mistake. How comforting! As I enter this new realm of photography, and strangers trust me with their time and faces and hearts, fear shows up.

But my Koan Club buddy reminded me of something his piano teacher once told him:
One note off might be a mistake. Two notes off, you’re playing jazz.

During this shoot with dancers Mia Bourhis and Ivan Tocchetti, I got stressed in the studio. I had to borrow a light from another set and couldn’t remember how to align the channels to trigger both flashes. Studio time was shrinking, so I switched to continuous light. The mistake was not a mistake.

Now I have to choose my second-semester focus: studio or documentary. I feel hybrid, but the program asks for a choice. Photographers I love blur the lines. Kumi Oguro, Andras Lódoci, Koto Bolofo, Wolfgang Tillmans, Sarah Moon.

My brand side leans toward studio. My writer side leans documentary. I want to be excellent at lighting, and I also want to capture real life. This tension feels familiar.

Last week, we talked about how koans can be difficult because they refuse to settle. They stay open, unanswered. And that’s often where I’m happiest. I can be decisive in the day-to-day, but when it comes to bigger questions of life, I love the gray.

So I keep reminding myself: life is mistake after mistake. There are no mistakes as we once learned them to be. Nothing to hide from or be embarrassed by. Nothing to fumble. In this sense, whatever I choose will be okay.

School continues at full volume and I find myself collapsing into my mattress like a lead pipe. But I’m also filling my cup with whimsy. This month I saw one of my all-time favorite artists, Tor Miller, perform in Paris. I’ve been listening to him for twelve years. Comfort sounds in my faraway ears. I brought my tiny Fuji street camera to the show and he shared some of my photos on his Instagram. Semester made.

On the way home, I stood on the bouncy, accordion part of the train. Face crispy from the cold. Crust Punk Queen playing. The nine train full of strange characters. All the people I’ve ever loved washing over me.

And then sometimes the trains are fucked and you miss your shoot with the women’s roller derby team. So you text an apology, go home, take a hot shower, eat mini M&Ms in bed, and start writing your Substack.

Now we’re here. Today. Thanksgiving. I’m thankful for my closest lifelong people who are supporting this grand adventure that requires great distance. And I’m thankful for the newer loves in my life who make this foreign place a cozy one.

I’m really grateful you’re here reading.

I hope you feel closer to yourself, your most alive self, with each year and each mistake.

My fingers smell like garlic, and Friendsgiving dinner is about to begin.

On that note, let’s play jazz. Or at least listen to Thelonious Monk live in Paris. And as winter winters on, a couple recommendations if you want to snuggle up with big feelings: Hal & Harper and Come See Me in the Good Light.

Wishing you a December full of gorgeous mistakes.

xo,

JSE