Â§hria's Spot

I feel like Dian Fossey

Well, I feel like Dian Fossey might have felt had she been spanked and sent home from the mists for some terrible infraction like, say, refusing to bait her beloved gorillas with sugar so some wealthy business man could take pictures of them.

In my case musicians are the gorillas and their natural habitat is Loplops, the SpeakEasy, and the Downbeat as well as special venues such as RotaryFest Second Stage and the Lost Loon Festival.

Like the gorillas in the mist with Dian Fossey, many of the musicians were at first wary of me, the strange woman with the camera and note book but over the years I gradually earned their trust to varying degrees. Recently, some had even begun to make socially inclusive gestures and signs which included behaviors ranging from a rather tentative hand flick of acknowledgement to an actual visit to my home for dinner and drinks. Of course a few of them, one big male in particular who fancied himself a leader of the clan, never came round.

But would Dian let that break her heart and send her home from the mists in tears? No way! Dian let him have his space and abided by his rules. She let him be who he was and continued to interact with and attempt to build trust with the other musicians in the clan. My guess is that kind of irked the big male but that's another story for another day.

Just when Dian was getting to enjoy plenty of positive responses from the elusive and mysterious musicians (including many smiles and waves and even a few jokes shared), her boss came down to the mist and told her she couldn't study them any more. The mean boss lady said that her funding had been yanked and she was not to go near the musicians any more. She didn't give her any reasons and she made no assurances that someone else would be sent to continue the studies to their natural conclusions.

So now Dian sits in her lonely apartment longing for a nice smile and wave from an elusive musician. Dian is getting drunk and missing the mist. Dian is afraid that her beloved musicians are being slaughtered by poachers while she can't be there. She is afraid that they will forget her and that all her hard work to earn their trust will be undone by time away.

Me, I feel a bit sorry for poor Dian and I'm busy trying to figure out what the hell I am going to do with myself now that a project that meant everything to me for the past two years has been torn away from me and killed with absolutely no chance for input or suggestions from me and no explanation what-so-ever.

Maybe I'm a little pissed off, too. Dian Fossey probably should have stayed in her observation tower and not tried to interact with the musicians, sort of like Brian Kelly. At least then there would have been no expectations raised and less harm done.

It was a deeply disturbing slap in the professional face and personal affront to mine and Dian's integrity.

But I'm going to smile, nod and play nice while I bide my time as I fade and dissolve.

Project: Musicians in the mist
Duration: August 13, 2004 to June 12, 2006 - 137 stories.

Question: If I am not Dian Fossey with my camera and notebook, who am I? What is my purpose? What is my reason to be in the mist?

Goodbye musicians. I'm sorry I couldn't find a way to serve you better.