The Emotional Life with Respect to Sandwiches

Jun 14

Jun 14 The Emotional Life with Respect to Sandwiches

Maybe this is a post about sandwiches and maybe it’s about emotions. Maybe it’s about friendship, workmates, and being there. I’ve always liked this next photo which is by Vivian Maier whose story you probably know but if not you can read more about her here.

This photo makes me QUITE emotional, but like, good emotional. I don’t even want to try and explain it, but one day at work I was talking about this with my friend Angie on our lunch break (sandwiches may have been involved) and she understood immediately and we proceeded to talk about sandwiches for the rest of our lunch break. She also feels emotional about sandwiches. It’s the care, I think, that goes into making one, whether it’s for yourself or for someone else. We agree that this — the act of making and the sandwich itself — simultaneously makes us happy and makes us want to cry. In particular, sandwiches wrapped up in wax paper really get me in the heart. And tied with string? I can’t even…

I said that one of my photo goals was to somehow recreate or riff on this photo, and Angie was on board right away. Best. Model. Ever.

I love the idea of riffing on a photo by a well known photographer because you can learn so much from the process. (Remember when I did the Irving Penn empty plate?)

Long story short, I loftily made a sandwich to represent all sandwiches, or at least the super humble ones, and tied it with twine, because that is the shit holding us all together these days. And we met down in my favourite part of town. We started with the Hecla Block (originally built for blue collar workers in the World War One construction boom) in the background. I like the timeless feeling it gives our image. After that we used The Gibson Block, Edmonton’s flatiron building for our backdrop.

I feel like we all have a sandwich story or two? Or sandwich feelings? Perhaps I’m wrong.

I remember all the school sandwiches my mom made me wrapped in wax paper. I remember her telling me about the lard (yes, lard! they were poor!) sandwiches she took to school in the Calder neighbourhood as a kid. Later when she quit school after grade 8 and worked in DT Edmonton, she took a cheese sandwich to work every day.

I remember when I worked at the Upper Crust Cafe when I went to Uni and they let us have a free sandwich with every shift and it was always the best sandwich ever. I remember on our honeymoon in Italy 10 million years ago eating a shrimp sandwich with a glass of wine outside and it seemed like a miracle.

I hope there are poems about sandwiches. There are Frank O’Hara’s Lunch Poems, but I hope there are poets writing sandwich poems right now. Or at least their own lunch poems.

I hope someone makes you a sandwich for your journey. I hope someone wraps you up a sandwich for your busy work day so you don’t have to run out of the office and stand in a too long line-up. I hope someone knows what your favourite sandwich is. I hope you smile when you open it up. I hope you also get chips or a pickle to go with. I hope your sandwich is a deep comfort to you. I hope your sandwich brings up a good memory. I hope your sandwich isn’t too soggy or too dry. If you made it yourself, I hope your sandwich reminds you that you’re worth all the sandwiches. I hope you have something good to read with your sandwich, and just the right drink — a Diet Coke, or an orangina, or a glass of cold white wine, or maybe a coffee. I hope your sandwich is satisfying and I hope your sandwich tides you over.

I was wanting a timeless feeling for the above photos and I hope you love looking at them as much as I do. The newspaper is of our time, though — the article is about how Canadian tourists are missed in New England.

I was flipping through the book I have of Maier’s photos, Out of the Shadows, and it ends with a story about how after the photos have come to light, “…in Montparnasse, a sandwich maker is stopped for directions. In the course of conversation, the Parisian says he loves photography. “Have you heard of Vivian Maier?” he is asked. He pauses. “She makes me cry.”