Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days


  • The optics are not good

    It is supposed to be funny, but then humour is subjective in the eye of the beholder. 

    A commercial for a worldwide optical chain, frequently displayed on television and online, shows a man out fishing in a vast lake with his middle-aged son. Mistakenly the subject of the advertising hooks the boat keys on the end of his fishing line and casts off, the keys becoming unclasped once in the water and are pictured drifting to the bottom of the lake. 

    Ha ha. 

    When did vision loss become so funny? 

    This advertising is more than casual ableism. Given the man’s approximate age — I estimate he may well be as old as I —  this is ageism. This is classified as humour in an age where we hear more and more about both the climbing rates of dementia, macular degeneration, and vision impairments. 

    The advertising is offensive, on so many levels. 

    I thought we had come a long way from the comic strip humour of Mr. Magoo, a fictional character from the ‘60s who gets into a series of comical situations as a result of his extreme nearsightedness. The strip became an animated television series and was reborn decades later as a film in 1997. 

    There is nothing comical about loss of vision. It is a sense we rely on to live, to learn, to work and play. 

    I, as a photographer and writer, rely on my vision. I’ve been dealing with low vision for about five years now. It is a disability, one I have struggled to accept, that I have adapted to with a range of visual accommodations. 

    I grew up wearing glasses at a time when they weren’t even considered a fashion choice. In primary school, a teacher noticed my problems reading the blackboard. Vision issues have long been recognized as a barrier to learning and I was fortunate to have my need for corrective lenses recognized early.  

    Yes, for years I tolerated the “four-eyes” jokes. 

    Using a disability, any disability, as the source of humour is wrong and well past the boundaries of political correctness. It is discrimination that exhibits the common unkindness all too prevalent when someone doesn’t measure up to perceived societal standards. 

    This Specsavers advertising comes at a time where we are supposedly celebrating our diversity and differences (on any level). This ignorant campaign entirely misses its mark. The second commercial in what is presumably a series of ads, shows a man hooking up his boat trailer to the wrong car, presumably after a day of fishing, and the vehicle drives off. 

    I can hear the laughter and atta-boys from the marketing mavens of the ad agency that created these commercials. 

    They must be so proud. 

    Did they not realize they are offending a wide swath of the population that rely on eyeglasses? Isn’t it the company’s marketing mission to sell eyewear to this sector? 

    The advertising doesn’t even show the wide array of fashionable frames that are available these days; not one single pair of eyeglasses is visible in the entire commercial. This is classified as “lifestyle advertising” by a company that obviously doesn’t realize vision loss is a lifestyle for many, particularly older adults living with an assortment of ocular diseases and disorders. 

    Instead, they poke fun at its target market. 

    The optics are not good. 

    It is not humorous. 

    I see, regularly, an optometrist and ophthalmologist(s) for testing and treatment. My vision changes, often with varied symptoms, and I switch up my eyeglasses continually. 

    I, surely, won’t be visiting Specsavers when it comes time for a new pair of spectacles. I can’t see my way to visiting an optical chain that purposely chooses to offend a growing segment of the marketplace. I’m sure I am not alone. 

    © 2023 j.g. lewis 

     

  • gentle dishonesty

            Moments hardly seem forgotten,  
            hidden beneath grief and deceit,  
    unknowingly present and accounted for. Reminders; 
    a receipt of relationships bought and paid for  
       with the gentle dishonesty  
          of indirect falsehoods. 
              We lie to one another, yet
               rely on each other to uphold the truths  
               which once seemed so consequential. 
                   We don’t talk like we used to, or even at all. 
        When did we tire of each other’s voices? 
                     How would we know? 
    © 2023 j.g. lewis 

     

  • why it is so

    Subjective or suggestive, visually,
    physically, experimentally accounting for
    a specific period of time.
    Inevitably art confronts the realities faced
    to the point where we are allowed a view
    beyond what is presented to why it is so.

    More complicated than mathematics, as
    simple as politics, lines converging into
    our present from past
    misunderstandings. Can you not see
    or hear the tonal range, words dripping
    from a page? Open your mind.

    A camera recording what is not always there
    but should be. Possibility or probability,
    classic or contemporary.
    This is art. Representational mystery,
    soothing reckless souls, enraptured and
    necessary to deal with the pain of life itself.

    © 2023 j.g. lewis 

  • Signs Are Everywhere

    As Black Friday approaches, our thoughts turn to consumerism and, perhaps, lining up at the malls to get the best deals and lowest prices on items we desire. 
       Or not. 
       We are entering the season of giving, the time of year where gifts for friends and family become top of mind, where even an unplanned walk down an unfamiliar street leads into some retail establishment or another. 
       It is also, traditionally, the time of year when appeals from charities find their way into your mailbox or inbox. 
       The signs are everywhere. 
       I walked through Toronto’s Dundas Square the other day, actually on my way to pick up a small gift for my daughter, when I noticed the electronic advertising looming large over the streets. 
    20% of your neighbours are facing hunger
       The billboard, over the next few minutes, flashed statistics and facts about the current state of food insecurity in my city. 
       Hunger and homelessness; the necessities of life are lacking. 
       The signs are everywhere. Panhandlers here and there along the sidewalks, shelters filled to capacity, news reports on just how bad life is for many right now in this fractured world and uncertain economy, with the ebb and flow of our currencies, continual price increases and bankruptcies. 
       Everything indicates everybody will be spending less on gift-giving this holiday season. 
       We all feel it personally. How can we not? 
       The appeals from charities have not let up over the past year. It is no longer a “seasonal thing”. 
       Hunger is an issue everywhere, all the time. 
       You see and hear it on the global news. 
       Locally, we feel it even more. 
       The food drives for the unfortunate are unforgiving, and necessary. 
       This electronic billboard, smack dab in the middle of similar signs promoting the latest fashions and must-have devices, drives the point home. 
       I know the intent of the advertising is not to guilt you into giving, but I can’t help but feeling remorse, or shame. Or helpless 
       Recent reports indicate there have been 2.53 million food bank visits in Toronto this year alone, a 51 per cent increase year-over-year and the highest annual surge ever reported. 
       Locally, 30% of food bank clients are children and youth under the age of 18. 
       It’s more than sad; it is disgusting. 
       I feel it. 
       I have a warm home and bed to sleep in each night. I know where my next meal is coming from; have an adequately stocked pantry, and leftovers for when I don’t even have to think about cooking. 
       I also know many people in this city, and elsewhere, struggle to put food on the table, and pay rent, and, and. . . etc…, etc … .
       I am fortunate. It is only fair, and only just, that I share some of what I have. In the true spirit of the season, I intend to give more this season, to increase what I have donated to a few select charities over the year. 
       I must; I am able to do so. 
       If you are able to give, do so.  
       Please. We need to care more for each other.
       This time of year, especially in a year like this, charity (and need) is so close to home. 

  • less than yesterday

     

    This day, unlike others before (except yesterday), showed much 

    less promise than possibility. I succumbed to my inner rhythm,  

    inconsistent and less palpable than days previous, doing slightly  

    more than nothing of consequence. Productivity can be such an 

    immeasurable notion, and one I do not feel today (slightly less  

    than yesterday). After the fact, I find it far less distressing than  

    depressive. I can only concern myself with what will become of  

    this restless, repressive malady, neither curious nor causative. I  

    fumbled my way through today, and likely will tomorrow. My  

    ever-present tension: present tense. The past comes rushing back. 

    Deadlines mean so little when you’re not paying attention to time. 

    © 2023 j.g. lewis