works by w.pham

works by william pham, 2005-present

The Great Deep Black

We walked through the Barnes and Nobles bookstore side-by-side, though not exactly so; sometimes she stood half a step in front, sometimes half a step behind. We scanned the aisles of expensive hardcover art books; we crouched and stood, flipped and skimmed and turned heavy pages, and marveled at process, design, and the absurdity of Dadaism (the Dadaism of Dadaism?).

"This would make a great present, don't you think?" she asked, holding a seventy-five dollar book featuring celebrity photography. "Ooh, Scarlett!"

"Definitely," I said, and smiled. "He'll like it for sure."

We made decisions, and walked through aisles holding a seventy-five dollar book featuring celebrity photography, and a book about Camille Pissarro.

"Who's Camille Pissarro? His stuff kinda looks like...Cézanne's," I said. Art was not my forte. I was the one who had brought up Dadaism; a short story, or an article, somewhere, had mentioned Dadaist installations. She had directed me to the books about toilet seat sculptures and ready-made art, Marcel Duchamp and Tristan Tzara.

I felt desperate for Wikipedia. If I were alone, who knows what would have happened. Ignorance, I think, is very frightening. I once went on a field trip in elementary school to an intricate underground cavern, guided by thin rails down narrow steps made of steel grating and supported by what my imagination supposed was cardboard, tissue paper, or maybe balsawood. When we, our class of maybe forty or fifty fifth- and sixth-graders, arrived at a landing that overlooked the vast darkness of the cavern's interior, we were instructed to stand very still, and then our tour guide turned off the artificial lights.

Wrapped in the great deep black, I had rarely been more afraid. It was an all-encompassing sense of not-knowing, like the anxiety of being called on in high school without knowing the answer taken to an exponential level, expanded upon to the thousandth, or ten thousandth, degree.

"He was actually Cézanne's mentor, you know. He's really famous."

"But not like, Cézanne famous." I'm not sure why I was being stubborn. I was the one being, briefly, guided through a slice of the early history of Impressionism.

"I think he's just as famous. They're both really well-known."

"Well, I've never heard of Pissarro, but I've heard of Cézanne, and I don't know anything about art, when it comes down to it. I can probably count the number of times I've been to a museum or art gallery with my own two hands."

She allowed me my small, meaningless victory. "I guess you're right. They're both famous, but Cézanne is slightly more famous."

I silently thanked her for it. We moved on to the self-help section on relationships to browse the titles. Why? "For fun, of course!" she had said.

She looked around the corner of the aisle to make sure no one was there. It might have been awkward to read self-help book titles aloud while there were people around, people who actually wanted to purchase a self-help book without being embarrassed by invincible twenty-somethings. I looked around the corner too. There was someone there, an older woman walking casually through the aisle. We ducked back around the corner and grinned at each other.

When the coast was clear, we entered the jungle, machetes in hand, so to speak.

A sampling of our selections, in no particular order:

AdDICKted: 12 Steps to Kicking Your Bad Boy Habit
Stop Being the String Along: A Relationship Guide to Being THE ONE
Help!: I'm Living with a Man(Boy)
Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl - A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship
Inner Bitch Guide to Men, Relationships, Dating, Etc.
Marry Yourself First! Saying "I Do" to a Life of Passion, Power, and Purpose

We looked at the titles, picked out favorites and pointed them out to each other, and laughed conspiratorially but not too loudly. We didn't want to offend, shame, or hurt anyone with our little adventure. But we felt ourselves to be above these books. She did not need a "woman's guide to holding her own in a relationship" and I did not need a twelve-step guide on how to "kick my bad boy habit." I was young, and dreamt of becoming a writer; I was not a heartbreaker. I thought to myself, as we moved away from the relationship section, that if I ever needed money badly enough, I could write a self-help book without too much trouble.

Writing Successful Self-Help and How-To Books

1. Use lots of alliteration.
2. Exclamations are always better than anything else.
3. In fact, use both alliteration and exclamation in copious amounts. Together, at the same time, and excessively, if you really want to write a blockbuster.

But after the first three steps, I drew a blank on what else I would write about. I simply wasn't experienced enough in needing or giving help. I'm probably about as qualified to write self-help books as I am to hunt swordfish with spears or analyze soil samples from Mars -- which is to say, not at all.

In the end, we decided to stick to the art book purchases.

Maybe someday, though, I'll write a self-help book. It will be called:

Sometimes the Great Deep Black Can Be All Right: How to Turn Fear and Frustration Around in Four Easy Steps!

I'm not really sure what those four easy steps are, but I'm sure I'll figure them out eventually.