Gord Is Dead

...or more like slightly singed.

2011-06-30T15:48:00.001-04:00

A photobooth image an hour or so after...

So much going on these days. So much to be grateful for. So much that I am still waiting on. So many people that are reaching out. So much great work to see, to discover, to absorb, to create.

This past weekend, I just about electrocuted myself. I had been warned. I was being careful. But obviously, I wasn’t careful enough. The electrician I spoke to about this whole episode tells me I am lucky to be here. And while I feel fine, for which I am exceedingly grateful, I still don’t really know exactly how to process such a close call.

So, my lovely girlfriend and my family and I are moving back into Richmond after the past some years living in the sticks of Goochland. And while working at the new place this weekend I was clearing a stand of bamboo along with my son, Walker, and his brother, Luke. Luke was working the chainsaw and I was handling the falling shoots and Walker was hitting the stumps with an earth unfriendly potion. These bamboo were probably twenty-five or thirty feet tall and it turns out this is quite high enough to reach the rear service electrical lines behind our new place. I did mention I had been warned about this, right? When we bought the house, the inspector had said that this was a problem and to get a licensed landscaper or electrician or someone qualified to handle this sort of problem. Someone made entirely of rubber maybe? We had been working a few hours on this particular task and had made our way down about half the stand without any incident to speak of when one of the taller bamboo swayed the wrong way and had to bend around another leaning bamboo and of course sent the branches of the tree I was holding on an arc towards the wires above.

The buzzing wires above.

Something was going terribly wrong. Hard to say exactly how this relative instant unfolded but it definitely expanded into a broad stretch of “this might be how it all ends”... A lot was going on and even my comprehension of the event seemed to ramp up with a furious, if reckless, brand of energy. Something had exploded. Maybe my elbows had exploded? I was certain there was an event and I needed very badly to recoil from whatever was happening to me. I needed to cover up somehow. But I was fixed in place and I was vibrating or shaking furiously. Quaking might describe it. The rhythm of my rapid reverberation was a clue of some sort but I couldn’t quite figure anything out. Thinking was difficult. Maybe Luke was sawing into my legs with the chainsaw? But my legs didn’t really hurt it seemed. So what was happening then? It seemed that everything was coursing through my arms and chest and head. My body was stressed unbelievably, flexing, surging… All I managed to get out by way of “help” or “don’t touch me” was a sort of muted growl.

In fact, I am not sure if I managed to release the bamboo or if it shifted in my grip… but I did break free somehow. And I was standing there still. Looking at my son, and at Luke, wondering what had just taken place. It took a moment for me to collect my thoughts, check out my various systems. I felt pretty good. I was a little shaken but I felt pretty good really. And I stomped around a bit. My arms still had a thrum to them and my head was a little bleary but I have certainly felt worse before.

Luke said he had been getting ready to kick me free as he realized what was happening. He is such a solid guy, I have to say. And has more sense than me. But he really hadn’t had the time to react and I am glad he didn’t put himself into the mix. The whole episode took probably a single second. And I am not quite sure how I managed to bail on my incipient electrocution because after this eternal instant, the bamboo remained quietly, threateningly, still in place, barely reaching but solidly attached to the overhead wires. Some 30,000 volts of light your home. 30,000 volts of fuck you up. 30,000 quarts of electric jungle juice.

Could it be this stand of bamboo was not terribly happy about our mission to take it out? We had challenged the wrong stand of trees it seemed. People are always talking about how hard it is to get rid of bamboo. But no one tells you what a wicked thicket it really is.

I had been wearing rubber soled boots, so I suspect that when I tried to guide the bamboo with both hands as it fell, I must have completed a circuit of some kind. Being thoroughly sweaty from a few hours of working probably didn’t help matters much either. No matter how it actually transpired, or how poor my judgment had been, I am counting myself fortunate to have walked away from this particular episode. I am blessed even. And I am happy to write about it. I would be happy for such a tale to serve as a warning to others. But I also have to ask how it is that I am the only poor sap that I know of personally who has nearly frittered himself on those lines hanging a mere 20 some feet above pretty much every backyard in urban anywhere? Twenty feet is not so out of reach for a lot of innocent activities. That is probably the length, give or take, of many, many extension ladders, or telescoping pool cleaning poles and is certainly not much higher than most tree houses or rooftops… I guess it happens that people die regularly because the utilities are so quick to warn us before digging and to be careful around downed wires, etc… but damn, I had never given those innocuous exposed wires much thought.

I think about them now.

Later that night, over a beer at dinner, with Carrie and the boys, I thought about all the close calls in my life. In anyone’s life. The near misses, the nerve warping dodge around a deer, the swerving drivers in other cars, that precarious misstep while climbing or hiking, or when hearing the next day about the senseless violence that happened just down the block… Things are happening all the time. Tears are shed. Promises shattered. But near misses happen too thankfully. And then sets in the unsettling relief and all the grateful promises when you realize that you have just dodged a bullet. Actually, I guess that one grazed me a little. And I am happy to say that I think that may have been the closest call I have had in my forty –five years. Something will get me at some point. And so be it. But for now… woo hoo!

I am not completely certain but I may now have slightly enhanced paranormal abilities. But then I also put my underwear on backwards the day after so it all sort of evens out you could say.

Life goes on. And I do intend to make the best of it. Much love to all. And it would probably be better not to tell my mom about this.

Gita Lenz Exhibition at Gitterman Gallery

2010-09-30T18:20:00.007-04:00

Last week, we went up to New York for the exhibition opening of Gita Lenz and the book release party for Candela Books first release, Gita Lenz: Photographs.

The reception was great. A lot of people made it out to the gallery, we sold a bunch of books and all in all it was a really good time. We had hoped to get Gita out to the show but when we visited her, it was too rough on her just moving her around the nursing home really. On Tuesday, Timothy and I visited her for about four hours and it was the most lively I had seen her in a long time. We took her outside to the garden but she was too cold in the breeze, so we moved back into the lobby. We went through the book a couple of times and Gita was pretty animated by the whole experience. Towards the end of our visit, when she seemed to be getting tired, she asked a couple of times "Who took these pictures?" She wasn't looking at the book though and was asking about the windows in front of her and the scene outside. It was a strange moment. Sort of poignant... We would repeat to her that what she was seeing was the world out side, to which she would say... "hmmm."

On Wednesday, the day of the opening, Carrie and Woody and I went back by the nursing home and had another nice visit. We only stayed maybe an hour and a half or so as she was less energetic than the day before. But she had a nice visit and we got to sit outside as the weather was maybe ten degrees warmer or so. When we left, we were sad to be heading out to her exhibition without her but the truth of it is that she wouldn't have remembered it the next day and the trip would have been too painful.

The show was great though and by the opening, several photographs had already sold. It is nice to see our effort and belief in this project is being validated a little bit. And it is very cool to see Gita begin to receive some recognition finally, long overdue as it is.

The Gita Lenz Book Has Landed

2010-08-20T03:28:00.001-04:00

The first published offering has arrived minty fresh to Candela Books international headquarters. And it looks great. 100 pages, beautiful tritones, spot-varnishs, printed by the good folks at Meridian Printing and designed by my good friends at Scout Design.

The book release party and exhibition reception is next month in New York at Gitterman Gallery.. The Candela website. will soon be commercial ready. I delivered a book yesterday to Gita and though the visit was a poignant one, she really does love looking at her photography. It is strange to say but after so much work on the book, I am only half done with the project. Now to get it out into the world...

Upcoming NY Exhibition

2009-12-22T10:42:00.005-05:00

image copyright Gordon Stettinius

Passing this along. I am excited to be showing in New York next month though I am a little stymied by all that needs to be done between now and then... but it will be done.

Exhibition runs from January 20th - February 28th, 2010

Opening Reception will be Wednesday, January 20th
from 5:30 to 8:30pm

(from the RRG press release...)

The Robin Rice Gallery is pleased to present the exhibition of photography by Gordon Stettinius.

In his new body of work, Gordon Stettinius presents Notes From US Route 1. This collection of color and sepia toned images, lies somewhere between Robert Frank’s, The Americans and Alec Soth’s, Sleeping Along the Mississippi. Stettinius has given us a memorable and clear eyed meditation upon the American road trip and a particular moment in time, awash with motels, roadhouses, wanderers, and characters that would have to be included in any modern back road odyssey.

Stone Crab Traps, Florida, featured on the exhibition announcement, is indicative of the power of observation that Stettinius possesses for his surroundings. The simplicity of the composition is underwritten with an incredible amount of detail and a sensual presence and becomes an image that is understood immediately but then refuses to let go.

In another image taken at The State Fair in Virginia, Bottle Tree portrays a tree in the foreground adorned with wine and liquor bottles set against a red and white striped circus tent. His expert handling of color, line, and frame creates a statement piece that evokes thoughts of both the carnival and restless energy of its gin-soaked revelers.

David, Kingsville Maryland, shows a poetic yet un-glamorized view of a man dragging a larger than life wood cross with a backpack tied to it. Stettinius takes this subject and not only looks but also assimilates him to a modern semi-Christ. His images are more than an anthropological examination they’re an intimate experience between a photographer and his chosen subject.

Stettinius’ work reveals in real-time what Ronald Barthes called the reality effect in 19th century art, making the content chosen relatable to all viewers, even out of context. None of his visuals are arbitrary, nor are they staged. Stettinius takes all of his subjects and brings their intrinsic meaning to the forefront; he has a true understanding of and respect for the power of the visual, the power of suggestion.

Gordon Stettinius lives and works in Richmond, Virginia. His undergraduate degrees in Art & History are from the University of Virginia and he is currently taking a year off from teaching in the Art Department at Virginia Commonwealth University to start an independent publishing company focusing on fine art photography primarily. Gordon has exhibited his work nationally and internationally and is one of this years recipient of the Theresa Pollak Award for Excellence in the Arts. His work has been featured commercially on book jackets, CD covers, and national magazines as well as being represented in various public and private collections. This is his third solo show at the Robin Rice Gallery.

For more information or printable images please contact Robin Rice at (212) 366-6660 or email info@robinricegallery.com All the additional images of this new work can be found on our website at www.robinricegallery.com.

U.S. Route 1 Project promo [1 of 6]

2009-12-05T12:33:00.014-05:00

I have just put together a leave behind, a trifold promo card, for the U.S. Route 1 project. Essentially what I will be using in reviews and meetings and such trying to get the word out I guess you might say. Have been working on other cards also. More to come...

U.S. Route 1 Project promo [2 of 6]

2009-12-05T12:33:00.013-05:00

This is one facet of a trifold card with normal boilerplate contact info and five images on it... I needed something more than a single image card because there are no images that stand in for such a varied collection of work...

U.S. Route 1

2009-11-16T08:21:00.009-05:00

Stone Crab Traps, Florida
copyright Gordon Stettinius

This past summer I started a new project documenting U.S. Route 1 from Canada to Key West. Essentially, i drove the whole length of road... which runs some 2,300+ miles. The road hits a number of significant metro areas... starting in Richmond, Virginia of course; Baltimore; Philadelphia; Washington D.C.; New York City (through the Bronx), Boston; Miami; Jacksonville; New
Haven; and more. And so the road is part scenic and part sobering reality really and the idea of doing a photo survey seems to me a bit over-reaching. I feel as though I have gone to the ocean and having been impressed I irrationally decided to try to bring it back to the studio.

But... the die is cast as they say. Or the buns burned maybe. So, while I am not sure I am completely finished shooting the project and there are a few things that might still add complexion or color or integrity... I am definitely sitting on top of a mountain of interesting work which is in dire need of sober editing. The first opportunity to exhibit the work is coming up in January 2010 at Robin Rice Gallery, so I am definitely crackling along right now. And I will be showing the work also here in Richmond eventually at Page Bond Gallery though that hasn't been specifically scheduled as yet. And I hope to add additional galleries to the schedule as well and have, I am thinking, at least one other likely exhibition in the works.

I haven't decided how much of the work to put online just yet. For the moment, I am trying to figure out what a show might look like versus how a book might look. There is a lot of analog (film) work and there is a whole lot of digital work. So, the immediate learning curve for me is trying to determine how I want to output the digital work but those are coming along really well. So, more images and information to come as I catch up with the darkroom side of things...

And if you should have a pithy title for the project then let her rip. I am still not quite sure what I want to go with. Whether I want to go with something simple and explicit like "U.S. Route 1 Project" or something more poetic like "The Long and Crinkly Thread of Time and Transportation" or maybe something more cryptic like "Cobalt Wails of Ecstacy" or... Any suggestions would be appreciated.

Was able to visit with Gita last week...

2009-05-18T19:22:00.008-04:00

Visit with Gita; part 1
Originally uploaded by eyecaramba

I was in New York for a few days last week and had the opportunity to visit with Gita Lenz and give to her a blurb book we produced of her work. I have been working with her images for a couple of years now and we have managed a fairly decent book dummy courtesy of Blurb, though the quality is not quite what I would have liked. Because the print quality of Gita's work is very, very good and the work has suffered a bit with our initial attempts at self producing the work, we are looking into a better published book and will start to get the word out about that very soon.

There are other videos over at Flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/eyecaramba/

Also there is more about this project over at gitalenz.blogspot.com

Toy Cameras; A Personal History

2009-02-22T14:04:00.010-05:00

Victor, circa 1990
copyright Gordon Stettinius

Prompted by a question found at Four Corners Dark, a blog by photographer Nic Nichols, essentially asking how it is a person might come to embrace the nature of toy camera photography.

So, here, I reminisce...

The year was 1990 and I was a mere pup, still wet behind the gear. Back then, I spent most of my days, skipping innocently around, making photos of cacti or stoner friends or reflected light and shadows that felt, to me, like poetry, which I would then accompany – of course! - with mindblowing poetry. Very questionable mindblowing poetry. These were my salad days… living in Tucson, a geographic misanthrope of a town in which I landed bright eyed and by accident. A town with a history of lawlessness, desperate characters, a place danced upon by shimmering visions riding upon throat clenching heat and dust and spelled by the fleeting relief of monsoons and mescal, a place of high desert and mountains and dealers and thieves and siestas and All Souls and cultural renegades… at the foot of the black hill, a dormant volcano… But the place was then, and remains, a very generous homeland to photographers. A beautiful place really. There has always been there a healthy subpopulation of imagemakers, and many institutions and galleries of the town still genuflect before the silver altar of fixed imagery.

My gear, then, in the year of my random relocation, consisted of a Nikon FM2 with a couple of lenses and an old Rolleiflex TLR I had bought the year before in San Francisco, from a time when I had been busy kicking the training wheels off my liberal ideology. I still have and use these cameras today but I was newly open to any kind of suggestions because I very much enjoyed mixed media work – painting, drawing, printmaking - and wasn’t really averse to new experiences. As Vonnegut said, “Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.” And road trips and photography were my church so to speak.

The actual moment of my discovering toy camera photography was a fairly prosaic one. I saw a hand written flyer, made a phone call, met a man on the north side of town who claimed to be holding and we made the exchange beneath a purple sky in a Circle K parking lot. It was a small cardboard package, plastic wrapped goods, smelling slightly of laudanum and black earth. Cost me ten dollars. A dime bag. And it was highly addictive. A Holga. I have probably purchased 200 or more of these since that first night, so many cameras I have used myself or have given out to students and friends… the first one is usually free just to give them a taste. But I know that a black passion will infect most of them… and that they in turn will spread the word about a good buzz… and I am twisted up inside with pleasure at the thought.

The Holga immediately required a great deal of attention. I found that I wanted to use it daily. I tried other cameras around this time as well. Somehow, something had been cut loose inside of me and if something like the Holga could be out there, then there might be other cameras, better cameras even, out there and waiting to be used, waiting to lend their own distorted ripple upon the waters of recorded imagery. I tried a few of the bakelite Brownies and they tasted pretty good and mushed up my reality for days at a time. A friend of mine was pushing homemade pinhole cameras pretty hard about then and this too had a nice drunken pictorial undertone… I was quick to try anything really. But the Holga was the first toy, cheap, easy camera that had any real sustained effect. I was loaned a Diana, soon after, by a friend and there was a camera that also had a kick, a soft and subtle claret note… this one, I knew, would be an interesting fix.

Finding a Diana of my own was going to be a trick though. They were not common, there was not yet an internet or ebay or any big box corporate markup refab retail store. I had to deal with another somewhat shady character to get my first one but Mr. Bubbles was good for several others after that. Bubbles ran an antique outfit on Congress called Used Cars. Mostly this guy would troll the southwest looking for neon signage to resell to the Japanese for extraordinary profit. But he was a photographer in his own right and tended to pick up all the photographic whatnot he encountered as he traveled around in his pickup plus trailer. One day, I was hanging out in the shop, surrounded by missile casings and bumper cars and gramophones and all manner of disheveled temporal castoffs talking up my ten dollar Holga while making a portrait of Victor, Bubbles’ real name, when he broke out with a box of recent acquisitions to see if I might have any interest. And there it was. A Diana. I had only just learned of the camera a few weeks earlier. Five dollars was all he asked for the first one and probably thought he was screwing me pretty. Once Victor realized I would buy any Diana or knock off he could find, he marked them up pretty quickly. But the damage was done and I had a small stable of about six or so Dianas, a couple of Holgas plus my old gear. I was using pretty much all the time by then.

Ironically, when I managed a trip back east to see my family later that year… I discovered in my parent’s upstairs closet… a minty Windsor clone. My parents were users! It was a pretty delicious moment for me. Grounding even, to realize that my own subversive tendencies came from somewhere else. I am free to blame my parents for fuck sakes! And that is pretty much the american dream I sometimes think. And so, that very Windsor became the lead camera for a while, at least until I melted it in a regrettable Volkswagen camper episode. And then others took its place.

And now, almost twenty years later, life goes on but I still thrill to see all these new converts to the old siren song and it warms my black plastic heart to see it. It is funny, really, that the experiments with other photo substances continue for me but the hook of the cheap stuff still appeals.

Sincerely,

Gordon S.

a.k.a.

Another friend of Nancy R.

a.k.a.

Eye Caramba

a.k.a.

Gringo Starr

101 Things To Do In 1001 Days

2009-01-07T08:46:00.033-05:00

Take 2

copyright Gordon Stettinius, Terry Brown

Because I feel like I could use a little self-improvement. I have put togther a list of goals for the next 1001 days. Originally, this idea comes from triplux, who has started a movement of sorts, it would seem, as there are a lot of these lists out there.

For the record, this is my second attempt at making such a list. My first attempt was fairly successful in that I knocked off about half the list and managed a few things that I may not have without the ongoing reminder. And before you castigate me for my blatant pandering to my own self-interest, I would like you to take a long look in the mirror and then, give yourself a big hug because you are truly o.k.. I mean that.

Anyway, this is not simply a list. This is big picture stuff. This is man-making, life-fulfilling, by-the-balls-grabbing stuff. And I am commencing directly. Living at the behest of a pure and unadulterated mania.

Completion Date: October 4th, 2011

The Criteria: Tasks are ideally specific (i.e. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks should also be realistic and a bit off-task from the regular routine (i.e. represent some amount of work which must be done).

1. Write Something Meaningful (2/3)
~ 2. Go to a Drive In
~ 3. Each Room, Five things to Charity
4. Go to a Comedy Club (1/2)
5. Picnic Three Times (2/3)
6. Scuba Dive
7. Two Day Fast (1/3)
8. Get Myself Set Up to Weld
9. Get Rejected 24 times (11/24)
~ 10. Finish Book About Gita Lenz
~ 11. Exhibition for Gita Lenz
~ 12. Give Blood
13. Travel Somewhere by Train
14. Make Short Film
~ 15. Clean Garage
16. Get Photo Book Published
~ 17. Training for a Certain Dog (…and she knows she is. )
~ 18. Go to the theatre five times (5/5)
19. Visit Mexico City
20. Visit Spain
~ 21. Visit Boston
~ 22. Visit Fallingwater
23. Take Dance lessons
24. Paint a portrait
~ 25. Show Work in Three New Cities (3/3)
~ 26. Frame five Photos Collected from Other Photographers (8/5)
27. Frame a new drawing
~ 28. Buy Art (5/3)
29. Barter/Trade Artwork (3/5)
30. Submit Images to Blind Spot
31. Submit Images to Aperture
~ 32. Read five Books Recommended by five Friends
~ 33. Get a physical / G.I. exam or whatever you call it
34. New Volunteer Gig ( Habitat 4 Humanity or new / different )
~ 35. Go Snowboarding
36. Return to Bonnaroo
~ 37. Organize My Old Writings
38. Write / Record a song
39. Begin Family interviews
~ 40. Spend the day walking
41. Spend the day biking
42. Go to Southside Speedway
43. Attend services / visit a Mosque
~ 44. Support the Farmer’s Market
45. Make Homemade Beer / Wine
~ 46. Re-establish Garden
47. Public Karaoke
48. Run a half marathon (or better)
~ 49. Photograph/Interview a Psychic
50. Go Horseback Riding
~ 51. Go to a Vikings game
52. Burning Man
53. Spend Day with Dad
54. Spend Day with Mom
55. Spend day with Brother
56. Spend Day with Sister
~ 57. Get House Painted
58. Cook for Eight people (2/3)
59. Write a Children's Book
60. Collaborate with Another Artist (2/3)
~ 61. Go Ice Skating
62. Walker's Mix #7, #8, #9
63. Firefly
64. Paint or Buy Vintage or Vintage Style Backdrops (0/2)
65. Throw a Party (1/2)
66. Crash a Party (0/2)
~ 67. Get Together a Promotional Something (4/3)
68. Bake Yeasted Bread (0/3)
69. Go Camping (1/3)
70. Make Sushi
71. Don't Speak for an Entire Day
~ 72. Celebrate Solstice
73. Write Thank You Note to Former Teacher
~ 74. Locate an Old Friend (Actually, Real World) (3/3)
~ 75. Find / Use one of those Deodorant Stones
76. Hot Springs, Somewhere
77. Host a Mystery Dinner
~ 78. Take Yoga Classes
79. Make an Artist’s Book
~ 80. Go Naked
81. Sunday Roadtrip (14/25)
82. Get Photos to Someone Who Has Given up on Them (2/3)
83. Read Five Books I Already Own (3/5)
~ 84. Design / Produce a Small Run of T-shirts
85. Make Pesto (1/3)
86. Sky Dive
87. Take a Class in Ceramics
88. Curate a Toy Camera Show
89. Cirque du Soleil
~ 90. Finish Infinite Jest
~ 91. Find/Make a Quality Lamb or Bear Costume
~ 92. Get some Photo Swag Going (…via CafePress or similar. )
93. Swim in a Lake
94. Organize Family Photos
95. Earth Art or Plan for Empty Field
~ 96. Website Redesign
97. Massage / Accupuncture (2/5)
98. Go to Cuba
99. Go White Water Rafting
~ 100. Re-certify for CPR
101. Make Chile Relleno

Where Trouble Melts Like Lemon Drops...

2009-01-06T10:18:00.013-05:00

Earlier this past year, I did a podcast with the good folks over at Filmwasters.com. I have done a couple of these recorded sessions actually, but will gloss over my debut appearance, because in my ignominious first podcast, I drank a couple of tumblers of Bushmills during the ninety minute episode and by the end of the broadcast it was all I could do not to belt out sea shanties. Anyway, during the second podcast, I referenced something that I still think about a lot… Mary Ellen Mark’s work photographing various Senior Proms. I saw this work last summer at the LOOK Festival of the Photograph in Charlottesville, Virginia. There were a number of featured exhibitions in the festival and some great photography in various venues in town.

James Nachtwey’s exhibition was the most compelling to me as a human. Nachtwey is a photojournalist and war photographer and his website will do more to explain the power of his work than I can ever get across in a quickly crafted internet treatment… his work encompasses the larger issues facing this world: Afganistan, Kosovo, Aids, addiction, life in american prisons, Rwanda and that is all that I can remember off the top of my head of what was a essentially a survey of his work over the years. So, to spin this the right way, let me say that this work blew me away. Choked me up. The images are beautiful and saddening and frightening and worth checking out if you are somehow as yet unfamiliar with his work.

Joel Peter Witken’s exhibition at 2nd Street Gallery was also very compelling in its own right. I must say that I have seen better collections of his work but as a craftsman and as a conceptual artist, Witken is also an amazing personality. The work in here was significant in that there were some digital creations alongside his earlier style of in-camera compositions. Which is really neither here nor there w/r/t what I want to think out loud about, but I thought it interesting to see what Witken was doing with contemporary tools. And the inner cynical adolescent in me was pretty amused by his digital work.

But the work that was most affecting for me was a bit of a dark horse really. I have enjoyed many of Mary Ellen Mark's books and essays over the years. I have a great respect for her as a photographer. And like Nachtwey, she is a renowned photojournalist that has explored very challenging subjects and given us indelible images from all over the world. But what the Prom Portraits did for me was to renew some tired aspect of my own dedication to photography. Because these images came from such a ‘normal’ place… a high school dance… I could imagine myself or any number of my photographer friends being given a similar assignment to photograph. Namely, to make images at some random institutional function. And I can further imagine that prospect , at bottom dollar, would sound about as appealing as a mason jar full of monkey urine. I am not always so jaded but I find that I don’t always approach commercial work with the same enthusiasm as I do personal artwork. And that is my problem. And a problem that this show of prom images is actually helping me with.

The images were not incredibly innovative by most measures… very large prints, probably from 4x5 polaroid pos/neg film, very sharp, studio lighting, simple backdrop… BUT the kids are amazing. There is a modicum of editorial manipulation going on by the artist in that the kids seem a little more toward the margins of ‘average’, what with the gay couple, the mixed race couple, the physically mismatched couple, the dateless kids, etc. And there were other stereotypes that also played nicely, the good looking kids with questionable skin, the oddly fitting clothes like the kids have been stuffed into misshapen adult suits, the awkwardness of standing next to one’s date and forever being associated with that person even though you hardly know them, its all in there… nervousness, lust, tough shit brio, bored indulgence of a photographer that these kids must probably have assumed was a hack straight out ofWalmart. There is a lot going on in these photographs. And so, even though Mark’s photography feels a bit like a humble sequel to Richard Avedon’s In The American West, damn if I didn’t get all excited by the work. These photos make me actually excited to shoot the next boring ass event that comes my way... Can you say weddings! Or maybe bar mitzvahs or kids’ portraits or pet portraits or insurance claim documentation. It just doesn’t fucking matter! It is not what you shoot but how you shoot. It matters what you bring to any given subject. It matters who you are as a photographer. It matters where you are. And it matters that you pay attention. In the moment.

So, to Ms. Mark, thanks for that. I am somewhat renewed even just thinking about it.

A friend once gave me a whole CD of musical covers of Over the Rainbow. And that, too, was really sort of a lesson for me about interpretation. Originality is so often inside the voice and not so much in the concept. Freshness can be tone, color, inflection, cadence, tempo, attitude, character… Traditionals. Covers. There is, of course, no shortage of uninspired interpretations of old standards. If I never hear Mustang Sally played by a bar band ever again, it will be too soon. But with a little insight into how we approach our life and work, we might be able to avoid the tired and commonplace and embrace the crystalline brilliance of the close at hand.

Write what you know.
Photograph what you know.

There is saftey in numbers but it is hard to dance that way without looking like the cast from Thriller.

Charles Traub wrote in a series of maxims on photography:

"Do something new in an old way.
Do something old in a new way.
Do something new in a new way
Whatever works… works."

Just maybe.

A Soupçon of Winter Relief

2009-01-06T09:12:00.002-05:00

What to write… Somali pirates, Gaza rockets, Israeli reprisals, new year’s resolutions, vanity projects, Bonesy the dog, magical powders, unfinished screenplays, upcoming shows, my life of soup… Soup! I have made the following recipe a couple of times in my efforts to knock back the winter months…

A soup recipe from my friend, Kirsten:

Autumn harvest stew

1 medium sized onion, chopped
about 4 cloves garlic, crushed
4 cups vegetable broth, plus water if too thick
one can diced stewed tomatoes
one butternut squash, peeled and cubed
about 3 cups shredded greens (I use combo of kale and chard, etc., etc.)
about 1/3 cup fresh rosemary, finely chopped
2 pkgs baked savory tofu, cubed
about 2 TBSP maple syrup
salt and pepper

mmmm.
in large saucepan, heat olive oil and sauté onions and garlic until softened and fragrant. Add remaining ingredients except salt and pepper. Bring to a slow simmer, cover and reduce heat to low. Cook until squash is cooked through and flavors blended, about 45 minutes to an hour. add salt and pepper.

Serve with unsweetened yogurt or sour cream on top; pine nuts or roasted pumpkin seeds; raisins or chopped dried apricots.

Nobody to blame but my elf.

2008-12-10T15:25:00.002-05:00

Just Take a Little Off the Sides

2008-09-18T08:27:00.004-04:00

copyright Gordon Stettinius

Okay, since I have decided to pimp my blog... I probably should occasionally update it. I have been shooting here and there. A wedding, Best Friends Day, ladies arm wrestling, etc. Pretty much the same old for me. Trying to slip along the margins of things. But also for the last couple of months, I have been doing some self portraiture. Or not exactly self portraiture because I am going to a commercial photo studio for the actual photos. But I have been styling and art directing the shots I guess you could say. It started with a perm I got a couple of months ago. Then I did kind of a private school girl's senior portrait which was sort of a beehive and drag kind of thing. Then I did a Duane Allman meets Bret Michaels sort of thing. Last night I shot a couple more which I will probably put up somewhere before too long. A mullet which, if the character had to be described somehow, would belong to an early nineties fitness instructor perhaps. And then we did a skullet which I hope came off well enough. That one had something of a western theme. Maybe what I should do is write a little fiction piece inventing the character of each photo subject. That might be fun.

Anyway, today, I am off to get a trim to take advantage of my current baldness with a combover and then I will season the look with a spray tan... hopefully a nuclear orange or an unholy umber. So, as always, stay tuned.

Rapture Dollar

2008-08-08T07:56:00.013-04:00

copyright Anonymous Fundamentalist

Here was a pleasant surprise I received in change with a cup of coffee recently. A rapture dollar! If the scan doesn't hold up so well, it reads:

"Rapture May 21, 2011; World Ends Oct 21, 2011"

I am now wishing that I had saved some of the other random altered monies I have received over the years... seems I have seen some Anti Bush Money and some Lesbian Money in years past. But Rapture money raises the bar, in my opinion, and helps put the fun back into fundamentalism.

And now I have a firm deadline for my current project also! Maybe I should pre-sell copies...

Gone Fission

2008-08-06T10:11:00.013-04:00

copyright Gordon Stettinius

August means summer has turned the corner. Life has been really good to us of late. A lot of travel and low stress have made for a pretty good stretch. I had hopes for another trip at the end of summer to Burning Man but just don't think I will be able to swing it with the childcare for such a nine or ten day stretch. And then finding substitutes for my first classes, which while doable, doesn't feel quite right. The theme this year is American Dream which pretty much has me salivating. But... hey, it is only an art+altculture+technology+survival congregation of muses, musicians, artists and majestic offerings, right? Bums me out that I haven't yet made it out there. I had a small crew out of Minnesota I was likely to hook up with but they have decided to stay at home this year so that they might help to artistically subvert this years Republican National Convention. The duties of an artist are not really written down anywhere but I am thinking that creatively tangling with the RNC would be somewhere near the top of the list.

Anyway, an easy recap of the summer breaks down into an extremely busy June with two bigger shows and three group shows... Richmond, Zurich, Charlottesville, New York and somewhere else which I cannot conjure up just now. Which all sounds great apart from the fact that I have almost nothing on the schedule going forward apart from a show next April at Page Bond Gallery.

While my son went to camp for a couple of weeks, I did a roadtrip through the bible belt. Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Missouri more or less. Meditating mostly upon God and barbecue as I was also picking up imagery for a barbecue restaurant job. I am trying to cobble together a body of work that explores the intersection of religion and entertainment. Suggestions are welcomed.

Then my son went to the beach with a friend of his that he plays music with and I took a shorter trip into the hills of North Carolina where I tried my hand at shooting some digital video. Basically, I have three or four somewhat solid video/film ideas but have very little to offer in the way of video/film skills. I am trying to learn a few things while writing/developing these ideas. I feel strange and blustery attempting narrative tale spinning but I may yet break out of my solitary 2-D visual artist groove. More on that maybe or maybe I'll never speak of it again. Do you care though? Are you there even?

And now... a small commercial job is on the schedule. And then also, I am getting ready finally to make some headway with the project involving the photographic work of Gita Lenz. Later this month, a New York gallery owner is coming down to spend a couple of days with her archive - which is really just a large set of shelves in my office - to determine what he would like to take on in terms of a show and potential sales and possible catalog and such. It has been over a year since I have had any movement on this one and I would really like to do something concrete with her work.

Blah, blah, and oh yeah! Working up a self portrait series... will maybe follow up with a few blogposts about that. Not revolutionary mind you but semi entertaining.

Undead Ambitions

2007-11-03T11:00:00.000-04:00

copyright Gordon Stettinius

Saturday morning here. My blog has been coming back to haunt me of late. I have recently had two different people contact me about older, long forgotten loose threads. One person was kindly interested in a long stagnating attempt at some longer fiction and the other person was using my admittedly lifeless blog as an example of solid self promotion ( which made me laugh because the three posts I have managed in the last year or so hardly represent a man on top of his game ).

As for the old writings, it was strange for me that I couldn't remember much about these and so I went and read them with some interest. I have been writing a lot lately and so it was interesting to find someone else, namely me from three years ago, that writes so much like I do. It is kind of like that classic movie, The Lake House, where I am both Keanu Reeves' and Sandra Bullock's characters. Have there ever been two more wooden leading actors in a romantic smarmedy?

So, in this charming tale of misbegotten cross-temporal love shenanigans, Keanu and Sandra carry on a written relationship that involves mostly hockey and mutual masturbation... okay, I never saw this movie actually... but the movie, if the advertising is to be believed had something to do with two people living in the same place and writing letters to each other that somehow travel through a magic mailbox or something such. Which is just like me! But without the paranormal post office bit. Basically, this is all to say that I reread some old stuff and even though I may not resuscitate that specific literary effort - found in January 2005 - I just may breathe a little life into this blog's dead body. Thus the zombie image above - from Richmond's 2007 Zombie Walk.

If you are interested in a recent story, you might hyper your attention on over to Like So Many Broken Toys, which is a little strange something that I sort of enjoy.

Otherwise, I am basically writing a lot these days and though I am going to keep some of it to myself for now, I can certainly see spilling my guts here now and again.

Upcoming Posts May Include:

Suddenly Gordon
Meditations Upon Me
Why I am Significant
Recent Stool Diary Entries
Me, A Primer

...and so much more. Nice to see you again! I know I will have to regain your trust. I want you to like me.

The Long Emergency

2007-06-04T11:39:00.000-04:00

Read this book. I am finding myself repeating myself so often these days because I am continually promoting this book or discussing the concerns that it presents.

Here is a short synopsis of The Long Emergency, by James Howard Kunstler, which was run in Rolling Stone. Basically, it is a chilling collection of thoughts as we turn the corner in our ability to pull oil out of the ground and what that may mean for everything from the suburbs to transportation to alternative energy to medicine to agriculture to social and political landscapes...

Also, I have recently read The Ominvore's Dilemma , by Michael Pollan, which serves up an effective indictment against large scale agriculture and what passes for diet and nutrition in this day and age.

Usually, I read fiction and am an escapist by nature but these books, and a couple others recently read, have me rethinking a lot of things. My son went vegetarian about five or six months ago and so I am really overhauling my efforts in the kitchen and have established a fairly ambitious garden at our new house. I am now vegetarian myself, though I will eat seafood on occasion, and though I don't much miss the meat, I do miss the variety of dishes but I have picked up a lot of new wrinkles in my cooking repertoire.

Naked Pilgrim ~ Opening Friday, April 6th

2007-04-01T13:55:00.000-04:00

Here is the exhibition announcement for a show I have opening this week at 1708 Gallery in Richmond, Virginia. There is an opening reception this coming Friday should any of you be in the area for any reason. It will be Good Friday in fact which was coincidental but seems perfect somehow given the amount of religion in the show and the Naked Pilgrim theme.

This is the cover to the catalog for the show. The flip side gives the other artist, Gareth Jones, top billing and the book pages in both directions.

Gita Lenz, Project Begins

2007-01-23T09:13:00.000-05:00

copyright Gita Lenz

Last week, I met with my interns for the first time, to begin the project of conserving and organizing the work of photographer Gita Lenz. Below, is a very loose chronology of her life as I understand it so far. There are some large holes but right now we are trying to read through old correspondence and notes and pay stubs, etc. in hopes of pulling together a better understanding of Gita's life.

Anyway, here is the Chronology:

Gita Lenz, Photographer, Writer

Born Gertrude Maslow October 9, 1910 to Louis Maslow (seamstress) and Yetta Youkeles (piano teacher), in New York City. Parents immigrants from Ukraine. One younger brother who later died in car accident in Los Angeles (date unknown).

Married George Zoul, a Czech immigrant, in mid 1930’s. He was a communist and later joined the Lincoln Brigade with whom he went to Spain in late 30’s to fight against Franco. He was shot in combat and was buried in Spain.

Married Richard Lenz in 1940. Marriage lasted 18 months or so.

Moved to 65 Carmine, in the East Village, in 1940. Lived there until October 2001.

Some correspondence with Mel Most (died 1990) a foreign correspndent and PR agent.

Friends with:

Julien Beck, founder of the Living Theatre
Bayard Rustin, a prominent civil rights and worker activist
William Packard, poet and playwright, founder of NY Quarterly
Aaron Siskind, photographer

Part of Brooklyn Museum photography show titled ‘The Third Eye’ in 1952
Part of MOMA ‘The Family of Man’ show
Published in ‘Modern Photography’ monthly periodical in a few issues early 1950’s.

Held odd temp jobs entire working career. I think was an officer with “NY Quarterly” from inception in the early 1970’s Wrote poetry and studied under William Packard in 60’s / 70’s.

Was interested in socialism and anarchism as it applied in the 30’s through 1960’s.

Only known travels were to Mexico in 1960’s (?)

Gita Lenz, Photographer

2006-11-26T12:09:00.000-05:00

copyright Gita Lenz

Short story...

A friend of mine who lives in New york, called me a year or so ago and said that he was helping a friend of his into an assisted living situation. He said that she was a photographer and he thought a very good one. His friend's name is Gita Lenz and I had met her about four years ago at an opening for a show I had in New York in 2002. She is beautiful really. I made the trip to New York to take a look at the work and see what my friend had in mind. Gita has boxes of work, boxes of negatives, correspondence, the whole thing. It is a life in images. Well, actually we feel that she might not have been a photographer for much of her life. But the images are likely from the late forties and into the sixties. Since Gita was moving out of her place, we needed a place to store the work. Ultimately, we decided that I would make a good temporary home for them in Virginia.

So, jump to the present and I recently checked in with Gita again up in New York while taking down a recent show. She really is amazingly sharp and funny. I have begun to do some editing with the work and I took a lot of images up to her so that she could see them and talk about them and basically just to visit with her. It was very cool to see how much she enjoyed the photos.

For me, visiting with her, looking at the work, it stirs up all kinds of thoughts. Why is it we do what we do? When we are gone, is anyone really going to care? Gita has an amazing range of work... street stuff, abstracts, experimental images, portraits of artist / dancer types, documentary work. She was a student of Aaron Siskind's, she was in the landmark 'Family of Man' exhibition in 1955. She was also a published poet. And yet, here is her work, in boxes, in some random guy's house that she has only met a couple of times and the work is still trying to get noticed. It kind of tears me up really.

Anyway, I have only just begun trying to figure out what to do with the work but I will try to keep this online diary going because I think it will be an interesting trek. For next spring, I have a couple of interns from the University where I am teaching and hopefully they will help me get further along. Ultimately, I hope to get together some tight portfolios and see them accessioned into notable photo archives or appropriate museums. Then, if we can put together enough of the story, I could imagine a book might also be a possibility...

So, more later on Gita.

Holy Land U.S.A.

2006-06-20T10:38:00.000-04:00

Holy Land U.S.A.
taken with Diana Camera

I took this a few weeks ago on Memorial Day. Was disappointed to see that the park was closed for renovations or something such but then while walking around I found this and it made my day. Sorry for the lack of updating but I have been working hard lately, trying to get my work done and actually have a lot of new images to get to. Hopefully, Gord is Dead may, somewhat ironically, come back to life...

Toy Camera Print Auction - Katrina Benefit

2005-09-07T13:38:00.000-04:00

Butterfly, 2004
taken with Diana Camera

Here is the image that I have donated for an Online Katrina Relief Benefit Auction in conjunction with other contributors at toycamera.com and thanks to the efforts of Susan Burnstine. This is an excellent opportunity to collect signature images by internationally reknowned toy camera photographers and do a small something to help others as well.

Go to the Online Auction Page to place your bids!

Many thanks, Susan!

All Roads

2005-07-29T09:07:00.000-04:00

Hand of Constantine
taken with Diana Camera

Sorry for the lack of updates but I have been on a couple of trips back to back and then haven't been doing much scanning / blogging this summer. The first trip was more of a camping trip with some rockclimbing thrown in and the second was a trip to Italy, kind of short but excellent. So, bear with me as I will probably draw out these images over the next couple of weeks. I did have a toy camera peculiar malady infect one of my Diana cameras. A light leak happened in a camera that previously had been light tight. So, I lost a number of images to a strangely shaped distraction but such is life with plastic cameras I guess. Most of the film was alright actually though as I had a second Diana with me. I am not believing this is terribly interesting but am just rationalizing to myself how I have so few worthy images after visiting such an amazing place.

Which reminds me of another trip, many years back where I shot up a lot of film and the images, while technically okay, were not very lively. I have started to believe that taking pictures as a tourist is a pretty challenging proposition. The severe gravitation of 'postcard' vistas coupled with the shallow comprehension of life's energies in a strange environment, I believe, set up the photographer to make ordinary photos. I would love to go back though without feeling the compulsion to walk ten miles a day to see as much as I could. And there appear to be a few good images from what I can see so far.

So, this image is the one that I actually looked forward to making. I am not sure why but having seen this statue in other pictures - one from Ralph Gibson maybe? - I have always thought Rome would be a truly awesome place with stuff like this strewn about. And it is. This was seen in the Palazzo dei Conservatori.

The Weather is Here...

2005-06-29T11:55:00.000-04:00

A Boy with his Tiger
taken with Diana Camera

Staying with the summer drinking theme but reeling it in a little from my recent survey of would be rednecks. Kids + tigers. I call them Kigerds.

Searching for Mr. Write

2005-06-18T15:43:00.000-04:00

This would be my cousin, Sparky, all growed up now.
taken with Holga Camera

I have been mostly offline for a couple of weeks. The summer is probably going to do that to me a few times. Anyway... after browsing the recent stats to my website, I thought it interesting to note what search word strings that some people have used on search engines to find my site. There have been a lot of people who have used my name or the blog title and this is to be expected I guess. What was unexpected was the strange combinations of words that have been mentioned somewhere on the blog but when combined in a search string, Gord Is Dead is actually one of the popular hits.

Here are a few of the more unlikely searches that have brought people here:

on Yahoo... "nice breasts"
on Yahoo... "lobster boy" + "florida murder"
on Yahoo... "waitress skinned knees"
on Yahoo... "mandolin teacher richmond virginia"
on Yahoo... "bulging breasts"
on Yahoo... "1001 things to do in your life"
on Yahoo... "sexy polyester pants"
on Yahoo... "motorcycle rally pictures"

on Google... "dorothy hammill photo"
on Google... "taking it from behind" + "art photos"
on Google... "mods holga"
on Google... "gibsonton florida circus"
on Google... "holga wideangle"
on Google... "linda connor pop toning"
on Google... "liberty in chains"
on Google... "dead january 2005" + "jazz"
on Google... "bonnaroo scanner"
on Google... "damion rice tour"

So, with these somewhat surprising search strings in mind, I thought if I added some other strategic words and celebrity names to my blog, then I would be sure to lure more quality patrons to my humble establishment so that they, too, might learn so much more about dynamic words such as these. Life is circular and so is my logic.

In no particular order, I give you my searchitifically designed collection of words.

Onomatopoeia, Charo, unscrupulous, splendor, Bourbon Street, chorus, lutenary, cog, Penn & Teller, Engelbert Humperdink, flouride, bang, redly, quark, Judas Priest, Mercury, no fuss, low fuss, fusspot, ablution, ziggurat, fawning, mackerel, yogurt, peppered steak, love handles, cowlick, irritable bowel syndrome + rockclimbing, PFC, ligatures, storied franchise, fatty acids, Okinawa, Cheetos, Paris Hilton + Arch Druid, Three Musketeers, champion of the undeserving, cockerel, repudiate, taste buds, imaginary friend, chlamydia, brown teeth, Venice Beach, lily-livered, leaping lizards, overgrown child, silk stockings, expatriates, Sonny Bono, Sammy Sosa, Big Band Collections, ginsu knives, deus ex machina, torpor, peripatetic, stencils, jewelry heist, forest for the trees, Toon Army, spake as a child, paint huffing, hypnotist collector, Twister + collapsed lung, Rosebud, stilted speech, bum, big bum, Britney Spears photos, Larry Flynt, pow, biff, charred to a crisp, armageddon + milk duds, high colonic, hair weave, good cholesterol, mean streak, Manny Moore, Hoovervilles, girl on girl action, Abba and clam bake.

Feel free to add your own dynamic words by way of a comment. I would be much obliged.

Sisterhood of the Polyester Pants

2005-06-04T23:42:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

This would be Marge and the Whiz. Cheer up, Margaret. More from last weekend. I have a lot of these photos actually but need to get out and shoot something besides hoedowns. Summer is here though. Swimming pools and Movies Stars. Black gold. Texas tea. Let me tell you a story about a man named Jed. Poor old mountaineer barely kept his family fed. Then one day he was shooting at some food and up from the ground came a bubbling crude...

Liberty In Chains

2005-06-02T13:59:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

Another image from the archives. A well-known symbol with a shot of cynicism. Funny but there wasn't even a hint of irony in the actual situation. A roadside stop selling statuary and such. Just simple folk worrying that their Liberty might be stolen. Pretty much like the rest of us really.

The Very Sexy Clemise

2005-05-29T15:57:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

This is Elroy's old lady, Clemise, as she wandered her tequila soaked pathway of sexy self-destruction.

Jarvis & Elroy

2005-05-28T14:29:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

From a party last weekend. Friends of mine looking very classy. Elroy drove us home which probably says something about how I was doing also.

Random Image from Archives #11

2005-05-24T15:02:00.000-04:00

taken with Rolleiflex TLR

I am running some film later today but felt like I should post up something... this is from a shoot with Bruce Hornsby a couple of years back.

Emmett

2005-05-19T12:55:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

Here is a portrait of a dog I met a few months ago. Seeing him, the first thought is 'damn.' But he is beautiful. Blind as well. I spent a few hours with him last week and he quietly raised hell in my studio. Dalmations are high strung and energetic generally but take away their eyesight and this guy was nose to the floor checking out everything. Bump and back up and go another direction. Not a great subject for lights and stands and a controlled shoot. But he is handsome. I have a couple more rolls to process but I hope to hang out with him again.

Wanted: Sidekick

2005-05-16T11:01:00.000-04:00

If You Can Read This

2005-05-15T11:53:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

From a Motorcycle rally last weekend. Not too many people and the pictures are few as well... but this one is amusing somewhat.

When Hail Freezes Over

2005-05-13T09:00:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

Here is a just processed image but a few months old. From one of those rolls that was shot some time ago and I wasn't really quite sure what was on it any longer. For a landscape, I kind of like this one.

Random Image from Archives #10

2005-05-12T12:05:00.000-04:00

Random Image from Archives #9

2005-05-11T10:45:00.000-04:00

taken with Rolleiflex TLR

Willie Wisely circa 1999. Excellent jangly pop musician who I believe is out there plying his trade in Los Angeles these days.

Also, thanks for the scanner recommendations. I may contact some of you offline to discuss the Epson 4870 especially. I did have the Minolta D'Image Scan Multi II which was excellent but it is becoming archaeic. Trying to figure if repair is an option.

Random Image from Archives #8

2005-05-09T10:43:00.000-04:00

taken with Rolleiflex TLR

Beginning to shop for new scanners. Any ideas for a solid Medium format scanner out there? It is funny but I realize just how much time I am not in the darkroom since I started scanning negatives a couple of years ago. This might be good for me really but I would like to get something here pretty soon. Any advice is appreciated.

Good Action

2005-05-06T11:00:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

Feeling better the last couple of days, getting some things done. Life is good, so the archive image du jour is all speed and Spring and skinned knees. Maybe to make a few photos today then. Tomorrow, though, I am heading to a Psychic festival and Bikini Motorcycle wash. So I've got that going for me.

Snakes

2005-05-04T09:57:00.000-04:00

taken with Rolleiflex TLR

Scannerless, Day 6 - Digging deep with this one. From back in the days before I'd begun using toys seriously. From when I lived in San Francisco. Somewhere in North Beach.

Strange Is Going To Do You Good

2005-05-02T13:55:00.000-04:00

taken with Olympus 35mm Camera

I have a head cold / flu thing going. So, this be my avatar for poor health. Remember to drink plenty of fluids.

House On the Rock

2005-05-01T10:37:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

No scanner for a while I am thinking, so we are still on our misty eyed tour through the dusty caverns of yesteryear. House on the Rock is in Wisconsin. somehere within a couple of hours of Madison I think. It has been a while. Anyway, it is a great place to check out. Basically it is a shambling museum of sorts with all manner of carzy collected stuff. Apparently an eccentric wealthy guy had a world traveling, kitsch buying penchant and since he has passed I believe that his people are continuing the tradition. You have pneumatic orchestras, every different Burma Shave roadside advertisement, dollhouses, miniatures of every description, the world's largest carousel - I think it is the largest but it is definitely the kinkiest. They have museum class artifacts from various cultures alongside scantily clad flying women mannequins. The guy had a thing for breasts. It is worth the trip if you are ever in the area.

Beer and a Ballgame

2005-04-29T14:13:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

The Richmond Braves are soon under way and it is near time for a cold American beer. None of that murky foreign bilge that comes with celery sticks and fuzzy umbrellas. Give me a clear mountain flag-waving pale yellow beer. Mmmm. Not much of a baseball fan really but it is a great thing to do once or twice a year. This image was shot for Virginia Living a year or so ago, thus qualifying for the busted scanner nostalgia parade.

Another Wily Apparition

2005-04-28T09:18:00.002-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

Another older image as it looks like my scanner part is on back order. But I fear it might be something other than the bulb and that I might be looking for a new medium format scanner before too long. The software for my increasingly primitive Minolta scanner was designed by a professional wrestler after a toad licking bender, so update availability is presently unclear. It all depends upon whether the Minoan Mangler has come down from his amphibious delusions and returned to working the beta shareware circuit or not.

Gray Day in Spring

2005-04-26T11:47:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

My scanner has been hobbled by a torn hamstring, so I am breaking out a veteran image once more. Just as well really as the ease of scanning images makes me a little lazy. I should be in the darkroom anyway.

Camel Unfiltered

2005-04-24T15:27:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

Again from the Holyland Experience. They had a few animals there along with all of the spiritual theatrics. It was strange that they didn't have too much in the way of rides. Who wouldn't want to ride on the Holy Moses Log Flume? Or the Redemption Rocket? Or the To Hell and Back Fun House? Or Bible Thumper Cars? I know I would.

Gibsonton, Florida

2005-04-23T11:23:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

We met Brian while checking out Gibsonton, Florida. Gibsonton is a town where a lot of circus folk would live when they were not on the road. There wasn't too much to see as most of the famed personalities have already passed. We had coffee and pie at the Giant's Camp and snapped a few photos. Later today, time permitting, I'll post a link or two to some of the lore surrounding Gibsonton. Jeannie "The Half Girl", the giant himself and the "Lobster Boy Murder" to name a few.

And On the Seventh Day...

2005-04-21T21:26:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

She did passeth out from exhaustion and excessive frivolity. This image is from Bonnaroo last summer. Am trying to figure out how to get there again this summer. This was the last day before packing out of the campground. I have maybe a dozen photos of people passed out that last afternoon but this one I like.

Profound, Mystical and Very Dangerous Place

2005-04-20T08:03:00.003-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

Also from the trip to Florida. This is from a secret mystical place guarded by bloodless sprites deep in the jungle bordered by countless miles of barren and unpeopled desert. And it absolutely did not cost a hundred dollars a head to gain entrance. I swear.

P.S. Yesterday, I uploaded a bunch of photographs to Flickr if you feel like checking out some other work...

Nice Breasts

2005-04-19T02:23:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

This is an older image but I thought I would trot it out there because it has just been published in the current issue of JPG Magazine, published by Heather Champ and Derek Powazek. Haven't seen it myself yet but the first issue was pretty excellent.

Universal Showdown

2005-04-18T10:07:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

And There Was Much Rejoicing

2005-04-16T15:15:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

Gone But Not Forgotten

2005-04-15T11:00:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga Camera

This is the tomb where our musical Jesus was buried but get this, the next day he wasn't there anymore. So, it turns out that he was okay afterall.

More from the Holyland

2005-04-13T08:08:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

From The Holyland Experience in Orlando. Here is a black and white image of the same Passion Play as the digital image a few posts back. So the daily performance of the passion was a essentially a Crucifixion Musical. This guy was Matthew Broderick's understudy.

Captain America

2005-04-11T09:36:00.000-04:00

taken with Diana Camera

From Universal Studios in Orlando.

Florida Fried Kitsch

2005-04-06T14:26:00.000-04:00

taken with Holga 35mm

We are back from our trip in Florida. Basically, we balanced my appetite for the roadside attraction with my son's interest in animals and roller coasters. We hit a Renaissance Fair in Tampa, Weeki Wachi Springs where they have put on mermaid shows for many years, Sea World and some other miscellany. I guess i will be posting images for a while as the film is developed. I did explode my Diana camera on the pavement at the Holyland Experience. But other than that, I am hoping some good images will come of the trip. Hard to count on anything before actually seeing the results though. As this was the first time I have packed a digital camera on a roadtrip, I now need to figure out how I am going to get those images printed out. And while I remain devoted to analog photography, it was nice to have a digital camera at times I have to say. So, more to come.

The Holyland Experience

2005-04-01T16:34:00.000-05:00

taken with Canon Rebel XT

After doing a quick pass through Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, we headed for the Holyland. This is kind of a sinfotainment park. We arrived in time for the Crucifixion Musical Medley. Then had time for a bite at the Oasis Palms Cafe. Goliath Burger, Arabian Chicken and a Ceasar's Delight for dessert. Not enough time, or even enough words for that matter, to describe this experience right now. Hopefully the photos will hold up.

Now we are off to a Medieval Banquet for dinner. Visual overstimulation. Mmmmm.

Poseidon's Ruins

2005-03-31T22:05:00.000-05:00

taken with Canon Rebel XT

Still in Orlando today. We stopped to pick up a UV filter for my camera and while talking about possible things to do, the camera store owner gave us a couple of free passes to Universal Studios which would expire after today. So we spent the day riding roller coasters, and checking out various movie inspired rides. While taking photos of the X-Men who were cruising around on ATV's, all super and everything, I got a thumbs up from Captain America, who asked, "Is that a Holga?" I was somewhat surprised really but then realized that he is Captain America after all. Figures...

Otherwise, took a lot of photos... not the highest of expectations but roller coasters make for a pretty good day, good pictures or no. Tomorrow, we will probably take off out of Orlando, head towards Tampa. We'll see, there is a lifetime's worth of eye candy here still, so maybe one more day.

Gatorland

2005-03-30T00:42:00.000-05:00

taken with Canon Rebel XT

We decided to head to Florida for Spring Break. Basically, we are looking at 4 or so days of intense kitsch tourism. I will post some digital images until I can get some analog images up after we get back. The first day, we stopped in at Gatorland, near Orlando. Great place. Found a place to crash, had a beer and hung it up for the night.

Possible highlights, include: Dinosaur World, Universal Studios, The Holyland Experience, Cassadega, Gibsonton, Sea World is a definite, An Airboat Ride maybe, a lot of tacky roadside stuff, mini-golf, etc... probably going to skip Disney unless we decide to hit the Epcot Center. So sit tight, keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times. And enjoy the ride... Woo hoo.

Just Plain Odd

2005-03-26T17:32:00.001-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

Took this a couple of days ago. I think I will have to reshoot this because I saw it turning out differently but alas, such is the lot of toy camera users really. So here you have a portrait of our new cookie jar. Replacing the ceramic fruit hat with real hair amuses me somehow. I am kind of simple that way.

Shower Scene

2005-03-23T14:31:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

Cue the violins... Ja, Ja, Ja... Son, Son, Son... Reee, Reeee, Reee... Seems a little Hitchcock ominous to me this one. This is a recent image which is kind of new to me stylewise. Namely I am putting together a group of images that are a little too intimate but still non descript, estranged from their realities. I am trying, and maybe not successfully, to avoid being just another guy that photographs women. You know the type. I actually think like this type of photographer at times but damn if most everyone's nudes are not pretty damn tired. So, I am trying to get at something sugggestive and personal and beautiful but all of that without the emphasis being on tits and ass. The style I think flirts with too sweet and simple but what the hell, it is all in process and so has no real benchmark as yet.

Also, if you are looking for things to do, you can check out the The 2005 PhotoBloggies where I have been nominated as one of the best blogs featuring Toy Camera pohotography. There are some very cool sites in several categories really. Enjoy.

A Good Egg

2005-03-22T11:53:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera loaded with 35mm

That same morning, another of God's creatures, Chester, was finally awakened by having rolled over into the drool he had busily secreted, with septum rattling, mouth agape, for the last half hour or so. There were no dreams to haunt Chester this morning. He tormented himself quite well enough thank you. But truth be known, he seldom dreamed, or at least, he seldom remembered any. Indeed, he seldom remembered anything be it waking or dreaming. Subliminal phantoms, bitter recriminations, scathing self-doubt... all of these dark and cerebral harbingers, were relative strangers to Chester.

As he rose from the edge of his futon, careening without balance, his left arm extended forward, bracing against the thin tapestry depicting the Tree of Life. Legs stepping across each other in a thick-blooded rush, his right hand massaging his scalp, where his hair was hurting him. As it often did the morning after the night before. Slamming his shoulder into the frame of the door, he was off to the shitter. Dry mouth. Numb to the noise from the restaurant churning out omelettes and frittatas below. He clumsily voided his bodily fluids in and around the toilet, all the while bracing himself against the facing wall, plain stucco, again with his outstretched hand. Had he a thought in his head, he would have perhaps given thanks for vertical surfaces. Or he might have imagined himself in a world with lateral gravity, a spaceman who could float along by leaning his body in a given direction, guiding his graceful figure through all manner of difficult apartment floorplans. But he still had plenty of time before any thoughts would see fit to travel across the desiccated mental terrain stretching within the young head of Chester. There was still coffee to make, a bagel maybe if there should be any in the fridge, but first order will be to salt a glass of seltzer water and slam it down, still foaming. Plenty of time before thinking. Involuntary morning habits will carry him clear until he can slump at the kitchen table and hopefully Maro and Sara will have already left for school. A new day. A clean slate so to speak. And reason on such a virginal and promising day may as well be a four-letter word to one gangly, low functioning, no-longer stoned but not quite sober, twenty-five year old.

Now with a towel draped over his head and the coffee maker, reality comes knocking. Chester, not ready to answer, mutters 'oh fuck!' to no one in particular. Leaving reality to straggle away, rubbing its wrist and muttering expletives about Chester getting his and soon. Without aid then, Chester decides it is time for him to reconstruct the events of the previous evening. It would seem that Chester had been to a party. At Brianna's? It would seem that there had been a garage band. And though he wasn't absolutely sure, Chester thought that he had remembered signing his soul over to the devil. Well, not the devil exactly, but it was certainly one of the Devil's clever henchmen, or henchpersons, anyway. While this had been somewhat discouraging at the time, it was all a bit easier to handle in retrospect. Coffee now in hand, brainstem rehydrating, Chester recalled not really knowing anybody at the party. He had wandered over after work because his ex-girlfriend had left him a message about a ska band at her friends place. So, he had wandered in and grabbed a Grolsh from the fridge and posted up next to the basement stairs. Rolling along pretty good, listening to some blue beat while the kids basically bobbed around like pistons, like persons going nowhere and loving it.

Knowing Chester, you may well have wondered why that rascally Archfiend would waste his time recruited this particular young man to join his dark legion, as so far in his young life he had not demonstrated much in the way of Goodliness. Nary a noble warrior trait to be observed in the young stoner. But he has always been a pretty nice guy and following the slippery mischief of the Dark Lord, there must be some longcomings mixed in with all of Chester's short ones.

So, when the young hippie guy came gamboling over, dancing to some other tune, carrying his petition to legalize - what? - legalize something, pot perhaps, and Chester, who had himself smoked a little of the wicked weed, the Devil's very own it is said, sort of presumed that he was cool with this young smiling off-beat dancing guy. And he signed. A few clumsy swipes of the pen and then the wildly smiling young man was gone. Not stopping to ask anyone else to sign, not even looking around the crowd at all really. Young hippie mad a syncopated dancing break straight for the exit. What the hell was up with that? Why me, Chester thought, and his senses were swimming, abstracted, listing their way around familiar ideas, recognizing but never reaching the shores of reason. There were thoughts of the munchies, there were libidinous instincts, articulated smoothly by saying 'Hey' every now and then, there was that guy still grinning but nowhere to be seen, Our young friend was getting a little distressed and pushed himself off of the wall and reeled towards the stairs where the Rasta clad serpent had run to. He wasn't upstairs though. And He wasn't out on the lawn where the keg doled out its own ancient wisdom to some thirty mostly young men, wringing wet, more and more like yard apes with each drink. And the music, drums falling on the second and fourth beats, his heart now in time, our hero readied himself for his eternal plunge. If you had asked him how he was feeling, he might have answered 'Cold.' But this was usually his way and nothing unusual. When stoned, Chester would generally have a hard time acclimating to environment, no matter the temperature. So this thermal sensitivity and these scattered visions of bacchanalian excess, the brilliant clatter of percussive rocksteady. It all was normal enough but where the fuck had that little hippie gone to? And off Chester wandered, hoping that somewhere down the block... at Dos Tacos... at the Back Door... Somewhere...

Some might say that a guy like Chester was simply a tottering folly-fallen congregation of wasted vapors but those people would be unnecessarily wordy. It would likely be simpler to muse upon Chester's plight as something unfair. Why? How? It is so much easier to wonder helplessly how a generally nice guy could be so easily deprived of eternal salvation. Perhaps though, it was only the Devil's weed, and not the Devil himself, that has executed such a cruel and tormenting hoax upon such a good natured, though simple-minded, fellow as our friend Chester. Perhaps, after a little party remorse and a couple of Bloody Mary's down at Millie's, Chester might wander out of these fractured shallows of hallucinatory regrets. And even though it must be said that Chester is to self-awareness what the bucket is to the burgeoning information industry, perhaps, just perhaps, he might be a good egg afterall. And it is a new day really. When you think about it.

Introducing the Gimcrack Cinema

2005-03-19T12:30:00.000-05:00

I have added a couple of things onto my website. Namely a link here and also I am introducing the Gimcrack Cinema where quotes and images are randomly paired. It is an imperfect apparatus. But interesting.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so"

~ William Shakespeare

If you wish to check it out, then you can go to Eye Caramba and then click on "Gimcrack Cinema".

Negatives Gone Missing

2005-03-17T13:03:00.000-05:00

Taken with Diana Camera

I am not the most organized of people but I generally can put my hands on a negative when the need arises. I really like this image but last week when wanting to get it printed up... I couldn't find it. I have a couple of large, nice prints of this image still, so I can probably do a decent copy or scan of it but still I will be disappointed if I cannot find it. Anyway, here it is.

Upon learning that Bush, and now the Senate, have appproved opening Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil drilling, this is the only image I can find that strikes a chord for me. A turd in the hand is worth two in a Bush. It would seem that Boy King George is fixing to dump another one on us. Would it kill us to do something sane such as up the Auto Manufacturer's Fleet MPG requirements by say 10 miles per gallon or so. Or must we continue to f*ck things up without interruption.

Last week, in conversation, it occured to me that human kind is rather like a bacterial infection. Intent only upon our own survival, we ravage the healthy tissues that support us. We are killing our host and ourselves along with it.

BUSH

2005-03-08T11:55:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

I took this image last summer in Southern Pines, North Carolina. One of the creepier places I have been, this place was a combination Creationism Museum and Taxidermy Hall of Fame. Basically there was a self-guided tour through a staggering amount of stuffed varmints and Right Wing propaganda. Throw in several display cases of old tools, various 'profane' objects marking our collective descent into this our hell on earth, i.e. CD's, books, keychains and such that any good God fearing person would take a match to. Thanks be to these brave souls that dare harbor these sinful objects so as to instruct the rest of us as to the godlessness of the Bee Gees and their death spewing acolytes. Throughout this oddysey of oddities, sprinkled around the wood-burned scripture, were various mounts of large game and ordinary forest creatures filling cramped corridors and ill-lit corners, along with stoplights and barbed wire, golf artifacts... though some of the little critters looked as though they had been fashioned by paint-huffing Orks from bits of hair and straw. Not sure I understand how these particular obsessions, taxidermy and creation, came together but it was a pure half hour of raw entertainment, nay... Salvationtainment! But I was glad to get the hell off of that Dark Ark.

I have been listening to W's address to the National Defense University on NPR. He said that authoritarian rule in the Middle East is the "last gasp of a discredited past". I am left wondering how anyone can take him seriously considering his / our discredited past. As for the paper president above, the real thing is far scarier to me...

Loose Id Dreaming

2005-03-01T14:21:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

... this had been going on for what seemed like a goddamned eternity. Sweat poured down his face, into his eyes, mouth, over every inch of his swollen and struggling figure, the sheets draped in moist contoured simulation of a grotesquely bloated body writhing beneath. His hands clutched madly against the sides of the table, his bare shoulders pressed against it's slick surface, on his face could be read anger, fear perhaps, then a moment of respite, deep breaths, a vacant expression, and then, once more, uncontrollable agony, disgust, punctuated by stifled, halting noises, like screams just barely audible above the furious staccato exhalations that wracked his young body. The spray of sweat and saliva liberated by every pained throe, each guttural expletive, was illuminated by the unnatural, brilliant, sterile light that filled the room from so many directions, a glittering spray suspended in the air around his head until it would finally dissipate like an idle daydream...

"... fucking freight train... it's..."

His dark hair, hanging back, thin wet cords, painted a confused and watery portrait of wonder as it swung in tiny arcs upon the metal surface beneath him, his neck, straining forward away from the table, contracted violently upon itself until his quivering chin was pressed painfully into his aching, heaving chest. It seemed to him as though it would never end. Each wave of dilation brought a renewed flash of disbelief into his eyes and, perhaps, a dim understanding of just what it was that was happening. Somewhere he caught a glimpse of someone, his mother maybe, and voices erupted continually, floating carelessly in the air around him. Nothing made sense, none of this could possibly be happening, he thought. In fact, he had never before experienced anything like this. He prayed silently. He prayed he would not die. He could live in the shadow of this bizarre reality, he was very sure he could deal with whatever was happening as long as it wasn't over. All over. As long as he didn't die. As long as I don't die, he thought to himself, again and again. But at this moment his body had been gaining sway over his mind and its idle palaver. He had only a moment for reflection, he tried to grasp his situation, to understand the implications, the nature of his condition, and he was, after all, a rational being, then... CRACK!!... a bolt of clear blue lightning struck from somewhere just behind his eyes, singeing some seldom used tangle of ganglia, nervous comprehension faded immediately as animal fear rose excitedly to the surface, bringing with it the bubbling of strictured veins and popping joints, the muted screech of anguished flesh pulling itself across polished metal...

"... Jesus... it's... a fucking freight train..."

Somehow focusing on some point in the air, unseen, his resolve returned. And he was determined, once more, to weather the unbearable fury which he had so long held inside, which for so long he had tried to expel. By faith, by force, by reason. All to no avail. And it was still not time. But his father was there telling him something. And the pain was gone, at least so that he could now feel the aching fatigue that pressed against him, pushing him back against the slab. Surely my father must know what is happening to me, he thought, now too tired even to speak. But his father looked too concerned, too bewildered. What was he saying? But listening didn't help. Too tired. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, thought about how his life was going to change. Thought about leaving town rather than try to live this down. Thought he was probably going to catch too much hell for this one. Would he ever be able to have sex again? Would he ever want to have sex again? Would anyone even care?... CRACK!!... it was finally time... or at least it sure as hell felt like it was time. Staring out across his grossly distended abdomen, he was paralyzed by one thought. One thought alone. The thought of rupture. Where the hell was it going to get out of there... where was it going to... but Jesus, it was already on the way... no sex ever again...ever... oh... god... there's mom again... what did she?... what was that??... but it didn't matter... nothing mattered... can't hear a thing, he thought... just once more... once more... just...

"...uuughhh...."

One more furious exertion at the hands of his unbidden progeny and it was over. Done. He seemed, at that moment, to have slipped away from that unsympathetic glare. His flushed expression, calm, was almost ecstatic. His breathing was regular. He was dreaming of a vast expanse of quicksand. He watched, as the surface laid in wait, dense with expectation, wiling away an endless existence, receptive, inviting. Effortlessly, he threw an enormous television into the midst of this sensual organic instability and watched gleefully as it disappeared beneath the surface. He punched a few buttons on the remote control but it seemed to be useless so he threw it in as well. He watched as the quicksand, thrilled by ingestion, bubbled appreciatively until the helpless electronic box finally slipped from sight and the flesh colored earth pulsed to heal its unnatural lesions. And then it once again appeared still. But then this peculiar oasis, beautifully strung by shimmering ribbons of heat, began to appear unsteady, somehow unsafe but no less attractive. And the glare was rudely insistent until finally he had to concentrate upon his hand if he was to see at all and then, at last, he was forced to yield, to close his eyes and then nothing seemed to...

...when he awoke to find his parents there, he experienced a tremendous wave of relief but as quickly became unsettled by their presence. He attempted to piece together this unusual reunion. Why are they here? he thought. Although he was not so rude as to voice his suspicions. His mind raced over the possible scenarios. And then there was his extraordinary physical discomfort. And this metal slab. Slowly, he was gripped by fear, all too familiar at that. Then his mother, with a smile that was a little too genuine, said, "it really isn't that unusual. It happens quite often actually, although, it is true, that it generally isn't talked about very openly, but anyway this one is quite beautiful, honestly, and if you want to keep it then it is fine with me and your father will certainly agree..." On and on she went, just like that, as though if she were to pause for only an instant, then she would most certainly collapse into tears, or worse perhaps. All the while, his head ached terribly listening to all of this, trying to make sense of any of it. His father was silent throughout but his face was drawn with such sympathy that he really couldn't bear to look at it. So, he recklessly scanned the room while his head was swimming in fear and shame - for what reason? - and fatigue and... then he focused upon a stranger a few steps directly behind his parents. A doctor, it would seem, judging from the gown and latex gloves and... but what was he holding? He couldn't see very clearly... and his mother wouldn't shut up... just what is it that... no, it can't be... no... no... NO... Jesus... oh sweet Jesus... a dog... it can't be... a DOG for Christ’s sake... and his head began to reel... and his father looked like he might collapse from the sorrow but for the incredible sense of responsibility he was actually willing to take for himself. Then the doctor stepped forward holding, it was true, a tiny puppy, some kind of shepherd mix, cute really, but then all puppies are cute, as they say... and his mother repeating over and over that this really isn't that unusual... and the doctor grinned like an absolute idiot as though he had seen all this a thousand times... and the little puppy was apparently healthy though oblivious which is natural having just been born... but then the question screamed from beneath confusion, hurtling through all the disparate elements of this young man's chaos, shattering the steady white noise and chatter of traditional postnatal hubbub... the question...

"Where did it...”

He awoke with a start. It took a moment for reality to seep into sleep laden faculties. It was a dream. It had all been a dream. Joyfully, he smiled at his complete recovery. In fact, there was nothing to even recover from. It was another morning. Ordinary in every respect. He rapturously slid his hands beneath the covers to reassure himself that everything, every thing, was, indeed, in order. He held himself for some time, not sensuously mind you, but appreciatively. And of course, he wondered what a dream such as that one might mean. Perhaps, it would be better not to tell anyone about such dreams. At least not right away. Ho, ho, but today is ordinary in every respect. Ordinary. Please underline. Four syllables, adjective denoting usual, customary, devoid of inexplicable anatomical aberrations. Ordinary.

The Gates in Snow

2005-02-23T10:24:00.000-05:00

Taken with Diana Camera

Well, as I expected, I have made a lot of barely adequate pictures of various small parts of The Gates by Christo & Jeanne Claude. It is one of those subjects that sort of defies photography. I have looked at a lot of web based images and have not seen a great image really anywhere. Though I am sure they do exist.

P.S. on the New York City notes... We went down to Times Square before leaving and also made it to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. While making photos, a taxi splashed a rooster tail of freezing water on me, hick tourist that I am. So, as you might imagine, I was thrilled with the attention. Or chilled maybe. Anyway, I may post a few more of these images if they are worthwhile.

New York City

2005-02-21T16:03:00.000-05:00

Taken with Rolleiflex TLR Camera

We are heading home today after having spent the last four days in New York City. Primarily, we came to see The Gates by Christo and Jeanne Claude. And pictures will follow if they are any good. I have to say that I thought it was a great installation. The observations I have heard over the last few days run from 'Neat' on down to "Just think of what could have been accomplished or how many people could have been fed with the $23 million it took to complete this project." Conceptually, I wonder if there isn't a more dynamic subject in New York but it is hard to dismiss the effect of all the burnt orange trails winding through Central Park in winter. But is it frivolous? Yes, probably. The money went somewhere though just as it always does; and jobs were created; people brought together; the arts were/are supported and promoted; ideas and conversations were provoked, exchanged, encouraged; the materials will be recycled; the park was transformed, then returned to itself again with no sign of construction, no downed trees, no holes, etc.; and though I haven't read the fine print, I understand that proceeds go to the New York City Park System and I believe a conservancy as well. So, though it may be frivolous, something wholly original did take place.

I am basically of the opinion that much of art is frivolous when considered solely for its direct material impact upon the lives of others. Mine included. So much navel gazing, so many idle obsessions and esoteric thoughts. But collectively there is an intangible power in the process. Crafting objects and caring about them is what made earlier societies different from, and essentially more beautiful than ours. In all of our rampant production and crass materialism, the percentage of objects that are carefully and lovingingly made today is getting smaller and smaller. This point was underlined for me as well this weekend, when we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We checked out the Temple of Dendur, funerary crafts, armor and arms, ornamental jewelry from earlier cultures, great impressionist works, and so on throughout 5000 years of man trying to realize his/her potential, connect somehow with hisown existence. And those of us who were lucky enough to be milling about, in our machine stitched clothing, with our cell phones on vibrate, our uplinked PDA's, with our robot-fashioned cars waiting outside, we are lucky to have anything unique at all in our lives. Unless we have made it ourselves. So, all things considered, I thought The Gates was excellent really. And of course, the Met was amazing as well.

Last night, it snowed about six inches, and so I got up early to check out the park in the snow. While there, I noticed a small group of people sort of moving as a group and learned from a couple of circling photographers that it was Christo and Jeanne Claude. They were out to see how their work looked in the snow. It was very sweet really. They are small people, made smaller by age, and were walking arm in arm through the park seemingly oblivious to the posse around them. But pleasant. Smiling and walking and talking to themselves. It was raining and pretty dark actually but I think I might have recorded their blur. We'll have to wait and see. But the memory is good. Anyway, some newer images will follow. I haven't made that digital camera purchase just yet, so it will be a few days.

Also, I should mention we made it to the International Center for Photography, the Museum of Modern Art, The Lion King, Slava's Snowshow, a few random galleries, several excellent restaurants, including Gramercy Tavern with good friends. A great trip, this one.

101 Things To Do In 1001 Days

2005-02-15T13:47:00.004-05:00

Self-portrait
Taken with Holga Camera, Pinhole

Okay... so this was my original attempt at completing 101 Things To Do in 1001 Days. Based on the original idea, which comes from triplux, who has started a movement of sorts it would seem judging from the number of others following suit. And to be honest, it could have gone a bit better. I feel like I started out strong but then as I sort of fazed out of the honeymoon stage with the blog, I let things sort of slide by the wayside.

I have always been a list maker, i.e.

- Get dressed
- Feed the badgers
- Soak feet
- Make vasectomy appointment
- Watch 'Hair', the musical
- Undress
- Admire self
- Get dressed again
- etc.

As for this 101 Things To Do List, I think I completed about half of the things I set out to do and will have to endeavor to do better in the future. Some things were a little pie in the sky and some things were a little too easy but all in all, I have to say that having the list is better than not having the list. So I am putting another one together presently.

But anyway, for posterity's sake, here is the old list.

Completion Date: November 13th, 2007

The Criteria: Tasks are specific (ie. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks should also be realistic and a bit off-task from the regular routine (i.e. represent some amount of work which must be done).

~ 1. Visited LA. and San Francisco - 7.19.06 thru 7.26.06
~ 2. Visited New York City - 2.17.05
3. Have portrait made at Walmart / Sears / Penney's
~ 4. Attended / photographed A Roller Derby Match, the River City Roller Girls
~ 5. Go to the theatre / 5 times -
...The Lion King, 2.18.05
...Slava's Snowshow, 2.20.05
...Volume of Smoke, 2.25.05
...The Blue Man Group, 3.12.06
...Bark, The Musical, 3.14.06
6. Visit Mexico City
7. Complete 15 Chapters of 'Untitled'
~ 8. Saw 'The Gates' by Christo, 2.18.05
9. Show work in new cities, 3x
Rotterdam, September 2007
Seattle, November 2007
~ 10. Bought a Digital Camera, 3.23.05
11. Paint a portrait
~ 12. Took a Rockclimbing Class, 6.8.05
13. Travel somewhere by train
14. Go Snowboarding
15. Cross Process some film
~ 16. Photographed Standing Stones, 6.10.07
~ 17. Bought art, 5.31.05
18. A Perfect Date each month (as defined by my date)
19. See a Vikings game
20. Visit Hawaii
21. Take Dancing lessons
22. Buy a couple of new suits
23. Sky Dive
24. Scuba Dive
~ 25. Threw a party - 6.20.06
~ 26. Framed ten photos collected from other photographers, 6.14.05
~ 27. Framed an old drawing, 6.15.05
~ 28. Build a new Darkroom with running water, 1.20.06
29. Run a half marathon (or, less likely, a marathon)
~ 30. Finally submitted images to Aperture Images, 6,28.05
~ 31. Attended Photo Lucida, 3.12.05 - 3.16.05
~ 32. Read five books recommended by five friends (no objections)
... Recommendations so far:
~ Botany of Desire, by Michael Pollan - It was excellent, many thanks to C.M. for the suggestion
~ The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini - One of the best books I have read in a long, long time. Thanks to R.G.for the suggestion
~ Austerlitz, by W.G. Sebald - I had trouble getting through this one, the story was sort of submerged beneath the overly excellent prose. Thanks to P.D. at Chop Suey Books for the suggestion
~ Chronicles, Vol. 1, by Bob Dylan- Very funny. Renewed my appreciation for Daniel Lanois. Thanks to R.J. for suggestion
TechGnosis : Myth, Magic, and Mysticism in the Age of Information, by Erik Davis - Thanks to M.R.
33. Get a physical / G.I. whatever you call it
34. Volunteer : (Habitat 4 Humanity or new / different)
~ 35. Went to a comedy club, 6.24.05, 7.3.05
~ 36. Visited Atlanta, October for Atlanta Celebrates Photography
~ 37. Visited Italy, 7.18.05
~ 38. Wrote a song, State of Mind, 2.11.06
~ 39. Visited the Mutter Museum - 7.27.06
~ 40. Spent the day walking, 7.22.05
~ 41. Spent the day biking, Amsterdam, 7.17.05
42. Go to Southside Speedway
~ 43. Got rid of the huge piece of TV furniture, 3.22.05
44. Make Sushi
45. Make Homemade beer / wine
~ 46. Replanted Gardens, Spring 2007
47. Public Kareoke
~ 48. Start lessons for a new instrument, mandolin, 4.12.05
~ 49. Went to the Psychic Festival, had a couple of readings, 5.7.05
~ 50. Got a new passport, 7.12.05
~ 51. Used it, 7.15.05
52. Go Horseback Riding
53. Ask my parents to do something they want to do
54. Ditto just Mom; Ditto just Dad
55. Ditto Brother & Sister
~ 56. Visit FoamHenge, 1.15.06
57. Visit Egypt
~ 58. Cooked from & threw a dinner party (from Best of Everything), 1.23.07
59. Write a Children's Book
60. Collaborate with someone
61. Attend services / visit a Mosque
62. Attend services / visit a Jewish Temple
63. Attend services / visit a Buddhist Temple
64. Attend a powwow
~ 65. Visited a couple of waterfalls, North Carolina, 6.27.05
~ 66. Rented a convertible - 6.7.06
~ 67. Get together a promotional CDR, 3.5.05
~ 68. Baked Bread, recipe for Pumpkin Bread, 2.26.05
69. Read 5 Classics ignored to this point
~ 70. Made soup in the winter
71. Don't Speak for an Entire Day
72. Carve Something out of Wood
73. Write a Thank You note to an old teacher
74. Find an old friend
~ 75. Camping with Walker
76. Make Flavored Vinegar
77. Host a Mystery Dinner
~ 78. Cleaned the Basement, 3.7.05
79. Write a letter a week
80. Mess around with Super 8
~ 81. Nice weather & No work = Sunday Roadtrip
82. Get photos to someone who has given up on them (3x)
83. Store my crap somewhere else
84. Get some photo gear/cards going (via CafePress or similar...)
~ 85. Each Room, Five things to Charity, 3.8.05
86. Visit Cuba
~ 87. Go Ice Skating, 4.23.05
88. Curate a Toy Camera Show
~ 89. Made large Iris prints, approx. 30" x 30"
~ 90. Archery with Walker, with friends, 2.26.05
~ 91. Visited a Castle, Castel San Angelo, 7.21.05
92. Go to Sundance ( or SXSW would be cool again )
93. Swim in a lake
94. Weld something
~ 95. Celebrated Solstice
96. Walker's Mix #5, #6
97. Chalk Drawings
98. Refinish Dining Room Table (or any other piece of furniture)
99. Go tubing
~ 100. Got a Chiminea for the backyard, 6.16.05
~ 101. Made Bread Pudding, 2.18.07

Also, I have thought of these along the way...

Stay in a haunted house or hotel
Start up a Dream Book

O valentine, this I endure for thee!

2005-02-14T15:58:00.000-05:00

~ Sylvia, in response to the First Outlaw when he says,

"Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave:
Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,
And will not use a woman lawlessly."

from The Two Gentlemen From Verona

Taken with Diana Camera

There is no end to the treacherous material gambits that we set out to amuse ourselves, or, even more inisidiously, that we employ to test the mettle of others. This high and sentimental holiday, I'm giving my baby some chocolate and some crabcake bling. Chocolate sauce actually. Mmmm.

Which reminds me... Hey Rebecca... Yes, I am talking to you. I am feeling like I cannot be completely candid here for fear of mooditudinal reprisal from a certain beautiful sibling of yours. Can we make some kind of arrangement whereby, I can speak my mind however absurd and it isn't taken off-line to the land where real people behave strangely and sensitive people like me are so misunderstood. Sometime say, when I might want to write for effect about being Condoleeza's backdoor love slave because I have strangely come to enjoy taking it from behind from our Republican administration. But then I must remember to check myself because my scribular indiscretions might make it to the attention of specific and lovely others and then I will be frowned at. Frowns like mystical fists of disdain. When those same lyrically spiritually evolved others are generally so unamused by me that they wouldn't read my adolescent ramblings anyway. What do you say?

Why O why can I not prostitute the trust and goodness of my loved ones for the amusement of blog skiting strangers? This is so incredibly unfair!

New Galleries up @ Toycamera.com

2005-02-10T14:54:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

I have posted up some new galleries over at toycamera.com and expect to post a couple more over the next few weeks. If you use toy cameras at all, you should consider posting some images there as the first gallery is free and there is a new system in place that allows you to manage your galleries...

Toycamera.com is an online collective of photographers who use plastic cameras, such as Diana or Holga cameras and there is a wealth of knowledge in the forum. This is where I have gotten many of my modification ideas.

Thanks for enduring the shameless plug. Ah... for a second there I forgot this was a blog and the fact that it is 'shameless' should be taken for granted. Cheers.

Dreaming of Ghosts

2005-02-08T17:52:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

What to say about this one? I'll string some thoughts together later. I have to head out this minute. More closeup stuff the last few days but this one seems to jump out at me. Dreams, death, rest, sleeping. ghosts, beauty... and on and on.

I have been trying to make sense of things lately... Shit, gotta go. Enjoy. Comment and give me something to riff on, would you? Otherwise, I am going to have to get into a semi-lurid dream I had last night. Not the real hard stuff but still lots of id tinctured lady thoughts...

Post Cosmetic Disorder

2005-02-07T14:31:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

Feeling bleary after a late night. But must say that I have long had a thing for the beehive hairstyles of old. We had dinnner out with friends for my birthday and all was excellent. Good food, drinks, great hair. Exciting stuff, fooled around with a fisheye lens strapped to a Holga. Nice night, though one of my friends was actually falling a sleep at the table at the night's end. So, we are all a little older, I suppose. Metabolism slowing, must... at... least... finish... this... thought.... Snnrhhhk...

Imperfection With Confidence

2005-02-02T09:43:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Wide Angle Video Diopter

I have been writing again recently - see below - which is something I haven't really even tried to do in a few years and it feels pretty good. The catch is that I have often thought of myself as having more style than substance, generally speaking. To be honest, this 'style / substance' remark is my self-deprecating 'admission' whenever I meet someone new. You know the little catchy factoid that you drop out there with a casual taking-you-into-my-confidence tone. So it looks like I am so straight forward and sincere and shit. Well, some of that has been refined from multiple performances I now freely admit. And I feel a little better to get that out there. But it is, nevertheless, kind of true. What you see then is someone who gleefully plaigarizes himself whenever his poor memory can decant a vintage four star limmerick or tidy syllogism that brought the house down a week, a month, a year ago. But when pressed to deliver something real, honest, opinionated, spot together, a genuine human narrative, then I often resort to flambooshery.

Oops, there I go writing again! Woo hoo, look at me go! When I meant to simply lay out some groundrules for this here yarn I do spinning. I suppose I am going to keep writing while taking my visual clues from my photography, my reading, my conversations... lo, I'll even rip off the occasional plot device from blog comments if any are so bold to share them. And should you be so kind, one day you, too, might be thanked in the acknowledgements of a lulu.com, published-on-demand, first novella by Scrappy Jack Asburger, my nom de plume. I know, it sounds like Assburger. What is it with you... ha, ha... are you in like third grade?

Here's what you can do. Just toss off great names from your past. For example. I went to grade school with Cathy Tinglestead. I haven't seen her in thirty years but I will never forget that name. Or you could volunteer an embarrassing anecdote. Essentially, I am writing and just sort of letting fly... some things are imagined, there are the occasional glimpses into my psyche, my underbelly is present throughout and all of these faltering sources might manage to feather a cozy nest. But I remain open at this point. Still trying to determine direction, dramatic tension, hair color, automobile makes, etc. Meanwhile, my great gothic plotbird of prey is scouring the neighboring valleys hoping to see the glint of sun on a copperhead, the flash of a rabbits silver coat, when instantly all time will seize up, and the momentum of atavistic survival carries her down, rapidly, noiselessly, mercilessly towards the unsuspecting prey until this gentle suggestion of narrative's flesh is rent and splayed upon collision and as the resulting jerk rips our story from its life and lair, and as its spine is crushed by our lover's talons, then it will yield its last terrified shreak before submitting to shock and then nothing. Then it will begin its long journey aloft above home and the familiar and makes its way back to us where we might nourish ourselves on its memory. And record it for posterity!

What I mean to say is let me know what you think. As a photographer I am fairly confident in what I want to do, hope to do, and understand that I am not quite doing it most times. Your criticism of photos is welcomed and valid and I enjoy it also but my life does continue when someone doesn't like my work. Writing, on the other hand, is a less fluid enterprise for me and I am just feeling my way along, not sure what to keep and what to pare away. So, I would enjoy the input should you have something to offer.

Chapter 3

2005-01-31T09:40:00.000-05:00

Taken with Rolleiflex TLR

"To sleep, perchance to dream-
ay, there's the rub."

--From Hamlet (III, i, 65-68)

Lately, Abbie had been trying to relax more. She was taking a ceramics class at the University and writing some poetry. The after effects and stress of moving to Sendersville were finally starting to subside. She had actually even moved in legitimately, materially, for a change. Everything in her apartment had finally found its way out of its boxes and it seemed she was going to be able to stay a while. Sometime towards the end of summer, she noticed she was beginning to settle in. At each of her last few apartments, the boxes had never disappeared completely. She would get herself unpacked to a certain extent, with bed and sofa and television and closets full of clothes, like most people, but she was generally content to navigate a maze of boxes to get from toilet to toaster. So, rather than hunt high and low for the salad spinner, she was the type who would simply do without. She would seldom unpack all the little things that emotionally, and cosmetically, take your shelter to the next level of comfort. The boxes containing photo albums and letters and framed pictures; Mom and Dad, nightscapes she had taken in college, pictures from Wyoming where she had lived before getting married, pictures of her dogs when she was a little girl, almost all of her past remained entombed for transit. No matter how long she was somewhere, no matter how much time she committed herself to unpacking, she couldn’t, until recently, manage to cross that threshold into actually living anywhere.

This sense of place, actual personal space, was a personal victory for Abbie. After a year or so of habitual impermanence, boxes clogging her domestic arteries, books never quite making it to the shelves, trunks posing as coffee tables, she had finally gotten herself all poured into the closets and cabinets. Parts of her had been slung into the crawlspace, drawers were filling with string and carpet tacks and batteries, tables had flowers, the basement had a workshop even and she was fixing it up to use as a studio. It was shaping up into a fairly normal place really. Not that she fully expected it to last.

She thought about this now because she had celebrated her domestic triumph on a comfortable autumn day. She had found a place for everything in a late night, wine-induced, fit of organization. She remembered the market outside was starting to transform itself, as antique beer cans replaced fresh rhubarb, and lava lamps were lined up where the garlic and shallots and onions had been only weeks before. The array was so similar really. Popcorn makers (unused, in Box); Racing with Jesus Nascar pins and keychains and beer steins; handmade scarves and water pipes; buttons; and on and on. She had been the first customer, drinking her coffee watching the goods multiply in the stalls along 18th Street, when she decided to treat herself to a Tamagotchi. These electronic pets had been an insanely popular Japanese toy in the 90’s. Small, colored objects, about the size of a pocket watch, these micropets came with virtual responsibilities, as they needed care and feeding and love just as would their real life counterparts. Hers, Astro, was blue. And it was kind of needy she thought. Though it seemed healthy enough and had rarely been sick in its short life, it was sometimes going poo even without having been fed which was a trait she hadn’t expected. The sprawling outdoor market was one of Abbie’s favorite places because these were the earliest businesses to rise in her neighborhood. Followed soon after by the cafes and groceries and dry cleaners and then the wheels of commerce would finally begin to grind and it would seem finally that everyone else had joined her again at least for the time being.

Most nights, Abbie didn’t sleep at all. And hadn’t really for much of her adult life. This explained her affinity for Farmer’s markets and early risers but not her relative transience nor her marked passion for order, these will be explained later. The loss of her ability to sleep, to just shut things down for the night, didn’t seem to bother her like some of the others she had met. She had been depressed at first, now some ten years ago, and had spent most of time chasing rest with alcohol or exercise or whale sounds but none of it seemed to help. She then had tried going to sleep disorder clinics and had even traveled somewhat extensively to be observed. For a while, it seemed as though science was her chosen profession and sleep her specialty. Except she wasn’t very good at doing it. She had been tested for apnea and thyroid disorders, had changed her diet, dabbled in feng shui, been ‘healed’ by a Cincinnati mystic. It had been suggested, by her psychiatrist, that the depression might have been the root cause for her sleeplessness though she suspected not. She did take anti-depressants for a while and it helped her only a little with her predilection towards the continuous doing of things but it didn’t really help her to sleep at all. She stopped taking them after just a couple of months. It was at that point that she realized that these medical practitioners, well-meaning down to the last one, didn’t seem to know shit about what was going on inside of her. Nobody was going to tell her why a nap of fifteen minutes was sometimes followed by three days of socalled ‘normal’ wakefulness. And the real stumper for them, beside her relative high normal energy levels, had been how she could dream while doing the dishes. She could even drift off while doing a crossword puzzle or during any quiet activity which required only the slightest economy of movement.

These were episodes of parasomnia, or sleep-walking, most of her learned advisors had declared at some point or other. They had determined through testing that she was enjoying certain manifestations of sleep, namely REM or rapid eye movement. And during these periods she would report dreams of remarkable clarity but it would eventually dawn on them that she experienced no disconnection from her conscious mind. She could participate in their discussions concerning her even as she dreamed and while her basal indicators clearly confirmed that she was in fact soundly sleeping. Her unconscious was rolling along with carpeted ceilings, sexual tensions, old lovers, girlfriends from fifth grade, a general suspension of physics where gravity would pull or not depending on who know’s what, she could fly, she had been frighteningly obese in one recurring dream, she had fallen deeply in love with and lived briefly with John Turturro and it was she who had helped him to choose the right film projects. In short, there were familiar places, there were fantastic places, there were dangers, chases, sexual tension, warm and savory childhood memories to be relived. Yet, she was also clinically awake as though she could hit ‘pause’ when interrupted by yet another Dr. with his sonorous questions, all calm and knowing and just as easily could return to her life as a bridge keeper, who played the banjo to communicate with all of God’s creatures. Eventually she came to think of herself as ‘differently abled’. Seriously, she thought, if we could collect all that we don’t know about our own fragile psyche and then birth it into this world, it would muster its huge hindquarters and sit its fat ass square on top of what little we do know. Like a bear on a grasshopper.

Chapter 2

2005-01-26T10:55:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

Larry had been able to shirk any real responsibility for as long as he could remember. No kids. Never had a relationship longer than two years and then only once came close. Not a bad looking guy, pretty charming. But big. Dark hair, dark features, prominent brow, deep voice built for menace if he cared to use it. Six three, two thirty. Even now he still looked pretty put together. Big enough that he had once played the part of a wrestler on Magnum P.I. and was even a possible suspect well into the second segment until his alibi turned up solid. All that, and he had never officially pursued acting. Fresh out of college, with sociology degree in hand, Larry had bolted for the west coast and landed in San Francisco. He had then spent the better part of six years mostly content to park cars, party as often possible, paint a little when the mood struck. Then he sort of stumbled into an acting gig and for a few years did commercials and television work. He actually worked with Tom Selleck again on a TV movie, adapted from a Louis L’Amour western. His favorite observation, then and now, was "The fuck kind of name is Louis L’Amour for a guy who writes westerns?" And Larry was of course one of the rowdy barroom gang. He got to break some stuff in a bar, though he never did get to do any cool stunts. Just a bunch of whooping and wearing a gun and hitting on the harlots off-set for a good three days. He came to think that Tom Selleck was pretty cool though, and sort of a charming guy actually who would hang out, getting high with the stunt men, laughing his ass off at stupid shit. And then Tom also wound up becoming kind of an acting inspiration for Larry because he was a pretty sizeable guy too. But Larry was pretty sure that Selleck's bigass moustache was going to hold him back. And it did.

So before acting found him and raised his profile from barely employed clear on up to underappreciated. Larry had been living in the city, off of Filmore in the Haight. Had a couple of roommates, one a money manager and the other who played some music, was a bartender, writer, big thinker, huge drinker. Everything was great being young and living in San Francisco excepting that somehow, through a revolving cast of friends and would be girlfriend’s there arrived a parrot that nobody wanted and nobody would claim any longer and which yammered incessantly. Straight through the night, from the kitchen, like somebody’s midget grandma returned as a parrot and with some kind of evil malady of the feet to keep her bitching all hours and scratching back and forth.

So, the guy who played music, Mike, well to hear him talk there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do which was pretty funny too when he got rolling about black ops or salsa dancing or market trends or authentic tamales or money laundering. It seemed that being from New Jersey qualified this guy for just about everything but he was definitely decent to get a beer with. They’d go to Harry’s and sit the bar, talk to the ladies, most of whom would have way too much talent for a couple of ingrates but the talk was always good. There were always beautiful women at Harry’s and dressed so that you can’t help but look. Fine clothes. Except for those power suit types. Larry basically felt a solid wave of revulsion when an attractive woman would roll in feeling full sassy but decked out in those fancy pants. The kind of dress pants that swing around the ankles, light and swishy, about twice as flared as bell bottoms, more skirt or dress than pants, usually flashing some kind of crazy pointed shoes in which her sorely misshapen feet numbly wince with each step but dutifully bring lady to the party. The women’s suits sometimes came with the pants, sometimes dressy cocktail outfits would have the pants. There was some kind of correlation between those pants and good money but it just didn’t make sense that those flapping eyesores could be more expensive or more fashionable than regular clothes. He felt genuine disappointment whenever a girlfriend of his would turn up flouncing around her ankles, usually thinking to herself, "I’m looking pretty good I am... very fine." Then Larry’s jerk would come to the surface to beat her down. But he couldn’t help it somehow, kind of like he had been lied to. He had nothing against jeans or pants that were just cut to be like pants. He could even suffer those strange and shrunken Capri’s, for chrissake. But those fucking fancy pants made him angry. And this wasn’t a gay thing straight thing or a threatened man thing. Girls in pants, fine. Girls in fancy pants, really fucking stupid looking. Even the hot ones.

Then, one weekend Mike’s younger brother hits town, up from L.A. and is all fired up because a film was going to be made based upon one of his short stories. A small film sure but something that might get seen, possibly get picked up. Basically, kind of a loss-of-virginity quest set in smalltown somewhere and which followed a crew of high school friends through a madcap series of zany situations. There’s the requisite jock, the nerd, there’s the sweet guy who’s going steady with the girl next door but she doesn’t put out. There’s the foreign guy. Good stuff. Mike was pushing his brother for a part in the movie, which was a little absurd since Mike was scarily old, at 27, to be hanging with high school kids, even pretend ones. But after a few hours drinking sake and singing Karaoke in Japantown, Mike and Larry both had scored their first serious dramatic roles. Larry was cast as a large but effeminate lounge singer and Mike was cast as the guy who seemed about five years older than all the other kids in high school, with full on facial stubble, drove a muscle car, slept in class, got a few laughs. The movie was finished in a few weeks of summer time, then did its turn going to a few festivals and then pretty much everyone involved moved on to the next best thing as the movie eventually lost its momentum. But Larry wound up cozy with one of the girls from the film and had already decided to head down to L.A. for a while.

Jump cut to ten years later and we find that Larry has returned home to Sendersville to help take care of his mom. She was no longer remembering things as well as she used to. Nothing clinically significant, at least not at first, but nevertheless Larry’s dad didn’t seem to be handling the situation very well. He had finally decided to move back home when, over the past few holidays, he had watched how panicked his mom was getting over the littlest things. She had just about lost it completely this past Thanksgiving when his brother, Jason, was visiting from Baltimore for the weekend and had gone out with friends for drinks until bar time when he had to sneak back into their parent’s house to sleep it off. When their mom heard him coming in the door, she started screaming from the bedroom. Didn’t even get out of bed, she just sat up and screamed for help. Jason had to talk her out of calling the cops. She even recognized him but couldn’t let go of the idea that it was so late and that somehow she really needed help. Dad helped get her back to sleep as though this were nothing unusual. Most other times, she would walk around slightly agitated about fairly normal stuff and it seemed his dad just couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. He would get himself dressed quietly to go to work, or read quietly in the living room. Or eat his dinner quietly. All the time, he seems to be drifting off to a different place, really kind of an equal and opposite reaction as the situation slowly bears down on him. But, otherwise, his dad is in great shape physically though and still works at a machine shop in town. Ever since he was little, there was pretty much nothing his old man couldn’t do with his hands but Larry could see that now in his seventies, his dad was having major difficulty with the idea of becoming a caretaker after having been a provider near all his life. Frustrated that there is no way to fix the woman he has loved for so many years.

So, this is how Larry finds himself back in town. For now, he is renting himself a little A-frame about five blocks over from his folks and pretty much visits with his mother most mornings and then spends the rest of his time trying to cash in on his notoriety as the guy who dated the borg chick, ‘7 of 9’, from Star Trek Next Generations. He amazes himself with how much mileage he can get out of that one in small town America. But trekkies don’t usually tend to be, how to say this delicately, the finest looking of all God’s creatures. And if there is even a single hot girl among the science fiction devoted, then she is keeping it to herself. But all things considered, casually dropping that he used to get baked with Tom Selleck is a pretty good set-up line as well.

Chapter 1

2005-01-24T10:34:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Wide Angle Video Diopter

There was this guy. We'll call him Dennis. Lived alone in a house like this one. He was working for an equipment rental business in town. Delivering stuff, occasionally running a sump for an old lady when her basement flooded, spraying down tillers and wenches, sweeping the shop floor, topping off tanks, mixing oil into the gas for the two-stroke engines. Got to work on time, brought his own lunch and stayed as late as they needed him. Regular guy. Had his own tools. Wore coveralls. But this was before things went sort of strange for him.

Then, once upon an ordinary day, the phone rang. Dennis was alone in the office and ringing receipts so he picked up the phone. "Buy, lease or sell, We'll treat you well. This is..." Goddamn I hate answering the phone, he thought. But after a short pause, and a rushed hello, there's a woman on the other end of the line talking fast and claiming to be an undercover investigator. Right, he thought. Are there any ‘undercover investigators’anymore? If there were they wouldn't likely go about calling themselves undercover investigators at any rate. Isn't undercover supposed to mean undercover? Sure there are some old guys with bad knees out there tailing cheating spouses and looking through windows all high speed film and Chevy Impala but those guys are called detectives right? Used to be called private dicks he thought, before porn went electronic and Jane was still a popular name. So, this woman sounds honest somehow but this had to be a joke. He had a friend, Larry, who was essentially an arrested adolescent and who had nothing better to do usually than to orchestrate elaborate plans / pranks / what have you. Larry was behind nearly every mysterious or misguided event that had ever occurred in this Dennis' life. Making Larry an essential ingredient, making life somewhat interesting, pain in the ass that he generally was. But still, this sounded urgent in an honest way. Her voice - Asian accent? – sounded a little nervous. Undercover? Sounded like she may have just decided that she’s an investigator. He thought, funny how you can up and start calling yourself something and there you are. Not even a puff of smoke and you’re a dancer, writer, C.P.A. okay maybe not a C.P.A. but still. Taxidermist then.

So, she asks if he will meet with her tonight. She needs to show him something. What in hell? She didn’t even get his name… so, he says he is busy and he is, sort of. American Idol is on at eight and as pathetic as it sounds he hasn’t missed an episode yet this season. So she asks if she can come by work tomorrow. He said, “Make it after work tomorrow because I need to deliver a backhoe and some other things up to Orange in the morning and am supposed to start inventory in the afternoon which means I am working with my boss until close. After work, we can meet at Crossroad’s if you know it.“ Then she hung up. No discussion, no I’ll be wearing a red hat type of thing, no names. Nothing. Has to be Larry, he thought.

Sendersville. Where you have half the town trying to get out to the country, relax, make hay and drink their tawny port and the other half is looking to earn there stripes, slip on through to a ‘real’ town. In other words the halves aren't equal. Never are anywhere. ‘Sinners’ville, as told by some, is more or less a college town set in a beautiful area of the country. A sexy, spaghetti strapped coed of a town with beautiful hills. But it has traffic like noone the fuck could possibly understand without experiencing it. Somehow the planners didn’t anticipate how popular this town was going to get and so left its little curving streets to their own designs. And everyone drives around in their Escalades, Pathfinders, Land Rovers, the occasional cherry classic like well-heeled tourists in their own town. So the once red clay and rolling hills beauty has developed some kind of brachial congestion which makes her wheeze a bit and makes you, oh so briefly, think twice before falling in love. Meanwhile life as it is practiced elsewhere has started to take root in the suburbs. One has to apply oneself to appreciate a place like this one.

The folks who are been heres. They have been in the area for generations, some of them, and they have either moved up on the hill so to speak or they have been the real working life force that most of the rest of the come heres hardly notice. Not quite a hill town but close enough. Not quite a cultural place but the college environment props it up nicely. A film festival in the spring, a jazz club on the downtown mall, all manner of places to drink up, settle down, move on. But still to hear them talk, you wouldn’t understand what is right about the place. Too crowded, the young people are too irresponsible, too provincial, too small-minded, too this, not enough that. Or as his daddy used to say, “With most people what you get is a whole lot of want and very little need.” Spend all your life looking for answers and things tend to deflate a little. There is not a lot of there there once you get those answers. The reward then is in the journey but living in the unknowing is just a little too Buddhist for most of the folks around here so it feels more like restlessness. His wife had been like that.

Sarah had been his reason for coming here, now twenty years or so ago. She had been the embodiment of the place. Smart as hell, beautiful without an ounce of inhibition. Whatever sounded good, she was up for it. Sendersville was home to her. She was the daughter of two professors - genetics and art history - moved from Pittsburgh to work here. And so, aware of maybe some of what she was missing, had honestly come by her just about to blow out of here first chance I get energies. She needed to be doing something all the time. Every next person was a big window with a fresh breeze of possibilities blowing through them. Dennis had been living on couches in Clifton back then but came to play a gig at Baker's before it became O'Tooles. His band would travel five six hours sometimes for a gig and they made it to Sendersville probably once a month or so to play frat houses or small bars. He played guitar, could sing a little bit. Had kind of David Byrne thing going which was just strange enough to be sexy. She had fallen for him big time.

Holga Wide Angle

2005-01-21T11:10:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Wide Angle Video Diopter

- Finally Got Something -

The image is nothing special but I have had a few lousy attempts in recent weeks at making my Holga wide angle. Using video diopters, video lenses, I have come up with seven stripes of gloriously blurred crap. I think I have got a good thing going now - .42x wide conversion lens with a macro diopter attached... sounds nerdly to even write tech details but someone might find this interesting, right? [... crickets chirping... ] This might look pretty slick in a studio or daylight situation as the on-camera flash / indoor subject combination do not play well together in this particular shot. Am going to try some landscape stuff this afternoon. There are some tips from toycamera.com if you are interested in this type of modification or from Randy at holgamods.com.

A little bleary after playing cards last night. Witty rejoinders to resume after a couple of days rest.

Bloody Mary Sunday

2005-01-16T14:25:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

Tomorrow is M.’s birthday and so I decided to take her out to Godfrey’s, where they have brunch and a drag show every Sunday. It is really a pretty great time. Turn up early, get your name on the list and then head out for a drink or coffee until the show starts at 11:30. Bloody Mary's. Crabs Chesapeake, which was pretty tasty really. The performers are men. Beautiful, talented, breast-having, not-sure-what-else-having, lip-synching men. Really the show was excellent. It seems a place where you might enjoy bringing the uninitiated to. They might catch a little grief but basically the whole experience is a very straight friendly atmosphere. We thought we might should bring our folks next time. Muah ahh haa haa... or maybe not.

Princess Is Having A Bad Heir Day

2005-01-13T09:57:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

Disclaimer... This is a beautiful little girl.

This photo is one of the stranger images I have made of late. This is actually Christmas morning, a sweet little girl, wearing a dressup Princess type thing. Ooof. I have so many people bust my chops for not helping them to look cute, sweet, pretty, thoughtful, etc... but I haven't too often transformed someone into something else entirely. I managed to add twenty years and seven vodka gimlets to this particular image. I hope that her parents will understand and forgive me. They are my best friends - wipes tear - in this whole cruel world - they are saints possessing infinite compassion, I tell you - and I pledge to shower them with nice photos for as long as I might function. Plus, it just might be possible that I have exorcised one drunken evening from their little girl's adult life. It would be curious if our time space continuum could be tapped accidentally by the occasional off-kilter image, through some sort of temporally seeping and slippery instant.

On a different note. My friend Tim Remick has sent me a link to Black Thursday, a website detailing the upcoming protests scheduled for January 20, 2005. Basically, the message is one of discontent with our President and his policies. This morning I heard that the search for Weapons of Mass Destruction in Iraq has been concluded after two years. And concluded unsuccessfully, it is necessary to add because it was Saddam Hussein's stockpiles of WMD that was cited repeatedly * as our reason for going to war in Iraq. It may not be possible to curb our cantankerous Cowboy-in Chief, after his inexplicable reelection, but maybe an economic boycott will make an impression. Do what you will, but have a look if you have an abiding uneasiness with the state of affairs, both at home and abroad.

* Just a few pre-war Bush administration references to WMD...

"Simply stated, there is no doubt that Saddam Hussein now has weapons of mass destruction. There is no doubt he is amassing them to use against our friends, against our allies, and against us." - Vice President Dick Cheney, Aug. 26, 2002.

"After 11 years during which we have tried containment, sanctions, inspections, even selected military action, the end result is that Saddam Hussein still has chemical and biological weapons and is increasing his capabilities to make more." - President Bush, Oct. 7, 2002.

"Saddam Hussein is a man who told the world he wouldn't have weapons of mass destruction, but he's got them." - Bush, Nov. 3, 2002.

"The gravity of this moment is matched by the gravity of the threat that Iraq's weapons of mass destruction pose to the world." - Secretary of State Colin Powell, Feb. 5, 2003.

Also see :

Rathergate vs. Saddam's WMD - A Quantitative Comparison;
brought to you by The Poor Man

Lost Luggage & Emergency Landings

2005-01-04T11:27:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

We went away for the New Year and the holidays were great apart from the actual travel aspect of things. The airports were crowded, of course. We didn't expect otherwise. My luggage did not arrive with me. Don't know where my bag wound up traveling to, but we were tearfully reunited a day later. On the return trip, We were departing in pretty icy and snowy conditions but the trip began uneventfully enough. Once in the air though, the plane was unable to climb to altitude. Turbulence was pretty significant. After about twenty minutes in the air, the plane was turned around and began its return trip to the original airport in Montreal where the landing was normal enough. We didn't stick around long enough to find out what actually happened to the plane because we had at this point missed our connection and needed to figure out where we were going to spend an extra night in Montreal. So, even though it lacked the dynamic sense of crisis, this was my first, and hopefully last, emergency landing. The next day, we just about missed a connection in LaGuardia as well, which is a thoroughly screwed up place to be in a hurry. Next year, I am going to think long and hard about buying the DVD of our vacation and staying at home...

Anyway, I also had an equipment screwup which goofed with a couple of rolls of film. I was messing with a flash and bulb exposures but did not return my Holga to shutter for a couple of rolls. And unfortunately there were not many happy accidents on the blur side. The image above is of Walker at the beginning of a dogsledding trip we took in the Laurentians. His expression pretty much tells the story. Very cool trip. Bitter cold in fact. Three hours along the river. Hot chocolate, coffee, cookies... As a rule, memories are somewhat warmer than reality, but all the BS related to travel still seems actually worth the hassles. I think. Yeah.

New Year's Wishes

2005-01-01T14:39:00.000-05:00

First, I must say that I have been effected by recent events as I would think anyone has been. Apart from the disconnected sense that I feel when such an immense tragedy happens so far away, there is a desire to do something. Anything. As I listen to the radio, NPR, the main thing that seems to come across from the spokespeople who are breaking down current events, is the need for money. Send it if you should have it to spare. The largest fear of these charitable organizations is that the sustained needs felt throughout southeast Asia will far outlast our collective attention to such a dire situation as we slowly and inevitably return to our lives and lifestyles and personal concerns.

So, here are a few links...

SEA-EAT Blog

The American Red Cross
Unicef
OxFam International

More to Come...

Best wishes to all.

Belated X-mas Post

2004-12-28T11:19:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera

Okay. Time for a couple of revisionist entries... I have been out of town for the New Year and so will attempt to go back and rewrite a few of the would be entries. I will keep it simple and factual until I am caught up and so, will not insist upon peeling my emotional onion for your benefit, however convinced I may be that you would have been sufficiently moved.

There has been an otherworldly clamor to see the personal steam room in photos. So here you go. Above is the lovely item itself. As you can see, it is a self-contained pleasure chamber, offering an invigorating and healthful epidermal escapade. After only a few treatments, our quality of life has truly improved! Truly!

Christmas with the Family

2004-12-25T23:43:00.000-05:00

My brother & parents. Christmas, 2004
Taken with Holga Camera

Christmas. Food. Family. I laughed a lot. Spent the day milling about from one Christmas location to the next. Shot something like ten rolls of film.

I received an amazing gift this morning - photos to follow soon enough - and I am not particularly prone to hyperbole on occasions such as this.

From the directions:

"Please fondly when opening, spread and stretch material until ready for erection."

You guessed it! A portable steam room! For me! I have used it twice! Other people have used it too! A few times! Made in Japan! It has stripes!

So, after erection.. er... inflation, the steam room is just large enough to sit inside. Along with this extraordinary gift, I received some kind of plastic / aluminum chair from a medical supply store. With holes in the seat! After consulting with a small focus group and commissioning a couple of simple renderings, I determined that the ideal location for my steam room is in the living room directly in front of the television. In front of the television!

There is a small portable steam unit which needs filling periodically so it is definitely best to have lackeys hanging about to keep the steam going as well as to replenish cocktails. I know what you are thinking... but I checked all over my living room and saw no warnings about the consumption of alcohol when using the steam room, so no problems there. Anyway, it is good to have a few people around to keep your steam well catered. People are sometimes good to talk to as well! Afterall, it is Christmas!

Otherwise, life is good. We ate well. Counted our blessings. Laughed a lot.

Winter Solstice

2004-12-21T14:55:00.000-05:00

Taken with Diana Camera

It is the Winter Solstice today, as reckoned by many. I would probably do well to avoid a half-assed explanation of an ancient observance. But I have gotten into a number of conversations lately about Christmas as it relates to the appropriation of various Pagan holidays. So, while I admit to doing a crash course in the history of Pagan holidays, I will still attempt to paraphrase a few contemporary heathens…

Christmas as a Christian holiday did not begin as a holy and sanctioned observance. For some three hundred years after the birth of Christ, there was no officially recognized celebration of the birth of Jesus nor was there any proclamation or dedication of such in the scriptures. The epiphany was generally celebrated on January 6th. While Historians place the actual date of Jesus’ birth at various times in the calendar year, most agree that he was likely born in 4 or 5 B.C..

However, December 25th is very close to the Winter Solstice, which marks the shortest day of the year, a point after which it would appear that the Sun was regaining its strength, an indication of the power of the Sun deity returning. This being an established solar holiday, the date already had become the ‘birthdate’ of several Gods: Attis, Frey, Thor, Dionysus, Osiris and others. The largest sun worshipping cult which recognized December 25th did so by celebrating the birthdate of Mithra. Mithra, whose birth, to a virgin, was witnessed by shepherds and magicians, who had also raised the dead, cast out demons and returned to the heavens at the Spring equinox after supping with twelve of his disciples. All of which rings a bell somehow.

In the 4th century, the Roman church decreed December 25th as the official birthdate of Jesus. This date actually coincided with the ancient Roman holiday of Saturnalia, marking the days of Saturn’s rule when there were no masters or slaves. To celebrate this became a reversal holiday, when masters would serve their slaves and certain slaves were chosen to run a given household. They also exchanged presents, gambled and generally had a good time. For this and other reasons, certain churches refused to recognize this date for centuries. The Pilgrims, some 1600 tears later, actually outlawed Christmas. It can be argued that the Christian church appropriated an existing holiday from the most powerful empire, seated in Rome, a date coincidentally sacred to Christianity's largest competitor, Mithraism, and likely did so as a political convenience rather than as a divine observance.

There are many other Christmas traditions that have pre-Christian provenance, notably, the Yule Log, mistletoe, and even the tree of Christmas comes from early Germanic peoples who would hang sacrifices on a tree in worship to a one-eyed deity, Woden, a death god. So, at least we have lightened things up a bit.

Anyway, if any of this is interesting to you, much of this information comes from Pagan Claus.

Have yourself an excellent holiday.

Peace and love.

Seriously.

A Corporate Ho, Ho, Ho

2004-12-15T14:32:00.000-05:00

Barbie, photographed at Walmart.
Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

This was one among a number of Barbie heads, all of them prettily dismembered and pinkly packaged. I suppose the idea is for to train the young ornery girls that they need to conform to our societal norms or suffer the same fate as this unfortunate dissident. Everyone already knows the story of how a beautiful and carefree girl named Barbie Handler came to be captured, starved, neutered, entombed in plastic and accessorized to the point of post-perfection and whose tiny plastic avatars if stood from end to end, would reach into the heavens and still not quite know what to wear.

But not everyone knows that she was really something as a little girl. Little Barbara was born in 1958 to Ruth and Elliott Handler. As a child she had a love for life and animals and actually was one of the better behaved of all of her siblings. She had a natural beauty, tousled dirty blond hair*, a few freckles, a scar under her chin from riding her dark blue Sting Ray** over a bike ramp in the backwoods and even gap teeth from having all of her rather imperfect chicklets coming in at the same time. Barbie dressed to get around generally, jeans and t-chirts, hand me downs from her older sister, Skipper, nothing fancy really, but she always looked nice on Sundays or on any other high and holy holiday such as... Christmas. And at sixteen she had never even heard of Malibu! Oh, but such a sad state she is in now. Crippled with debt, maxed out credit cards, a worshipping public that clamors for her attention, paparazzi, clubbing. It all requires enormous stamina (pronounced trucker speed) and a constantly updated wardrobe (pronounced a great deal more money) but she does look great and that must count for something.

I guess while Christmas is on the brain, I will say that I am near ready for the new year. I love the sentiments and, though not particularly religious, I appreciate the ritual symbolism. I must say it is fun to see children at Christmas even when it is no longer possible to be children at Christmas. The material implications, on the other hand are fairly staggering but I will resist that particular rant because these ideas have already been ranted to the point where the anti-materialism rants have themselves become one of the traditions that they hope to deconstruct. But still, some of you might be interested in the following link: buyblue.org. Basically, these folks have created a guide you might use to help you figure out who is getting your money and where those people fall on the political spectrum. For instance, Walmart leads the conservative posse of corporate retail contributors to the Republican Party to the Merry Christmas driven tune of 200+ million dollars. Anyway, all for now as the UPS guy is here with packages! Woo hoo. Things!!

* ~ not peroxide blond
** ~ not pink

White Flight

2004-12-13T22:14:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

Life is good. My third day of writing here. I actually made a fairly decent image of Sweets, the cat this weekend but I am too shy shy to post a cat photo just yet. Oh, but you should have seen it. So, here is Santa instead. My nine year old son told me the other day that he still believes 90% in Santa Claus. I asked him what the other 10% was about, to which he asked if I could fly around the world in one night. I slowly turned this around until I decided I could say yes and live with myself. "Yes," I said and then proceeded to descibe supersonic travel, jets & shuttles and how you might fly from London to New York and arrive before you left or sort of something like that. I try to confuse him when I am on intellectually unsteady ground. But not taking the bait, he then asked if I could stop at all the houses all over the world, deliver gifts and still make it in one night. At this point, well, I turned up the radio.

I have flown three times in my dreams.

Once I flew simply by floating from a place somewhere in my center. The setting was an apartment and when I went airborne, I was kind of levitating and not very artfully. I rose up into the corner and sort of couldn’t control myself like having just learned to ride a bike all wobbly and slightly out of control, arms doing nothing helpful, just kind of trying to fend off the ceiling. I was sort of flying up into the corner and bumping against the walls and this would disorient me, sending me floating back down momentarily until I got my senses back and I would then start to rise up again. The impetus was a force within my chest. This was extremely exciting, having a new found ability but yet any subtler control was thoroughly outside of my reach... All told, in dream time I flew for only a few minutes, but still, now ten years later I remember it clearly.

On another occasion, I flew by swimming really through the air. The air was thick, more like water than atmosphere. My body swam through the water like an eel, writhing smoothly up and down, serpentine. If you have ever seen aquaman cartoons from the seventies then you will know what I am talking about. This was a short dream, and the only action I remember apart from swimming was going from one room to the next, reaching the doorway and using my hands to send my self through. Very cool. I was a little better at getting around this time around. Also, I remember the apartment had a kind of brown shag 70's décor.

The last instance, I can remember, when I flew in my dreams, was the most Freudian in detail. I am sitting on a park bench in Washington Park in North Beach with my girlfriend. I don’t really know who she is but in my dream I know her to be my girlfriend by the way we are sitting, comfortable with each other. Then while we are sitting there, another woman – again a stranger to me but somehow I know I once had a thing going with her – comes up and starts an argument with my current girlfriend. I’ll call this second woman my ex… Anyway, my ex came up and after a few shitty remarks they actually came to blows, landed a few punches both ways... I yelled at my ex told her to back off and headed off with my girlfriend to see about getting her home, again a completely strange place but one I seemed to know… I took her somewhere but am walking by myself again sometime later… time sort of gets murky…

Then I find myself running through San Francisco. There is a black guy chasing me – I say he is black because he is in fact black; though I understand this is probably a revelatory unconscious insecurity that runs a bit counter to my politically correct self-deceptions. Setting aside my struggle to contend with racist ideas, both culturally and personally, I am being chased but I rather know my way around. Anyway, at a certain point after a few blocks of running hard I was pretty gassed but so was this other guy. Slowing down, I jump to clear a shrub or a rabbit fence or even a curb, I cannot remember precisely what it was but damn if I don’t get probably six feet in the air, my running leap becomes a huge arc. And so I take a few more running steps and I float maybe fifteen feet in the air. Incredible as this is, I am not in the clear because this guy is now sort of bounding after me, and this peculiar loft is not quite enough to get clear. I slow in my ascent until I reached the top of my trajectory and then gradually I float back down, basically I feel as if I have no real weight. On the third or fourth leap I actually flap my arms and it works beautifully. I don’t get anywhere exactly but it is enough to break loose and slowly my body works itself into a sort of slow moving flight. Still though, this guy is managing to teach himself how to fly as well and the chase is now a slow moving gigantic exertion of energy. This is killing me really but thrilling me. After we get several stories above North Beach, some kind of airship, straight out of Monty Python, a kind of wobbly prop tri-plane skeleton, making that echo bubble floating noise from the movies, circles by and I grab a hold only to find that noone is driving. While nothing is particularly shocking at this point, I am concerned about the guy that is still chasing me and is now starting to climb aboard as well. When he gets up finally, he is smiling and there is nothing between us anymore but a mutual disbelief at having flown and we are now chilling in this fine and funky airship. All is well again now and I begin to check out San Francisco from above. POV – a very cool kind of spiraling air balloon vantage, close enough to see the people but they are getting small. The last thing I remember is seeing my ex-girlfriend rolling her self along in a wheelchair fitted with a kind of a tv tray contraption on which she was resting her hugely bandaged nose. She didn’t see us, bumping along the sidewalk, swerving, jerking, the motor kind of throwing her against the back of the chair, she seemed pretty uncomfortable. While I guess I am taking some kind of immature pleasure that she seems to have gotten what was coming to her for being so surly earlier… she just keeps getting smaller, as we circle above the chocolate factory, or the cathedral or whatever the hell it is we are circling above. Fade to credits. A very cinematic dream that one.

Back to the future... My son may not completely believe in Santa Claus but he does still want to. As a parent, I have always broken out the clichéd and shopworn motivational phrases at various teaching opportunities... "It is frequently more economical to be inefficient... If it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck... You can't get there from here, etc... but I digress. I was sort of at a loss on this one. I am somewhat surprised that Walker is still hanging in there in the face of his skeptical colleagues. There will be plenty of other times in his life when he will have to deal with skeptical colleagues, so I am going to have his back on this one.

Why not a Blog?

2004-12-12T10:17:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

Sunday morning. Coffee. I think that this space will be dedicated to pushing myself along. My girlfriend has more or less disavowed any interest in this my latest distraction. To be honest I am not sure how to defend it. I have always been an unrequited writer but this doesn't seem to be about writing so much as it is about free associative writing. I have been checking out blogs for a couple of days and I have seen what seems to be a native style on many different sites:

"...den he looked up den gav us a smile...ooh...both of us de hearts melted instantly like cotton candy...omg...ahh....after gettin their autographs, we went to food court dere for a drink."

"...and they will say, dude, we found a weapon of mass destruction last month. fucking bomb full of sarin! beeyotch!"

"...Oh hi... Juz came back from church camp, SYC. Very fun la... Playing the games and all that... Talk cock in the room. I'll give this camp 2 thumbs up man! that place we stayed in was quite comfortable. Tonight's worship was cool. Left 1 day early cos tml go sch la! Shit la! How i wish i could stay a bit longer..."

I love the shorthand but it is too late for me to be a sixteen year old girl. Too old, too tired, wrong gender and my obsessions have evolved into tweedy ramblings that sound more like death with dignity than ...nO wOrriEz! iM haPpy tOo! LOLZ!

So, this indulgent squat here in the bytter woods of the not exactly actual will be about whatever the hell and photography. A reminder that I like to make images. When things get slow here then I will have to get out and shoot something. Lately I have been messing around with a Holga Camera and closeup lenses. Fairly imprecise as a way of making photos but...

Above is my son Walker. Harsh light, focus is soft, nice moment though jus cuz it makes I smile, la.

Gord Is Dead

2004-12-10T13:11:00.000-05:00

Taken with Holga Camera, Closeup Filter

Here goes. My most recent attempt to leave an electronic footprint. It is funny, sitting at home, streaming NPR, drinking coffee, typing away, creating something that flirts with cognitive catalysis but, just as likely, will amount to a new way of doing nothing. In a sense - not to be confused with innocence - this will be a foology for them what's left behind. But soon to follow. Sorry to bring up our mutual mortality, but we both know that your time is nigh.

I don't mean to sound morose or macabre but the very act of blogging seems to be an admission of sorts. I have often kept journals but have been generally inconsistent. Rolling across the waters of self-expression and online journals, it seems many of us are trying to make a mark, make a point, make a difference, make someone uncomfortable, make a gland sandwich, make contact, find land. Luminous words, screened at our leisure, are sometimes more 'I love you' than flowers but are often less 'fuck off' than a door slamming. Not sure if we can forge a union between feelings and thoughts recorded, then broadcast, and that other actual existence we hope to lead with a small measure of grace. But the ripples do seem to exist and the shores of reality will be lapped by the gentle insistence of this electronic whatnot. Virtual strangers are something like actual ghosts. We can see them, hear them, wish they were more as they do seem friendly often enough. But this morning, I needed to jumpstart my car and where were you? I suspect you are not really there for me.

A little secret I'll share though, is that it seems like the rivers of history are backing up. For so many years gravity has pulled and the great flow run downhill from its source. And this source has always been cloaked by credibility, in the guise of higher sanction or, more often, simply by might. History, it has been said, is written by the victor. The rest of us - non-victors... losers?... - have always been entitled to have our own notions and beliefs but these personally clarified gems of autonomy have, for most of us, have traveled the distance that one might effectively throw a brick. A brick though, which may be concrete, indisputable and capable of crushing a skull, is still a poor defense against the elements. Ah, but a hail of bricks can be a powerful thing and it seems that this new conceit, the blog, has suspended the physics of critical thought. Them there words are floatin'! I'm gonna say me some shit!

Anyway, I suspect that the future, as it is steamrolling towards us, will have to go around the folks who have laid their histories with bricks. So, time will leave the larger monuments standing which would just be too much trouble to deconstruct. So, here I am working on the patio of my legacy. Even if I don't get any further than this, I'll be able to sit and have a drink and watch the dogs play.

Ghost that I am.

Gord Is Dead

...or more like slightly singed.

Gita Lenz Exhibition at Gitterman Gallery

The Gita Lenz Book Has Landed

Upcoming NY Exhibition

U.S. Route 1 Project promo [1 of 6]

U.S. Route 1 Project promo [2 of 6]

U.S. Route 1

Was able to visit with Gita last week...

Toy Cameras; A Personal History

101 Things To Do In 1001 Days

Where Trouble Melts Like Lemon Drops...

A Soupçon of Winter Relief

Nobody to blame but my elf.

Just Take a Little Off the Sides

Rapture Dollar

Gone Fission

Undead Ambitions

The Long Emergency

Naked Pilgrim ~ Opening Friday, April 6th

Gita Lenz, Project Begins

Gita Lenz, Photographer

Holy Land U.S.A.

Toy Camera Print Auction - Katrina Benefit

All Roads

The Weather is Here...

Searching for Mr. Write

Sisterhood of the Polyester Pants

Liberty In Chains

The Very Sexy Clemise

Jarvis & Elroy

Random Image from Archives #11

Emmett

Wanted: Sidekick

If You Can Read This

When Hail Freezes Over

Random Image from Archives #10

Random Image from Archives #9

Random Image from Archives #8

Good Action

Snakes

Strange Is Going To Do You Good

House On the Rock

Beer and a Ballgame

Another Wily Apparition

Gray Day in Spring

Camel Unfiltered

Gibsonton, Florida

And On the Seventh Day...

Profound, Mystical and Very Dangerous Place

Nice Breasts

Universal Showdown

And There Was Much Rejoicing

Gone But Not Forgotten

More from the Holyland

Captain America

Florida Fried Kitsch

The Holyland Experience

Poseidon's Ruins

Gatorland

Just Plain Odd

Shower Scene

A Good Egg

Introducing the Gimcrack Cinema

Negatives Gone Missing

BU**SH**

Loose Id Dreaming

The Gates in Snow

New York City

101 Things To Do In 1001 Days

O valentine, this I endure for thee!

New Galleries up @ Toycamera.com

Dreaming of Ghosts

Post Cosmetic Disorder

Imperfection With Confidence

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Holga Wide Angle

Bloody Mary Sunday

BUSH