Photography Thinks
Christo spoke, backed by images of his and Jeanne Claude’s work. Some wept for her. “Jeanne Claude used to say, ‘we were born on the same day of separate Mothers.'” He covets the artistic process, while recognizing the politics of his craft. Not only a visionary, but he is, as Ashley Montagu would say, “a cultured man, an artist, an artist in humanity.”
I have been trolling around the outskirts, trying to find the people who appear in my SEABA work that hangs in the Hall Gallery at 180 Flynn Avenue. I didn’t want her or any of them to hear that they had a featured spot in my exhibit from someone and be surprised or angry. I generally tell people whom I shoot why I shoot and what I will do with the shots. Its a difficult strategy. The more you say, the less intuitive the images. People become self conscious and less reactive to the camera. Their increased control diminishes the honesty of the interaction. Posing intensifies. Men, more than women, will ape-out. All I seek is their humanity and a slight bit of emotional honesty, assuming that is possible.
Corrected after e-mail from Mr. Campbell and a phone call. I try to be as accurate as possible, so I apologize for any misunderstandings.
Yesterday he asked me to e-mail him a photo I shot on Church St with his begging sign. Don’t usually include words with my images. Jay Maisel says that people will read the words before looking at the images. This is not to be confused with putting an image on a printed page which, according to my graphic design professors, is the first thing people will look at. Anyway, the images should speak for themselves. Not sure in Mr. Campbell’s case.
The bus always comes for those who wait.
Old Puerto Rican Saying
Marie, oh Marie. How could I pass up such a lovely woman? Her hat. Her smile. I just glanced over at her as I walked past the bus stop at Battery and College and she engaged me. Yet another woman who agreed to have her picture taken with the proviso that she would not be responsible if the snapshot broke my camera.
Continue reading “Marie at College St. and Battery Bus Stop”
“What are you listening to?”
“Not sure.”
“Who did the ink?”
“My ex-boyfriend.”
“How did he do it.”
“Dip and poke.”
Very upset, I am, as I leave for a week at Maine Media Photocamp after reading today’s article on the upsurge in killings of street people in the New York Times. The paper of record called them homeless. I don’t know exactly what that means, so I will leave it for another time. And, I don’t necessarily think that the rise in killings has at its genesis hatred, but the fact that people kill these people because they can for whatever reasons or no reasons at all disturbed me more than the Pew report that the number of people who believe President Obama is a muslim has risen.
So many of us, well maybe not me, except for when I had my hip replaced, take sick days. These guys, my guys, have to go to work when they don’t feel 100%. Not like junkies who have to rob, steal, and beg for dope dough, these guys pull themselves up, dust themselves off, and start up all over again even on days when they haven’t slept it off. Not a good day for my man, Paul, but at least he be out there and I know nothing bad happened to him.
As part of the Maritime Festival, we toured the Coast Guard Station located on the Lake Champlain Waterfront in Burlington Harbor. Oh, no big deal you say? Not for us. We have lived here or had a residence here for four years. Countless times we have walked the boardwalk to the fishing pier. We have seen the Coast Guard boats cruising out past the breakwater, sometimes fast (emergency) and sometimes slow (patrol/training/research). I have seen the tops of the buoys and some other equipment, but I never had a feel for what went on or what their duties were. It was a real treat to go behind the fences and barbed wire to see the boats and board them, in addition to being on a tour that explained their purpose here.
Bill Lee, you must know Bill Lee and why we be kindred spirits. He played for the Burlington Cardinals today, a team of aging ball players who haven’t switched over to the larger ball and the shorter baselines. Bill did not disappoint.
Lots of people cannot deal with people in need of assistance, because they smell. One reason could be they cannot afford deodorant or soap. Why not, you say. Food stamps can only be used for food. Any money left after covering expenses, like phone or utilities, may go for gas for the car to drive to work or quarters for the washing machine. How about toilet paper. Toothpaste. Lysol. Tampax. Err, diapers.
As a hopeful, soon to be member of the Board of JumpVT, I collect deodorant from my synagogue for distribution to the clients. Think about giving sundries, in addition to money, when you do tzedakah. If you smell bad or look bad, nobody going to hire you.
