Category: art

Staring Philodendron

No matter where you go these days, some eyes record your movements. Could be a plant, a tree, a shrub or a drone. Could be a neighbor who has read 1984. Or maybe your salad fixings.

No way to tell to whom they report, but someday, when you don’t pay attention, an image will pop up to remind you. So, be aware. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do in public, because there isn’t such a thing anymore.

Publix Sushi Maker

I don’t know his name, but I eat what he makes. I smile at him; he smiles back. If I don’t see what I want, I point or tell him. Whether he understands, I dunno. But our Publix puts out a credible Sushi and handroll product.

I have taken many images of workers at the store, printed and distributed them. Dunnot know what they do with them. A fruit cutter had hers on the wall for all to see. Usually supermarkets have the manager’s images posted near the service/complaint dest next to the founder’s. I give the workers equal status.

Chanukah Latke Adventure

My Potato Head, Frenchy, Monsieur Pommes Frites, Pomme de Terre Tête controls Hanukah at Duckpond. He supervises the LATKES from start to finish. Then …

So, when I opened the bag of potatoes and he saw potato blight, he went nuts. These potatoes could not be grated. They were soft and mushy. He went nutsy cuckoo.


Off to Publix. With many watching, he wandered into the potato bin and made his selections. He felt them and talked with a few. I had the charge card.

Signed, sealed and delivered. I paid. I carried him. I carried the precious cargo: the potatoes.

What a happy camper. He was ready. Add a menorah, a dreidel, and some chanukah gelt and we were ready. Then he did a “ready for my closeup, Mr. Demille.”

Happy Chanukah.

 

Field of Flowers

Flower arrangers glow like their flowers. How can I make a still life, living out my Van Gogh fantasy if I don’t go to flower stores. And once there, I am always challenged by whether I should take a shot of the flowers or one of the women who lovingly construct the arrangements.

As I walked up to deliver his photo, Kevin walked out of the store and welcomed me, “Mr. Duck, the photographer.” I’m honored he remembered me.

I bought this flower and forgot to ask its name – Damn. The flower lady told me to clip it everyday and it will open. We will SEE.

I can never resist having sunflowers around. Always makes me think of Van Gogh. Sharon got me the vase, featured here for an I Love You Gift. Don’t forget that everyday is Valentines Day.

 

 

Burlington VT Knows Hate

Ohavi Zedek Synagogue in Burlington VT was the site of an anti-semetic attack in 2009. First they went to Temple Sinai. Then they went to the Chabad. Everyone knew about it and few came, not Peter Welch, not Bernie Sanders, and not Pat Leahey. Miro Weinberger, the Mayor, a Jew, also passed. I went and cried, too upset to even make a lot of photos. And I can still hear the kid yelling hateful slogans he didn’t know the meaning of and had been taught to say.

My friend Stan Greenberg, who is blind, said he came to “Bear Witness” and to protect the shul against evil thoughts. He brought his dog, Ernie. “They’ll come through me,” he said. “I’m not moving.”

Clowns who follow the haters made fun, showing the absurdity. But as good intentions as they had, the stench of the haters and the sound of their chants could be smelled and heard. Nothing could make it go away.

Rabbi Joshua closed the Thrift Shop. He went back to his study. No mitzvahs today.

We try to live in peace, but we have little to do with what others do. We try to do our best to be kind and giving, to be thoughtful and loving. But sometimes it don’t work. Killing those who would kill you first may be morally correct, but killing those who haven’t had a chance to live and don’t know why they are dying and cannot do anything about it, never is.

 

 

 

Tree Trimmers

 

So, an almost disaster morning turned out to be a winner, better than I hoped or anticipated.

Here I was, MINDING my own business, sitting on the lanai, trying to do something creative with colored felt tip markers, sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Finished meditating. Looking around for a photo. No birds around singing or fishing. No trees blowing in the wind. No flowers in bloom. Just carts spreading poisons and lawn care workers shaving trees. The noise was deafening and the spraying made my eyes tear.

As I got packed up to go inside, a man wearing a Yankee baseball hat, holding a chainsaw (an instrument of destruction unfamiliar to and not allowed in the arsenal of Jewish men) knocked on the screen. In some undecipherable language, he motioned with his hands like he had a camera and said “Photo.” Let’s leave aside how he knew I was a photog, something I will never know and couldn’t ask, but I assumed he meant he wanted me to take his photo.

I grabbed my nearby camera, made sure I had a chip and a battery, and went outside. There were two of them. I separated them, posed them and shot, using my hands and feet and some facial expressions. They bantered, but I didn’t understand a word. After a few shots, I held up 5 fingers and said 5 minutes; they pointed where they were going.

I ran inside to the printer, imported the chip, did some minor processing and printed two 8.5×11 prints. Now, I had to find them.

Without saying something which will have me accused of some racist language, the workers all looked alike, except for their tools. I stopped a few, showed them the pics and asked, using hand signals, where the guys were. Some didn’t answer, probably fearing I was ICE. One pointed down the block and followed me as I continued my search.

I could hear the sound of the trimmer and knew I was on the right track. When they saw me, they turned off their instruments of destruction. One came over to me, looked at the image, smiled and gave me a sweaty half-hug. The other glowed.

Not bad for a street photo inside the Gates of Valencia Reserve, eh?