Every new year has to be a better year or else why live them. Someone asked how I was doing this moring at Shul: “Healthy, happy and I have a wonderful wife. What could be bad?”
Category: art
Scotty’s Up and Around
Out for a walk this morning, I ran into Scotty coming down North Avenue. “Where did you sleep last night,” I asked? “In my usual spot down at the cemetary, on the porch.” I guess I’d call it a quiet room with a view.
Camp Gan at Chabad Burlington VT
Photo shoot and workshop at Camp Gan, Chabad Burlington VT. Two point and shoots, two counsellors/three campers with a list of items hidden around the Chabad. Some call it a scavenger hunt. Two groups. They took pictures. Then we shot portaits. Everone got to be a model, photographer and assistant. We tried to teach a lesson about our symbols, our people and the light.
The future of World Judaism.
Stacey and Robert, Married
The skies emptied. We searched for the JP. Bride and groom soaked. All assembled. Vows and a kiss.
Rained like hell. Moved inside the train station. Helped by Melinda Moulton’s support.
Not planned, but a cool place.
Not ones to step up to the bar, anymore, but ones who have accepted the responsibility of marriage.
Will you please show me that you are about to be married and in love. Cannot force these faces. They just happen!
Not a big weeding. But everyone who attended, cared. No ring. No reception. They had to leave quickly to sign up for a place to spend the night. Still homeless and hopeful.
Eric’s Coming Out
He looks fines, somedays. Sits or hangs out around the same places. Watches the street, for what we don’t know. Sees somethings we cannot imagine. Not ready yet to be put back together. Decided he needed to take a bath or a swim. Dived into Lake Champlain. Muck and mire on the surface. Left clothes in sumac or poison ivy. Covered with blisters. Chad lent him a razor. Hadn’t seen his face in twelve years.
Old Young Men
Aging requires courage, stamina and emotional self-control. So many myths exist from the past when people stopped living in their 40’s, errr 50’s, errrr 60’s. Now, healthier and smarter, we live longer, not just exist longer. And we look better.
Brien makes art, smart art. He draws, sculpts and creates where nothing has been and nothing will remain.
Pastor Crocker saves souls, or at least makes having one more understandable. He’s a budding photographer.
And, Wight Manning. Re-enactor, historian, antiquarian. He collects paraphernalia, wears it and sells it.
Kevin and Vermont Special Olympics
So, I go down to the beach or the waterfront or Church Street with my camera and a lighting kit. Need to keep up my skills, looking, seeing, shooting. Oh, how I cannot deal with people telling me they have cameras or relatives with cameras or cell phones. They don’t understand portraits, posing or the importance of having a photograph, taken in ernest.
These two people walk by where I sit with my friend Jim and we start to talk. Kevin wants to take a walk. They will talk about whether to accept my offer to shoot his photo.
Kevin returns. Agrees to the shoot. And we talk. Seems he is a world class Bocce player who will be competing in the Special Olympics in Vermont this weekend. So, I sign up, volunteering to photograph whatever they need shot, knowing they have lots of shooters ahead of me, including the press.
Now, I have to sort through 1,500 images, shots one more beautiful than the next. What a wonderful experience Kevin shared with me and I don’t even know his last name, where he lives or much about him.
Vanessa and JJ Fish Colchester
Vanessa and JJ out for a Sunday fishing expedition on the dock in Colchester. She caught a Lake Sturgeon, an endangered fish, and threw it back. True joy playing in Vermont’s backyard while respecting nature and helping the environment.
Oh, the joy of catching a fish. Makes exhilirating all the waiting and baiting, casting and doubting.
Foggy Morning
Chasing the sun brought great results today. Sometime you work for the shots. Sometime you just point the camera. Looked out the window. Couldn’t see the street. Washed my face, brushed my teeth. By the time I hit the street, the light had come up, but the fog hadn’t lifted. I could feel the wet in my face and smell the morning moisture.
Clouds covered the sun, just enough to rob the scene of its yellow. Birds screamed, unable to see their morning breakfast through the mist. Good day, if you were a fish.
Magic everywhere. Still a there, there. Clouds with nowhere to go. No wind pushing them. No waves or flutter. Water gently lapping up against the pier. It wasn’t cold and it wasn’t hot.
The sailor doesn’t care. He waits and watches. One day his boat will come. Already packed for the sea.
Burlington arises.
Lost Bike Seat at Burlington Fishing Pier
So, the biker remembers to bring his lock. He secures the bike. The thief, the bicycle thief, needs something to sell. Cheap bike. Cheap tires. So, he takes the seat. Wonder what he did with it?