Christin Ohlman at Art Space in Greenfield

For a town of 15,000, Greenfield has an artsy scene that rivals places with more ethnic and economic diversity. Despite the absence of chi chi colleges offering arenas, crowds or financing, Catherine Ohlman drew a crowd to a little tea/coffee house on Main Street. We listened to her throaty sounds, heard the political message and danced in the aisles. Most of the crowd looked aged and very happy, nonetheless. Just a great Friday Night date night.

Heisler LIkes to Teach Photography

Heisler lectured in the morning on Tonality by showing the works of several photographers, some known to me, and some new to me: Ansel Adams, Richard Avedon, Julia Margaret-Cameron, Irving Penn, Charles Sheeler, Grant Mudford, Ralph Gibson, Edward and Brett Weston,  Edward Weston, Karsh and someone named Missone. He loves them all and decribed, with youthful glee and enthusiasm, their works and how they use blacks and whites to make their images.

Needed to shoot something to clear my head and refocus. Watching the masters can sometimes make you feel that you have nothing to add, so why bother.

Went outside. Warm and bright. No Adams like mountains or Avedon models to shoot. Greg was on his way to lunch. He stopped and pointed to the warehouse across the street and said, “looks like a Mumford to me.” I had thought about it, but there was ice between me and a good shot. I trudged through the snow to avoid the slippery pavement, took my shot and went back for lunch.

I imitated, for sure, but why else do we look at the past?

Hallmark and My Dreams – 1


So, I be in Greenfield, starting another part of my life. Sharon’s home. At 10:00, or so, she said she had done ok with the separation due to school – ate well, did things, felt some tender and loving thoughts that resulted in a phone call and voicemail which I missed while washing the tub. On my own, but not really; she directs me from afar, advising me to care for myself and my surroundings.

Needed to drive safely and arrive in tact and on time. Nothing more important than being safe and healthy for school and our reunions. Who does this? We be flying blind; building a relationship by being apart, so we can be together and interesting as we get ready for the ubiquitous hospital bed.

Had the three pages of Jay Maisel’s Monster that I got at his workshop in 2010. Had done some of the exercises, many of them, but hadn’t focused on his semi-rhetorical questions. Put simply, he asked, “why do I do this?” I know and I don’t know, you know. Put a camera in hand and I am me and so many of these other peeps who stared through lenses. I don’t see if I don’t see an image; it is like when I was an attorney, which I am not anymore, by choice, when everything that I saw was a case of American injustice.

Here we go. I gots so much to see and learn. I be going to learn my strengths and weaknesses. Who knows, they may not be the ones I think. I know I love to shoot, but I also like to see the prints (I brought almost all of my best portfolios). I don’t know what my ultimate goal is. I know I want to learn lighting and posing/shooting studio portraits. I can talk to the subjects; I cannot shoot people whose attentions I don’t have. Is that true; who knows. Yup. I wish I could draw, but I would do anything to shoot and print big.

I have given up all my outside interests other than my wife and my health. I have to make this work, you know. Photography is the thing that dreams come from.

City Hall Park Art


Larry Glen and Kevin couldn’t decide if the pieces which look like furniture were art. They had no trouble deciding that, on this cold day, it wasn’t a good idea to sit on either the sofa or the chair. Both are made of metal and it was 5 degrees.

I mean, what is art? The chair image ain’t the chair; it represents the chair, lacks the function of the chair, has its design, but it ain’t real. It must be art, eh? Too cold, though to talk with these connoisseurs about the topic. It was too cold to even have a camera; I shot with Canon S90, which I kept in my pocket where it fogged up.

Kevin came from Barre. “Don’t drink the water there,” I was told when we came to VT. He has stage 5 colon cancer. In town to go to the doctor and see his social worker, he hopes that Make a Wish will send him to Japan for his last fling to see amime and the life there. He don’t care about cold. He’s still alive. Go live, my man. You have courage.

 

Larry and Matt Sweet have a tent. No way these guys do the shelter thing; too many rules. Know how to camp in the tent. Keep out the drafts and cold air.

Joe knows some kids, maybe college kids, who let him sleep in a utility room. They give him beer, pot, and food. He offered me some of his pina colada. Not exactly a drink I would drink, assuming I would drink in the park on a day like this, even if I were thirsty or going through withdrawl. I associate pina coladas with warm weather and tropical breezes, not sub arctic cold.

Connor and Country. I cannot be sure. They were looking for someone or something, they thought.

Keith came out for tobacco. I could not see coming out for something to smoke. A hospital appointment, sure; you got nowhere to go or you don’t know where you are, sure; but tobacco …. What a country. We all get a vote, too.

Damn, it was cold. And the cold doesn’t usually bother me. Tomorrow, colder. Joe said only the really hard core would be out tomorrow. We will see.

 

 

Amy Winehouse, Dead at 27

 

 

What did she say in F*uck Me Pumps, “… don’t be upset if they call you a skank.” Only two albums, one of which I, yes, me, own. Great ink. But don’t compare her to the others who only made it to 27 (Cobain, Janice, Jimmy, Jim, Brian Jones). I still cry for Lennon whose longer life would have made the world betta, betta, betta. When your obit can only refer to one great song whose point is that you should have gone to rehab and didn’t, I cannot mourn her, especially with what happened in Norway.