Photography Thinks
During the Roman times, the Emperor and his landed gentry buddies would bring gladiators into this arena where they would fight and kill peasants and lions. People cheered for their sides, just like many still do today when they watch sports.
They drank wine, wenched and partied, ignoring their responsibility to civilization.
They have telephones now, though I doubt anyone uses them.
So, you are asking, why travel. One reason is to see the antiquities. Go back to where organized governments started, albeit ones that didn’t treat all people, especially women equally. They had slaves, too, some of whom had talent and built this place. Seeing it in art and history books just ain’t the same, despite the crowds, the climb and the weather. I felt the togas.
Like all civilized places, they had arts and a theatre. Plays, music and circus. No slayings. Maria Callas even sang there, as did Sting.
After a while, the cities look the same. Canons from the war. Scarf seller. We went to Troy. Saw the ruins. Helen’s face launched a thousand ships. Brad Pitt fought there. No more water, Hector. For the tourists, a wooden horse. A fort was unearthed, along with the remnants of 9 cities built on top of each other. The men fought. The women, cooked and cleaned and worked in the bordello. They had water to drink and bathe in. Then came the malaria and they were wiped out.
So, we travelled for 30 hours, arriving at the boat in Istanbul totally wasted. My head ached. My eyes burned. I walked dead, not knowing if I was alive or a person from another planet.
We cancelled the two day layover due to terrorist threats. No need to be a hero. Most on the cruise did likewise. I don’t regret it, but I really wanted to return to the Blue Mosque, Topkapi and the Cisterns. Security is evident and overwhelming. Maybe we didn’t have anything to worry about.
But, shooting an image, making a photograph, always brings me back to life. The suite we live in for the next 50 days has a terrace. I set up the tripod, put the camera in place and shot as the sun went down. Two large martinis also helped.
Senior Citizes are all over the place in Sunny Southern Florida, people staying alive, remaining active. Staying purposeful.
They get around. Know the bargains. Like to shop without dropping, especially in grocery stores. Instant kindness in the aisles and checkout. Someone carries the bag, maybe the person is older than they are, but less frail. Keeps them all busy and out of trouble.
Buses pick them up in the communities their kids have dumped them. They get spruced up, equip their walkers with fresh tennis balls and shopping bags. They don’t buy much; cannot eat what they used to. One stop shopping: drugs and food. Bus takes them home.
They love to smile and converse, especially with someone they haven’t seen before pays them a courtesy.
So, to get ready to celebrate Saturday night date night, I need some flowers, some vodka and wine and a hope to be a millionaire.
Chris manages Total Wines in Wellington, FL
Maria arranges flowers at Total Flowers in Boca Raton, FL
Maria sells lotto tickets at some dive in Boynton Beach, FL, where you can buy almost anything.
My homage to Steven Watkins. So, Steven’s work lived a life. I couldn’t dismantle his work without using the useable. The plight of the flower artists, seeing the dead. I threw away what I could, rearranged and shot.
Sometimes the myths can be less interesting than the truths. I always thought that Van Gogh cut off his own ear. Research suggests otherwise. However it happened, it could not have been pretty.
He was a depressing character. Had syphillis or some other similar disease. No teeth. Didn’t take baths or worry about personal hygiene. And he drank a lot of absinthe. No wonder he painted still lifes and self-portraits.
Now on to how Van Gogh died. Did he shoot himself or did some kids shoot him?
Every once in a while, I go back and look at shots I had taken earlier in my photographic career. Since I wasn’t charging people, many didn’t even return to look at the images, yet alone order any prints. I’d print one, put in my portfolio and that would be it. Never played with them, added any toning or conversion techniques or photoshopped them. That takes some cooperation from the sitter.
Jordan here, didn’t come back. He said he wasn’t looking for images dark or edgy. We haven’t spoken since then; not unusual for me and my sitters. People want their photos to be like they want them to be. And I want mine to be like mine. In a good portrait shoot, the great images are something of a compromise.
Great looking guy. We did well during the shoot, surprisingly well, in light of the fact he is a fine art photographer and teacher. That we share a love of photographic history made it fun, but I never looked at the session until today when I was doing some housecleaning in my catalogues.
Not bad, I’d say. Still have some work to do on it, if I have time. More importantly, it tells me that in those files and folders sitting on my computer may lie some shots I would appreciate.
So, by this time you must know that I am an artist with a camera who shoots portraits. The heavy book in my lap, edited by the wife of a lawyer whom I knew when I lived in another body, traces the history of the photographic portrait. Where I fit into this ever changing medium has not yet been determined, but I am working on it.
Fascinating that the beginnings of photography and impressionism coincided. As painting went outdoors, aided by the lead tube, the paint brush and the collapsible easel, photography stayed indoors, trapped by its chemistry. The painters escaped the studio, finding their own plein aire truths on the banks of the Seine. The photographers focused their eyes on people and things that didn’t move, establishing themselves as the heirs to the pre-raphaelites. To many, they were not artists, but merely operators of cameras and mixers of dangerous liquids spilled over plates.
The principles of portrait photography remain the same. You need a camera, a sitter and a photographer. The more the three relate to one another, the better the portrait. The equipment has gotten easier to use and more democratic, which might be able to be said about painting. One still needs to be an artist and adhere to age old principle to do good work.