Category: photography

One of the joys of being a portrait photog is that as your skills mature, so do your sitters. Here is my friend Paul Erstein, lost in the outskirts of my life for several years, but now back. We reconnected, shared some history and “first aid” info, talked about his beloved Mother who lived a long rich life and talked about family. He has a daughter and son, both in strong, loving relationships, one of whom has served up three grandchildren.

In 2015, he rode his motorcycle, remembering zipping round like a kid. He felt some pain selling his bike, but we all got to grow up. New car for a 70th birthday present will make up for it.

In 2017, he day traded, looking to make a score to carry him into older age. He says he still does a little. But I am not here to look at his checkbook.

So, you may not realize that his image was developed from a piece in an art show in 1917. Marcel DuChamp, a French painter, sculptor and art critic, submitted an ordinary piece of plumbing to a show sponsored by the Society of Independent Artists in New York City. The work has been seen by many as the leading piece of avant-guard art of the 20th century.

DuChamp allegedly bought this ordinary piece of equipment and designated it a work of art. He called such items “Readymades.” When the show directors refused to display it, he retracted his exhibit, had it photographed by Steiglitz and quit the organization. The original R. Mutt disappeared, but the issue of what constitutes art continues.

My shot was taken in one of the Men’s bathrooms at the Norton Museum of Art in West Palm Beach FL. Governor DeSantis has not gotten around to removing it as an object which could transform men into women or vice versa, in full disregard of its useful significance.

Bathrooms are bathrooms. And you can never be too carful in one, which is why they tell you where to stand and where to shoot. Women, because of anatomical differences do not have this problem. This blog post is therefore offered as a public health advisory, in addition to a note to promote art appreciation.

Last night lecture on South Pacific, artists, authors, movies. A combination of Brando, Gaugin, RL Stevenson and even Herman Melville. Picasso and Matisse were influenced by the colors and shapes. Michner studied the history. We get to see their art and three versions of Mutiny on the Bounty. Frankly, I liked Brando better than Gable and Gibson. The lecturer liked Gable, sans moustache.

TToo many at sea days in a row. Hard to find interesting things to shoot. Water all around. Food. Not ready for people. Three more days at.sea before Bora Bora. Lots of lectures on exploring and geology. Like being back in school. Internet is sketchy, but good enough for everything but streaming.

Anyone can make a picture of a sunrise. Making it differently is a challenge.

So, today I turned 75. Not as happy as I might be, except I am still alive and I am still married to Sharon, whom I love dearly.

No guarantees. Blood test next week for my CLL. No covid protection even though triple vaccinated and whatever. Immunochallenged among other things. Then off traveling. All life could be a crap shoot, but my dice don’t have all the dots, so I cannot feel all that comfortable.

Meaning for my life might emerge from my struggles, past/present/future to self-actualize, a forceful effort I alway had to make to avoid injury, restraint and violent recriminations. Not having a loving family served to constantly create obstacles and no relief. Lucky I had some friends along the way who weren’t overly critical. So what if I eat lettuce with my hands and sip soup out of the cup; what are fingers  and mouths for?

Personally, I always tried to live meaningfully, not knowing what was right or what to do, always looking for answers, sometimes in Judaism, sometimes in art and not enough in Emily Post or the Code of Judicial Ethics.

The answer found in Monty Pythons, The Meaning of Brian is enough for today,”“Well, it’s [the meaning of life] nothing very special. Uh, try to be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try to live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.” People will disagree about whether I did this, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try or won’t.

Just remember that Curtis and his Merry Crew demonstrated in front of and near my home in Lefferts Manor and contributed to the decision to vacate for a couple of weeks. When we returned the inquisition began in full. 

I will never get over this. Too late for therapy, which I couldn’t afford, financially or politically. The experience and the PTSD that followed changed me for the worse. I will always be defined by lies, exaggerations, hurt feelings delivered at hearings, inscribed in news articles and official records built by political/judicial corruption.

And, of course the similarities, leaving out the political machinations, is the assault charge manifested by Rudy for himself and the one concocted for Galina Komar. Just remember, in the name of justice, I figured out there was something wrong with the assault charge, and in doing so, stepped on a landmine which caused my death and the deaths of Komar and Oliver. I lowered the bail on a misdemeanor case, no trial ever happened the my world exploded. Check out what Pataki said about my legal analysis and how Rudy now exaggerates his injuries.

Had Oliver been properly charged, assuming there was a crime, unconsented to anal intercourse (possibly at knife point), which would have been a felony a case I never would have touched being only a pissante Criminal Court Judge. Who called the police and when? What did they arrest him for and where are the papers? Why did she not seek medical attention? Where is the knife and the picture of the bruise? Why were no motions filed?

But after deciding not to seek an indictment (a surprise for fans of Joe Hynes, the prosecutor of the innocent who know he indicted using lying cops and overbearing ADAs) on the bogus arrest and fudged facts, this monstrosity landed on my bench and resulted in tragedy.

Will everyone die before we find out what really happened?

No one gives a shit still and I remain beyond redemption.