A great week of being among people again. Two long days on a film set. A good time to reflect on just being alive and being able to do fulfilling work. My hope for you all, in ways big and small. Peace.
A melted strip of film, encased forever in resin… a future fossil from a pandemic.
2021: 12 "get sick, get well, hang around an inkwell"
Over a year into social isolation, virus anxiety and the pendulum swings of emotion have come to a turning point for me this week. I finally received my second covid vaccine dosage. Not wanting to rub salt in anyone’s wounds who are still waiting for their shot, of course… but thank goodness for my pre-existing condition… finally high blood pressure has its benefit. The side effects of the second shot (as many have prepped me for) came on strong within 24 hours of my shot. And it did hit me harder than I expected. Mostly fatigue, body aches, and a bit of fever. But I gladly rode it out, because I knew that the only way out was through it… to paraphrase a great movie. The interesting this about not feeling well for this short amount of time was that it made me realize that during the entire lockdown period, I never got a cold or the flu. Aside from some regular stomach duress (par for the course with my diet) I have not gotten sick this past year. I forgot what it felt like, honestly. And this isn’t some macabre, Munchausen-esque self-sabotage… it made me value the process of getting sick and then feeling well again. The day in bed reminded me of what recovery feels like. The emergence from illness, either mild or severe… it is part of being human. And from the existential standpoint, it is a process that will continue in life… until it doesn’t. What doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger. There is no joy without pain, there is no gain without loss. There is no light without dark. This past year I’ve learned many lessons, and will continue to do so, while putting into practice the insight gained. Case in point, I’ve explored creative avenues I would have never taken had I not been in enforced isolation. Sometimes bad, but more often good lessons learned. I have played with mediums completely new to me. At the top of this post is a strip of negatives from my “Sacrosanct” series. I encased it in clear resin, but of course not knowing how to do it correctly, created a rough surface with air bubbles and other deformities. But I like it that way. Flaunt those imperfections, indeed. The negative will never be printed again. Held in clear resin now and forever. Maybe a paperweight. Maybe ending at the bottom of a landfill someday. Dug up in a couple of hundred years by curious archaeologists, perhaps? I’m wondering how confused they will be by what they have discovered.
A Bible in the Bosque
2020: 44 (Hope and Change)
The weather is changing, autumn is in full effect. The colors in the bosque are at their peak. Golden yellow and reds dominate. Three visits this week yielded much comfort, and many photos. I wandered through the thicket on Thursday and came across this Bible, in the middle of the woods, not near any path. I snapped it with my iPhone (sacrilege, I know) while also doing a few shots with my Holga. I decided to revisit the scene on Friday, with some slide film in my Leica (again… sacrilege) that I intended to cross-process. Leaves had fallen on the open book since the day before. Change. Hope. In 2020 we need both.
I also voted yesterday, to complete the theme for the week.
2020: 42 (Fail Forward)
I’ve been rolling the dice lately. Plastic cameras, nothing but film, no viewfinder, no meter, no plan, no expectations, no disappointments. Running 35mm film through medium format cameras, shooting pinhole, advancing film partially, double exposures. Shooting color film and developing it in black and white chemistry. Breaking all the rules. I’m feeling that this is all leading someplace… feels like I’m down in the sewers, just like Orson Welles in The Third Man. Darkness, dampness, dripping liquids, shadows, footsteps. Isolation, fear, paranoia. Yet free, and oddly self-assured. Or maybe just schizophrenic. My mind is popping, synapses firing in all directions, and then lethargic, confused, unable to focus and concentrate. This is life in 2020. The year of perfect vision, is that irony or not? So much more to come. While I breathe, I hope.
Orson Welles in the classic film, The Third Man. Watch it if you’ve never seen it.
2020:26 (Halfway Through)
I will not add too much to the chorus of voices who have waxed (poetically or not) on how shitty this year has been. Making these weekly posts has been mostly therapeutic for me, and lo and behold… we are at week 26 of the year. Halfway home? Halfway down? Are we halfway to the bottom or are we destined to rise up from this, the lowest depth?
Only time will tell.
I will listen to Bill Callahan or maybe Broken Social Scene and tap deep into my optimistic self, drinking from a glass that is half full.
p.s.
Someone from my distant past died this week. I hadn’t seen her in many years, but when I was a young boy, she was an important part of my life. I’ll hold the memory of a bashful kiss on the ferris wheel at the St. Mary’s carnival deep in my heart. Rest in peace, Linda.
2020: 25 (Talk About The Passion)
Photography has been a constant companion for many years. It started innocently enough with my first walk into a high school darkroom. Now it is an integral part of my life. It has been a hobby, an amateur pursuit, a release, a means of expression and a crutch through tough times. It has been a fleeting lover, a long-lost friend, a confidant. It has gone away but always comes back. It stays with me and goes places only I seem to go…so I guess I’m never really alone if I have a camera in my hand.
I have thought a lot lately about the professional vs. amateur approach to photography. I have dabbled in shooting commercial work; just enough to scare me a way from it, honestly. I have had my work exhibited and published. I have sold prints, books and zines. So I’m not quite sure what column that puts me in. I most often consider myself a “passionate” photographer. I do it strictly out of my passion for creating. I am constantly thinking of different ways of getting my work out in the world, connecting with other like-minded souls. I listen, read, watch so much photo-related content. It never gets boring. It is often inspiring.
I love the look of photos in print. I love the feel of paper with images printed on them. I love the fresh smell of ink when I receive a zine from a friend. I love leafing through a classic photo book from my library… it’s like spending time with an old friend. I love discovering work by photographers I’ve never heard of, whether they are young, new talent, or an old master, unknown to me until today.
When I think back on the harder moments in my life, and it has always been photography that has helped me cope.
Call it what you will.
I call it passion.
a barren Tomé Hill, looking east towards the Manzano Mountains, Good Friday, 2018
2020: 15 (Non-traditional)
Those of you who know me well, know that I am a person who values tradition. And even though most of my life is lived without the presence of any specific religious or cultural influences, I still choose to adhere to a cobbled-together smattering of rituals. Many revolve around my Catholic, Italian-American upbringing. A quick look at my pantry will prove my devotion to pasta, tomatoes, and pizza, never mind the odd collection of religious mass cards, rosary beads, and candles that are scattered throughout the hidden storage areas in my house.
Over the years, I have become more fascinated with the contemporary adherence to faith-based traditions. New Mexico is an ideal place to see this on display, especially around this time of year, as the 40 days of Lent lead to the celebration of Easter. Every year, for probably the past 10 years or so, I’ve taken part in two Lent-related rituals. One is my weekly Lenten Special lunch at Garcia’s Kitchen. Tortas de Huevos are a special treat, only available during Lent, and every Friday I’d head down to Central Ave in West Downtown to get my fill. The other thing I would do is the Good Friday pilgrimage walk up Tomé Hill, at sunrise. The site is truly magical, and to scramble up the rocky hill, and sit beneath the crosses as the sun peeks out over the Manzanos in the east; it is something very special, regardless of your own belief system.
Of course, this year, none of this was able to happen. I did get to enjoy a couple of meals at Garcia’s before the stay at home orders came out. But my annual trek up the Hill did not happen yesterday. I truly missed it. Even the pre-dawn drive south has a certain kind of feeling to it. I am sad I could not do it this year, but also grateful that I am home, safe, with my wife. We have food, alcohol, toilet paper and a fairly reliable wifi connection, so all things considered, I am lucky…blessed even.
As I said, I am not a religious person, but this weekend seems to be an appropriate time to have thoughts of renewal, recovery, return. While I breathe, I hope.
My own photo interpretation, taken from the book "Robert Frank Moving On" published by Scalo & the National Gallery of Art.
Robert Frank: Look Out For Hope
We live in desperate times. But haven't we always? Are we more aware of the world's problems now because we have this incessant, 24 hour a day internet torrent of bad news washing over us? Or are things really worse now than ever before? Global warming, terrorism, economic disparity, people being dragged out of their cars and beaten by the police, or shot at the slightest provocation for no reason at all, millions of war refugees, political leaders who don't represent the good of all their constituents, people on almost every street corner holding signs begging for some change (monetary or otherwise.) Some days it's just harder to keep going. And to look in the mirror and ask "what am I doing?" to make the world a better place. To help others. To have empathy. To give a shit. To keep my feet firmly on the side of the positive. To stay where I am and keep fighting. To put my art in the world. To not let negativity win. To not let the fuckers get me down. To not let the darkness of the evil doers win. My mind goes to the artists, the writers, the film makers, the poets, the singers, the comedians...those who are the light in the darkness. Like Robert Frank, who has been a creative inspiration for me for well over 30 years, and whose photograph I sat and pondered this morning. "Look Out For Hope." When I first saw that image in college, I didn't know exactly what it meant. Or what Frank's work really meant. I was still in school and thought that Ansel Adams was the pinnacle of photographic expression (oh, youth...) Little did I know that Frank's daughter had died in a plane crash. Or that years later, his son would suffer mental breakdowns and eventually die. Or that we all fucking suffer in our own way. As he said in another photograph "The wind will blow the fire of pain across everyone in time." Death, divorce, physical pain, loneliness, alienation, bankruptcy, homelessness, substance abuse and addiction, random violence. And various other losses both great and small. But what do we do? Give up? Or find a way to fight, every fucking day. To awaken, still breathing and still looking out for hope.