I found the Hare

Went back to Cheekwood Sculpture Trail today, to walk and think, and just enjoy being outside in the fall air.

"Crawling Lady Hare" -- Sophie Ryder (click/enlarge)

Cheekwood Sculpture Trail: A hidden treat

Drove out to Cheekwood today to see Greg Miller’s prints. After that, went for a walk at sunset thru the Sculpture Trail. What a jewel of a place. Surprises around every corner. It was a slow day there, and there was almost total silence on the trails. Highly recommended, especially this time of year. I’m going back, with a real camera, soon. Here are some iPhone images from today.

Cheekwood Sculpture Trail

Coming Full Circle (almost thirty years)

Last night, I see this movie called “The Men Who Stare at Goats”. It felt like one of those movies that was based on a book. You could feel the book wanting to come out, but it just didnt translate for me. It rambled on, and finally I just gave up and walked out. I just think it’s weird when people try to resurrect a character, ie Jeff Bridges in the Dude role, but stick him in something else, just because Big Lebowski was a hit. (I can just hear the conversations with the bean counters now: “We’ll ride those coattails”.) Uh, sorry, no. And somebody needs to tell George Clooney to just take a vacation and go underground for a while. Overexposure. Too many movies where he simply plays the same character over and over. And the Kevin Spacey character just didn’t cut it, (or maybe it was the hairpiece). And worse than anything, don’t go hurting animals in a movie. We all know it’s just a movie, but still. No stories about harming dogs, and no stories about harming goats.

So this morning, I take this great walk thru downtown. Walking over the bridge into downtown, leaving East Nashville, it hit me that downtown is where I first began here. I moved to Second Avenue in November of 1981, where Mulligans now stands. It’s still got the same bad HomeDepot siding on it, as the guy put on it when I bought the building, 28 years ago. At that time, Second Avenue was a ghost town after 5pm — we used to stand in the middle of Second Avenue and throw frisbee in the afternoons. Rarely a car broke the rhythm. At that time, Jack and Frank May, and Bob Schatz, and Scott Bonner, and Mark Martin, all lived down there — they called us “urban pioneers”. I remember loving the whole city thing at that time, I was only 23 or 24. I used to walk uptown to this weird Shoneys, near The Arcade, for the salad bar, every afternoon. The whole lifestyle was about never getting in your car.

So today, I head out. Incredible morning, with warm sun. Very Santa Monica. Here’s my map walk. First, over the bridge, and cross the street, and check out these great new fountains at the new Court House, then to The Stahlman Building, and admire the renovation of the bank building on Third and Union. Then back to Deaderick, and up Deaderick, and admire the new trees in the center of the road. Then up the steps to War Memorial, thru the fountains, up the steps and thru that Collonade thing, then out the back door to the Tennessee Building, then hang a left and down Seventh to Broadway, to that great church on Seventh and Broad, then hang a left on Broad, and down to the hockey place, then right, and admire The Oldest Building In The World, then over to the Hilton, thru the park, by the Symphony Building, then up Hermitage to shake hands with Rachel Lehman at Crema and say hi, then back over the Korean Veterans bridge, back to Fifth and Main, where I live, but try to avoid the exhaust fan at Otters Chicken; nothing worse than breathing fried chicken exhaust. And then say a prayer that Allium stays in business. As for the future of downtown, my suggestion is that the city beg, borrow, steal however much money it takes, and they go to Steiner Liff Recycling, and also to that giant gasoline tanker company, both which are near the Cumberland River, and they pay them to move. If the city is going to grow, respectfully, those companies need to move elsewhere, and give up that valuable land. Nothing worse than being on I-65, and you look over at the skyline, and you see a stack of crushed 1968 Dodge Darts in a pile.

But all in all, a great walk, and I might even be re-embracing living in East Nashville, after all. (But don’t count on it). I did a lease/purchase here, and don’t really see the purchase thing happening, long term. After moving here, and not having grass underneath my feet, it occurred to me to make a Priority List of Important Stuff when choosing a home:

1. Walk out back door onto grass.

2. Be able to install outdoor shower, in privacy.

3. Be able to have my own grill, and to be able to burn my own meat.

4. Be able to install hot tub for January mornings.

5. This is #5, but it’s really #1: Be able to have a Campfire in your own yard.

In searching on RealTracs, I keep looking for these items when I do Searches: “Campfire”, “Outdoor Shower”, but so far, have not found them. I’m going to invent the Hippie Version of RealTracs.

nice work: Bieke Depoorter

interesting work here. this scandanavian belgian woman rode the trans-siberian train thru russia, and kept a piece of paper in her pocket, written in russian, asking people to let her stay in their homes. she wanted intimate glimpse into the life of russian families. what an adventure.

Bieke Depoorter

(click on Portfolios>”Oe Menia: With Me”)

copyright bieke depoorter

Surrealists: Do photographers/artists band together like this any more?

I stopped at the Frist Center today to see the Surrealists show, about Paris in the 20s and 30s. How has the climate changed since then? Do we ever see groups of artists working within one theme any longer?

Home again, off the road

Early today. Oak Mountain State Park, south of Birmingham.

We just got home tonight. Completed a nice project with art director Rich Albright of Luckie Advertising, for the Morgan Keegan firm. Environment portraits in Memphis, Birmingham, and Nashville. Shot stills for ads, and video for their site.

The frame above was early this morning, before the talent arrived. Fall is in the air.

Tutorial from my mother: Frying Okra, southern-style

I would not want my mother to read this, but she is getting to the age where I’m sorta feeling like it’s time to make a bunch of photos, and maybe even attempt some bad videos with this new Canon camera I got. So today, I drive up there, and I wanted to record this strange ritual of frying okra. I can remember as a kid, it was a big deal when the day would come to have okra. Okra might have gone along with fried balogna, or brown beans, and cornbread. I think, in the 60’s in Kentucky, the goal was to accumulate the most amount of Carbs onto your plate, with every single meal. Although, in the 60’s and 70’s, I’d never heard of the word Carbs, let alone known that it was a bad thing. All we knew, at that time, was that it tasted damn good. And we always wanted seconds.

Even today, as I sat there and ate the okra, I could feel my brain going into hyperspeed as I ate the oil, or whatever it was that the okra was cooked in. It was that feeling that you just KNEW you wanted more, but you’d barely even started on the first helping.

So, I present my mother, Margaret Tucker, demonstrating the proper technique of preparing that most excellent dish, Fried Okra. Like she says somewhere in the video: “Enjoy”.

(You might have to give it a second to load…)

I want to show you a giant Sunflower

A few days ago, I went into my new neighborhood organic grocery — you know the kind, with the weird vitamins, and the bulk food, and the water dispenser thing, and the tasteless cookies made from tree bark. So I grabbed my standard Chicken Salad sandwich, hippie chips, unsweetened tea, and I’m heading out the door, when, right in front of me, my jaw dropped. Lying on the counter was a gigantic mammoth sunflower blossom. It was huge — like twelve or fifteen inches across. It was so amazing looking, it didn’t even look like a flower, it looked like some kind of sea animal or something, that someone had mistakedly left on the counter. Like it was still alive and breathing. I stopped the counter lady, and asked it was real, and she confirmed it was. Today, I go back in there, and I asked the manager what happened the the sunflower mascot. He said a grower had brought it in, and they were gonna roast the seeds. I asked him to let me borrow it, to take it to my apartment to photograph it. He said sure.

So off I go, with a sea mammal under my arm. It smelled amazing, like some humid, moist limp animal. Took it home, wandered around the windows to try to find the right light for it. Here are two images — one straight on, that does not begin to show you how large it is, (should have put my head or hand next to it to show scale), and here’s another one, when I really got in there and worked with it intimately.

I feel like I don’t want to take it back to the store. I want to get a cage for it, and adopt it. Almost like it would come alive in the middle of the night, like in that Steve Martin movie. “Feed me!”

Link to larger image.

The food we eat: from one place?

I was driving down the 15 freeway last week, in Las Vegas, and looked over to my left, and see this gigantic warehouse building. It was large, like a car manufacturing plant — acres and acres and acres — just the building alone. Then I see the logo on the building, thinking it might be a car plant. But it was Sysco. (Sysco food, not Cisco routers). And then I remembered that there’s also a Sysco here in Tennessee. I looked at that warehouse, and just imagined giant conveyor belts of frozen peas, and tasteless carrots, and frozen chicken, all being pre-packaged and sent to all those casinos in Vegas. Everyone eating from the same slop bucket.

Fast forward to last night — I took my mother out to dinner for her 79th birthday. We picked up my aunt too. Ended up at this fern bar chain place called Rafferty’s in Bowling Green, Kentucky. I’m sure everyone goes thru that same thing in their mind when they’re trying to come up with a nice place to take somebody for dinner; this place seemed harmless enough, and it had a wagonwheel out front. Hell, the wagonwheel alone seems like it would guarantee a good meal. So in we go. It was packed, Friday night. So the food comes, and I look at it, and then I taste it, and I begin to think of this Sysco place. I just began to wonder — how come that when you go to even a “nice” place, the food is, for the most part, pretty bland, tasteless, and uneventful? (Unless it’s some place that pours on the salt or the MSG). I just imagine some giant Sysco truck, backing up to the loading dock at Rafferty’s, and they roll in a 55-gallon drum of lettuce; a 55-gallon drum of dressing; a 55-gallon drum of cherry tomatoes, and then they pull out of that lot, and drive next door to Red Lobster, and then down to Cracker Barrel, and then down to OCharleys, and then down to Bennigans — in effect, all these restaurants have different logos, but in the end, aren’t you just having dinner at Sysco Food Services, no matter where you go?

I hope I’m wrong.

What would it take to have a restaurant that didn’t didn’t serve meat pumped full of hormones and other growth drugs? What would it take for a restaurant to have their own garden out back? Would a salad have to cost $400 if that was the case?

I know it’s easy to slap around Shoneys, and Cracker Barrel, and Bennigans, and OCharleys, and Olive Garden, etc, but I’d also wonder about the high-end restaurants here in Nashville. Do you think they get their food from Robert Orr Sysco as well? Sunset Grill; Yellow Porch; Watermark; Bricktops; J Alexander; Germantown Cafe; City House? I just wonder where the line gets drawn — between sourcing mass produced Robert Orr Sysco, versus grow-your-own, or fly-it-in-daily-from-some-hippie-organic-grower? I guess I’d be fine if Sunset Grill got their ketchup and mustard from Robert Orr, but anything beyond that — real food — and it changes things.

Then, I read this crazy article in the Times about this “mildly outspoken” woman in NYC named Meme Roth. (Sounds more like a logo than a real name). She’s raising hell in New Jersey, where she used to live, about the school’s giving her kids fatty foods and just generally “empty” food. (One of the board member’s sent her an email and gently suggested: “Maybe you should consider moving?”) So she did. To NYC. But anyway, even though she sounded kinda like a nutcase, in the end, I thought to myself, “She’s right, and I’d probably do the same thing (if I had kids)”.

So anyway, I don’t know the point of this post, but I’m just more and more aware of the food I eat. And my trainer at the gym is on me about “High Fructose Corn Syrup”, which, the more you read about it, seems like a substance more dangerous than heroin. She says that HFCS has some trait that turns off a sensor in your brain that tells you to stop eating, even when you’re full. Sounds like me, for damn sure.

Another link: Food Inc, a new film:

Here’s another one, this time about that dreaded villain, Corn:

After I posted this originally, a friend sent me this link too. Honestly, it’s pretty stupid, but I guess the idea behind it is good:

Vegas and area: Day four

Zabriskie Point, with sunrise coming over the mountains. Death Valley.

Grasslands, fed by underground stream. Tecopa, CA. Sunrise, this morning.

Dirt road to nowhere. Mid-day in Crystal, Nevada.

Dunes in Death Valley, near Stovepipe. Late afternoon.

Another stitch from The Neon Boneyard. (Wow, what a place that is).

Lake Mead, a few miles east of Las Vegas.

Church at sunrise, Tecopa, CA.

Midday today in nasty sun, but maybe that\'s best for Vegas (?). New York New York, across from my hotel. Love it or hate it, it is captivating.

And the weirdest frame of all -- my room, Room 474, Tropicana Inn Hotel, Vegas.

I sort of re-fell in love with Tecopa, California, this morning. The light was amazing just after 6am. I was on the way to photograph this church, when I ran upon these natural grasses growing. It would be an awesome location for a bicycle ad, or some kind of anti-depressant medicine, because there’s just no way in hell you could feel depressed if you were walking here. There are these giant “mud hills” as they call them. They must have been silt runoff, from a zillion years ago, but they’re just gently rolling low hills. And this one underground stream under a mountain feeds the town of Tecopa, with water. It’s hard to see how surreal this is, because there’s no way to show in a photograph that you drive for like a solid HOUR off the main road, thru absolute desolate desert with no water, and then miraculously, these green grasses start to appear. I sat in The Crowbar Cafe this morning, and talked to the locals about just HOW that people came there by wagontrain, and did not die or starve to death. I am such a wimp compared to those people — I get pissy if the temperate goes much above or below 72, or if the humidity goes up, or if the Internet connection gets slow, but these wagontrain people came from like MISSOURI or something, over land, at about two miles an hour, and somehow, they survived. I have no idea how. I promise you they did not try it in June.

There’s another frame above, of Zabriskie Point in Death Valley, quickly stitched, (six vertical frames put together from the P45+; you should see the file at 100%; stunning). To view a larger JPG of this file, click here.

Anyway, I leave Tecopa, and head back into Vegas, and grab a room at The Tropicana. I walked in the room, and my jaw dropped. There were mirrors on the headboard, on the side walls, and on the ceiling. There’s no way I’ll get to sleep tonight, will probably end up on the floor. I feel like I asked the Front Desk for the AARP Discount, but instead they punched in XXX Discount by mistake.

Vegas area: Day Three

The days are blurring together now. I started the day at Badwater and Zabriskie Point in Death Valley, then ended up in Tecopa, California, and Shoshone. I took in a strange hot bath at Tecopa, somewhat spur of the moment, but the water was 106 and I only lasted about fifteen minutes, (since the air temp was about 100!).

Anyway, my friend Jim Herrington turned me on to Tecopa and the hot springs, (and the China Ranch dates). The town of Tecopa has got a bit of a Salton Sea vibe to it — lots of strange campers and abandoned buildings, but it’s also charming in a way, too. You’d almost think that Roy Stryker was the mayor — everything feels kinda 1945 and WPA/FSA. You look off into the distance, and the deepest valley is either pure white sand, (or salt). A stunning view. I can’t imagine how anyone would have stumbled on it, but the hot springs guy said it’s all the rage in wintertime.

Anyway, here are three quickie frames. The color might be weird — I’m using a new version of CaptureOne, and not sure I’ve got it nailed. I think they’re sRGB, but not sure. Two frames from Tecopa, and one frame from Badwater.

Badwater, at sunrise, (with some other random photographer who stood in the right spot).

Self-Service Laundry. Tecopa, California.

Campground parking lot, Tecopa, California.

Death Valley intensity

Spent the morning yesterday in Vegas at the Neon Boneyard. Of course, every fashion photographer in the western hemisphere has shot there, but I just wanted to see the Type in person. You sign up for a Tour at 10am, and the guide was very well-informed, and told some great stories about the history of LasVegas. Vegas has never been my cup of tea — my limit is about 48 hours, or else I turn into Nicholas Cage, and spin into a downward spiral. The whole place is just creepy. I’m not a drinker, nor a gambler, but I love the whole 50’s Rat Pack mentality. The history. And that The Mob really built that place, in cahoots with the government.

The tour wrapped about eleven AM, so I headed north on 95 toward Death Valley. Spent the day completely in awe of the place. Looked up at the thermometer at about 4pm and it read 110 degrees. I walked a long way across these sand dunes, looking for a nice sunset image, but never really put it all together. But it was a nice walk, (in 110 degree heat). I got there too early for the light. The light is only good between about 7:45 and 8:15pm.

Stayed last night at this great place, (great, as in funky), called the Amargosa Opera House and Hotel. Smack dab in the middle of nowhere, but by God it has an Opera House. Great little room with tile bath, no TV or phone. Nice cafe. Up at 4:30am today to drive back to Badwater for the sunrise.

Anyway, posting one image because the internet is funky in this cafe in Shoshone, Nevada, (or California). Not sure. This is one image from a three-frame stitch, so it’s not finished. If you’re at all into Type design, you’d just love this Boneyard Place:

One frame from a stitched image (to be done later). Neon Boneyard, Las Vegas.

Two updates below, after originally posting:

I read this thing on Susana Raab’s blog, about Martin Parr’s talk in Charlottesville. I’ve never been a big fan of Martin Parr, at all. But I like some of what he’s saying here, about not repeating yourself, and about not always trying to do “good photography”. I wish I’d heard the talk, so I could have heard it in full context. I will now pay more attention to Martin Parr. Here is the direct link. I also like how he has a different set of rules for commercial shooting than for his personal work.

I feel obligated to spread the word about Larry Brown’s fine book “Father and Son”. There must be something in the water, in Oxford, Mississippi.

On the road: Nevada, central California

Landed in Las Vegas this morning. This is just an exploration trip — location scouting, and getting a feel for this part of the country, (and just to get outside, in the heat, and to be shooting). A friend lent me this Larry Brown novel, called “Father and Son”, and that had me gripped by the neck for the majority of the four hour flight. Highly recommended novel, but not for the faint of heart. The word “brutal” comes to mind.

Anyway, drove most of the way around Lake Mead today, and ended up in Valley of Fire. I shot this image below in a town called Overton, Nevada, which is at the top tip of Lake Mead. What I’m finding out here — there are about three hours of shooting time per day — 1.5 hours in the morning and another 1.5 at sunset. Otherwise, the light is very harsh.

Headed to Vegas tomorrow morning to see that Neon Boneyard, and then on to Death Valley for the next few days.

I just love this part of the country. Great skies today. I shot the image below, and had the gear loaded in the car, ready to pull away, and then I looked up and saw this red blast of cloud color being shot up from below. Got the camera and tripod back out, and walked back up to my spot, and reshot it.

Abandoned construction site, Overton, Nevada.

Experiments with borrowed 8×10 Deardorff

I have no idea why I wanted to try this. Maybe because, with the H2 camera, I can’t get a lens that’s any faster than f2.2. I want a 1.4 lens, but on an H2. So I go fantasizing about shooting 8×10, trying to drop the background soft. It’s been a gut-wrenching few days. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Newfound respect for anyone that can pull 8×10 off successfully.

Firstoff, my true feeling is: Don’t mix Film with Digital. If you’re going to shoot film, then call a real lab and pull a CPrint. It’s like making out with your sister or something — some things just ought to be kept separate. And don’t go messing around with lame Epson software or lame SilverFast, and try to scan the color negs. It’s just wrong. Do it right, go to a real lab, and pull a real Cprint. Just one opinion.

These frames are just tests with my friends. Just to see: “Is the 8×10-ness effect enough to justify the hassle factor of shooting it?”. (My qualified answer is: If you’re gonna put it on a website, or even put it in a book, CMYK, then it’s not worth the trouble, because the 8×10-ness just won’t show. But if you’re going to make a 30×40 killer CPrint and frame it, and put it on the wall at AIPAD, then yes, it’s worth it). There are also several frames from this local Dungeons/Dragons thing that happens in a local park here; I shot those yesterday afternoon. These are not keeper images; this is just me, trying on a new suit, seeing if it fits. (Not sure it does).

The whole thing about approaching strangers is made much easier when you walk up with a wooden Deardorff, compared to a Joe-Anybody Canon. Or even Hasselblad. That’s part of it for me, too — to use the camera in a small way to overcome my fear of approaching people on the street. There just seems to be this paranoia in the culture about being photographed; maybe everyone’s watching too much FoxNews. Like my friend Hollis says, “They’ll put their whole damn life on Facebook or a webpage or a blog, but God forbid you’d shoot a photograph of them.” So the Deardorff helps. You walk up with a hundred year old wooden monster of a camera, and it’s sort of an instant message that says, “Hey, I’m kinda serious here; I’m not a weirdo”.

But the downside is the Fear Factor about composition, and seeing everything upside down on the ground glass, and the trying to compose under a dark cloth, and then the biggest thing — making sure the subject doesn’t move out of the focus range, after you’ve closed the lens and pulled the dark slide. Made worse in my case, because I’m wanting to shoot wide open at f5.5, and the depth of focus is inches. They move a slight bit, and the whole frame is soft. So yes, lots of angst about the operation of the camera. I guess if I traveled with two assistants, it might be faster, but when you’re standing on the street with someone, one half of your brain is trying to maintain an intelligent conversation with them, and make sure they don’t get bored and leave, and the other half of the brain, simultaneously, is figuring meter readings, bellows factor, trying to remember if the lens is opened or closed, and freaking out about them moving. When you’re shooting people, alone, with 8×10, the inside of your brain is going a million miles an hour, like the 10 Freeway at rush hour.

Of course, I’m not going to get comfortable with shooting people with a Deardorff in one weekend, but this first weekend was nerve-racking and stressful. Hell, just having enough film holders loaded, when the lab is now closed three days a week, is angst unto itself. (I have to go to the lab, to use their holding room, to load film. Lab is closed; I have no film).

Andrew George was nice enough to let me borrow this camera. I bought a 360mm lens off of ebay to go on it. The camera used to belong to Slick Lawson, so it’s got some good JuJu on it.

Will I keep shooting this format, and commit to actually buying one? I have no idea. Can’t imagine shooting a real job with one. I’ve gone thru the initial 30 sheets, and I’m going to think about it for a few days, to see if it’s still calling my name. What I know is: I love the act of shooting the picture with this camera, but the post-production, after working with a Phase back for so long, seems very archaic and sloppy and Fred Flintstone, and not in a good way. I just had to write something down, and vomit out all this angst about the camera, and the scanning, to get it out of my system.

{Update, May 19th: I got mad today, and sat down and rescanned several images. Converted them, toned and bleached. Not sure if they’re any better, but they’re damn sure different. New page, just scroll down.}

Sleeper, from Elmington Park.

Tommy, (one armed monster), at Elmington Park.

Two Girls Fighters, at Elmington Park.

Harvie, (ringleader), at Elmington Park.

Buddy Jackson, after I photographed his new work for his upcoming show.

Brent Stewart. (neg copied to digital back, and then messed with).

Buddy and Adrienne, with their garden. Sunset, Friday.

Wolf Hoffmann, in my back yard.

Hollis Bennett, in his back yard, (working with Petzval lenses).

Another tough day: lost Clyde today

Who knew that you could get so attached to some stray cocker spaniel? Who knew? He was no MENSA candidate — couldn’t fetch a ball; couldn’t run after a Frisbee; couldn’t do much but eat endlessly, and walk through the park. He was terrified of most every loud sound. He smelled pretty funky after only a few days. But wow, did I get attached to him.

I apologize in advance for posting these “dog snapshots”, but you’ve got to suffer thru them. It’s just part of the deal.

I ran upon him, about seven or so years ago in Fort Negley Park. I was there, walking Dottie, my little Blue Heeler, and I watched this guy literally drive up, set him out on the ground, and drive away. Right in front of my eyes. To me, it was inconceivable that a man would do that — I thought it was some Wonderdog, who would walk himself, while the owner went to Burger King or something, and then came back an hour later and picked him up.

But the guy never came back. So now, I’ve got TWO dogs. I threatened to find a home for him, because Cocker Spaniel was not my choice of breed. But I got attached to him immediately. He was a “special needs” dog; the owners had obviously abused him. He’d run from me; not let me near him. Until slowly but surely, after months, he began to trust me.

One day, during the middle of an ad job, he got out of my fence, and disappeared for three days. I was a wreck; going to Kinkos at 3 in the morning, xeroxing signs for telephone poles, and driving the neighborhoods every night after the job ended, looking for him. One day, a woman called me from about two miles away — she’d seen him the day before, she thought. So the next day, I drove every street, and every alley, and then miraculously, there he was, walking down the alley — dirty, tired, and hungry. And not a scratch on him. How he crossed those busy streets without getting hit, I’ll never know.

We went on lots of travels together. The longest was cross-country, from Nashville to Santa Fe, in my old Ford F150 pickup. I built him an elevated stage in the back seat, so he could see out. We stayed for a week, and then drove home. A few weeks ago, I was fearing that we were near the end, so we took him to Seaside, Florida, to see the ocean, before he died. (He was not amused at the sand and the waves, but he did fine. He just stayed under the beach umbrella, with his hat on, and read Faulkner).

About six months ago, he began coughing. (This sounds like some setup to a scene in “An Officer and a Gentleman”, and it kinda is). I took him to this great vet at Hillsboro Animal Clinic, (Dr. Chad Given, awesome vet). He told me that Clyde had an enlarged heart, and it would only get worse. He chased it agressively with five kinds of medicines, but in the end, the fluid just started to build up around his lungs, and yesterday, it got really bad. So today, Dr. Given and an assistant came to my house, and put him to sleep. I gave him a haircut and a bath, to get him ready; not that he cared. But he’d been an awesome dog, and it just seemed right.

It’s been sixteen years since I haven’t had a dog in the house. Tomorrow morning will be very odd — no one to let outside, and no one to make breakfast for.

Tough day.

A Toast to his Good Life. About 3pm yesterday; it was getting so morose that I wanted to set up a happy picture to remember him by. The beer is just a prop -- he did not make me drink it.

This morning, after his bath, right before the vet arrived. He was pretty sedated at this point.

Yesterday afternoon, trying to get a smile out of him.

Clyde in Seaside, a few weeks ago. Obviously just overjoyed at being at the beach.

(Updated, after finding a couple of frames on a hard drive):

Here he is, weeks after I got him, maybe seven years ago. Look at the hair!

Summer Circus and the Unloved Mailbox

We’re in the fourth straight day of rain. But the circus is coming to town. The carnies had their windbreakers pulled up tight to their faces today, but nothing much was happening. They were all undercover, near the TiltAWhirl, smoking cigarettes and waiting for the sky to open up. The rides sat in the rain, waiting for something to happen. Below is one surreal scene I saw today — a scene within a scene.

Hillbilly Village waits patiently to open its doors. (click/enlarge).

And then, down the street, is what I call “The Most Unloved Mailbox In The World”. I drive by it almost every day; it’s near my house, and near my burrito place. Every time I drive by it, it’s like it’s leaning out to me, beckoning for me to stop and close its door. How can you have a relationship with a mailbox? Well, I do. It also reminds me of one of the scenes from the old original Batman, on TV, where one of the villains would get smacked by Robin, and his mouth would open, and he’d crash through a fake-glass window. I almost want to add in one of those bright yellow “POW!!!” signs, right next to the door of the mailbox.

The Unloved Mailbox, abandoned and desiring attention. (click/enlarge).

New Orleans, via Birmingham, on the Amtrak

We just got back from New Orleans. No real agenda — just to slow down, take the train, and see the sights. Normally, I would have chosen to pick up the train in Memphis, (City of New Orleans line), but I wanted to backtrack to an abandoned Drive-in Theatre in Clanton, Alabama, to shoot it. As it turns out, you can hop on the Crescent line, in Birmingham, and take it to New Orleans. So off we go. Below are some random notes about the trip:

1. It started off in grand fashion. After blowing down 65 to Birmingham, we pulled into the Amtrak Station downtown, which honestly, had seen better days, and looked a tad rough. But when we got out, we immediately encountered a Brass Band, standing outside the station. It was like some B/W time travel scene, circa 1965 or something. And then this one particular grand gentleman, the drummer with his kit by his side, standing there, dressed to the nines, even for a train ride. I tried to work in a portrait, but there was no time, before the train left the station. But I at least introduced myself in the lobby, and asked where they were playing. Turns out, it was the Treme Brass Band, based in the Treme neighborhood of New Orleans, just north of the Quarter. If you are heading to the city, they play every Wednesday night at the Candlelight Club, 925 N. Robertson. Check it out; you certainly won’t regret it. Anyway, as the train was headed south, it stopped in Meridian, Mississippi, and I ran back to their car, and got off five frames of Mr. Lionel Ferber, (age 76!). See below:

Mr. Lionel Ferber, at the Meridian, Mississippi Amtrak stop.

2. Taking the Amtrak: There were three types of cars on the Amtrak: Coach, Roomette, and Bedroom. If you can swing the money, splurge and rent the Roomette or ideally, the bedroom. We had the Roomette going down, and it was fine. No idea who designed those rooms, but it reminded me of one of those kids Transformer toys, where you twist it one way, and it’s a Monster, but if you twist it another way, it’s a CuisinArt. The upper bunk let down, if you wanted it to. The sink let down out of the wall. There was even a toilet right beside one seat in the room, which honestly, was pretty weird. (“Hi, don’t mind me, just keep reading — but I’m going to go to the bathroom right here”). Very strange. No divider; no separate room, just raise your armrest, and have at it. On a good day, the air conditioner works; ours did not, and it got pretty warm in there. But the SCENERY outside the window was amazing. Don’t let anyone tell you that Mississippi is a pit, because through an Amtrak picture window, it’s not. It might be a tad bit Grapes Of Wrath, but it’s still a pretty Grapes of Wrath. The trip from Birmingham to New Orleans took about seven hours. I had just come off of Flannery O’Connor “Wise Blood”, so I continued with her Letters, and with some of the Short Stories. Definitely was in “southern mode” on this trip. One other note: They served lunch and dinner, (included in the ticket price), but honestly, it was pretty grim. I’d bring a sandwich next time. They also cram you in like sardines in the Dining Car, which was sort of cute and interesting the first go-round, but after the second meal, got a little old. You share a table with another couple, whether you want to or not. Still, all in all, the Amtrak ROCKS. So much better than grinding your teeth, driving down a boring freeway, looking at Taco Bell franchises. Although, about seven hours a day might be my limit; you start climbing the walls after seven hours. (And a word to the wise: If they are serving beef, don’t order it MediumRare; order it well done).

3. New Orleans notes: We got a great rate at the Monteleon; we were there a few days before JazzFest. Great hotel, right on Royal, in the middle of everything. Best meal of the week: Grilled Oysters at Acme. But go early, around 5pm or so, or else you’ll stand in line outside for a good while. Also caught a great late show at Preservation Hall; don’t miss that.

4. The Ogden Museum of Southern Art: This was a nice museum on Camp Street, near Magazine. An uninspired building, but the art was nice. There was a Christenberry barn there, and a couple of nice prints by Jack Spencer, and an incredible print from Alec Soth, from “Sleeping by the Mississippi”. I had seen the Soth image in my printed book, but the large print on the wall at the Ogden was simply three-dimensional, like you could walk into it, due in part to the optics of the 8×10 camera format, and the way the focus falls off. It was this image, and in the book, it’s nice and all, but the large print is something to behold. The preacher’s face is beyond tack sharp, but the focus falls off right behind him. Gotta love 8×10. I also saw another one of his images at AIPAD last year — the girl in the ice skates, and the print must have been 30×40, and it was STUNNING. I’ve never been a huge fan of his work, but I’m totally on board now. It’s essential to see his original prints, on the wall. The web does NOT do it justice.

5. Katrina effect: We rented a car one day for a few hours, and drove into the Lower Ninth Ward, and into Bernard Parish. After seeing so many images of Katrina, I just could not bear to even think about shooting there. I didn’t even bring the Hasselblad; I just wanted to see it and feel it. I’d seen Polidori’s show at The Met, and that was enough. On television, you have no idea how much area was flooded, but in person, it just went on for MILES and MILES. The telltale sign was the spraypainted ID on the fronts of the homes. Jawdropping how much was flooded. It just makes you wonder who gave the go-ahead to ever build a neighborhood there in the first place, (and why’d they’d ever rebuild in the same troubled spot). You’re driving along, and then you realize that you’re below sea level — essentially underwater — and it’s a little unnerving. I can’t imagine laying down and going to sleep there.

6. The Candlelight Club: So we hopped in a cab on that Wednesday night, to see the Treme Brass Band perform. Got there a tad early, and they were just warming up. Tiny club; low ceilings; great bartender; great feeling; and the walls were covered with these giant printouts of dollar bills. I got off a portrait of Uncle Lionel Ferber before the show; the room was super-dark, and all I had was the H2/P45, so I just set it to ASA 400, brought him over to the only light source in the room — a neon Miller beer sign mounted on the wall — held my breath, and shot a few frames. Here he is below:

Mr. Lionell, on stage, at the Candlelight.

Here is another wonderful scene — these crazy dollars on the wall, along with the balloons, and a gorgeous older lady, sitting alone in the crowd:

Candlelight Club, New Orleans.

Here is a link to a YouTube video that someone else shot, inside the club. Trust me, when these guys get rocking, and the crowd starts dancing, and the trumbones and trumpets hit full blast, it is a memorable experience.

Here’s also another image of this great young musician that sat in with the band that night, Trombone Shorty, (Troy Andrews). He played trumpet and drums that night, but seemed like he could play most anything. Below.

7. Clanton, Alabama. A few weeks ago, I’d discovered this wonderful abandoned Drive-In in Clanton. At that time, it was covered, and I mean COVERED, in bright purple wisteria, in full bloom. It was like a movie set, art-directed, it was so perfect. So I wanted to go back and photograph it, and did, but the wisteria is gone now. Still, there’s nothing like an abandoned Drive-In, (especially with an ad for mobile homes on the side). On the return trip, after leaving Birmingham, we headed south, in search of this thing, and finally found it:

Clanton Drive-In, (without the purple wisteria).

Added “Little House” chapter to website

I took many of the Little House on the Prairie images, and toned them another way, and added them as a separate chapter to my site.

You can take the boy out of The South, but…

Wonderful cooler from my local Mom/Pop local grocery. This is a portrait of The American South. (click to enlarge, for further analysis).

An entire Section devoted only to Bologna. This too sums up The American South. (click/enlarge).

I’ve lived in my current home for three or more years, but only recently have I discovered this incredible neighborhood grocery, only five minutes from my house. When go walk through the automatic doors, it’s like that scene in Wizard of Oz, where it turns from Black and White to Color, (but in reverse). There you are, texting from your iPhone in the parking lot, and then you walk in the front doors, and it’s 1965 all over again. The cashiers always speak to you; the tile floors are waxed and shiny, (if a bit beat up); there’s no fancy Yuppie salads anywhere to be found; and in the back, the required Deli, serving Meat and Three every day. I have developed this weird hankering for the Hot Meat thing; every other day about 4:30pm, I have to go there and buy a hot Pork Chop, or a Cheeseburger that’s been sitting there all day, in the silver wrapper. I don’t know why; it just feels like HOME.

When I was a kid, I worked in my father’s grocery stores, in Bowling Green, Kentucky. From the time I was twelve years old, I was bagging groceries and stocking the canned goods on the shelves. So I got Grocery Store in my blood.

So now, at age fifty, I go in this grocery store, knowing full well I shouldn’t — that I’ll only leave there with Massive Carbs, but still, like an Addict, there I go, in total Denial, just because it feels good.

There’s this case in the back filled with Mystery Food. (See top photo, or click for larger one). This is The American South. Fifty Points for anyone that can identify the foods marked with Question Marks (???).

(Sidebar: I went to Cheekwood this past week, to some High Falutin’ Panel Discussion of five artists who were known, at one point in their life, as “Southern Artists”. It was a VERY SERIOUS AFFAIR. Lots of syllables. Lots of words like “dichotomy” and “contradiction” and “influence”; lots of references to Faulkner and Flannery O’Connor. The big question was: How come The South influences your work to such a degree? Now, I want to say, “Look at this picture of this southern food — THIS is why it affects you”.)

There is one whole section devoted entirely to Bologna — Thin Cut; Thick Cut; Beef; Turkey, etc. I wonder if any other parts of the country are so affected by the food that they grew up with?

A walk in the spring rain at Cheekwood today.

Art as Water Sanitation Plant, Cheekwood Gardens, Nashville. (click/enlarge).

I was walking thru the Sculpture Trail at Cheekwood on Sunday. I was in front of a mother and daughter, walking down the trail. When we got to this one large sculpture, (my favorite), the mother turned to the daughter and said, “Oh, that must be the Water Sanitation area”. I laughed, and said, “No, no, you’ve GOT to go inside of it. It’s ART; not a Water Sanitation plant!” They were shocked, and carefully made their way down the trail and went inside.

That piece has sort of haunted me ever since then, and today I went back to photograph it. It’s probably twenty feet across, with a circular hole in the roof, and when you walk down the entry hallway, you then come to the main round room. A similar circle of black coal is in the floor, underneath the circular “skylight”. And the whole thing made of solid concrete and steel doors. (Someone write to me with the artist, so I can credit them). (Update: The artist is James Turrell).

Anyway, I sat in the car for an hour today, waiting for the rain to stop, and then at some point, just threw on a hat and went on out there. It was great walking in the light rain, with no one else there on the grounds.

First Colonial Williamsburg ad hits NY Times

Print Ad crop of the first Colonial Williamsburg ad campaign. (click/enlarge).

We just completed seven ads for Colonial Williamsburg. The first one ran yesterday, in the Travel section of the New York Times and the Washington Post. The campaign highlights the two main aspects of Colonial Williamsburg — the historic area, and also the modern spa/resort section. Each ad starts with a scene from the historic area, on the left side, and then transitions into the spa/resort side, on the right side of the ad. This first one, “Cannonball”, starts with the soldiers firing the cannon on the left, and then a young boy blasting into a cannonball in the spa indoor pool. Collect all seven, once they’ve run!

AD/Historian: Jamin Hoyle; Copywriter: Trevor Sloan; AE: Christine Eubanks; Clients: Amy Kerr, Barbara Tyler, Jae White; AB: Megan MacCutcheon; Producer: Brett Sahler; Clothing: Cecelia Mason; Assistants: Derrick Hood, Jon Morgan, David Weaver; ChewingGum Monitor: Amanda.

Spring has sprung. Christenberry shows opens at Cheekwood.

This view seemed to sum up the Christenberry work -- one of the few artists doing both sculpture and photography. Here, the famous green barn.

Today was Free day at Cheekwood. I didn’t know it in advance, but it certainly was a nice surprise when I got to the gate. (I’d list a link here for Cheekwood, but Google shows them as “an attack site”; appears someone has hacked into the site, and it risks corruption). I’d heard about the William Christenberry show opening recently, and that along with a gorgeous spring day just sent me out Harding Road to check it out. It’s been years since I’d been there. (Why?) Sorry for the bad “CIA iPhone photos”; I was not sure if the guard would hassle me for shooting inside the mansion.

One thing I found interesting: Christenberry seemed to shoot some of the barns with a Kodak Brownie camera, (maybe as he was just out driving, and scouting), and then, if he really found a good one, he’d come back with “a real camera” and reshoot that barn. But to me, the Kodak Brownie images had much more atmosphere and feeling than the modern camera images. (Are we moving forward, or backward….?) The Brownie images had this beautiful glowy diffusion in the highlights, and much lower softer contrast. You could see into the deep shadows, even on sunny days.

Another thing that hit me — people of his generation could photograph these historic barns and landscapes, but for some reason, there’s seems to be a rule that younger photographers are criticized if they do. So what does that leave this generation to photograph? Seven-Elevens? WalMarts? Shopping malls? Starbucks? Metal barns? It’s like the younger photographers are criticized for “copying prior generations” or “not being true to their own lives”. I wonder how Stephen Shore felt when he was doing those cross-country drives? At that time, mid-70’s, Shore was just photographing his “current reality”, and it probably didn’t even seem interesting to him, because it was all he knew; he was like a fish in water. I mean, what’s so interesting about a 1974 Ford Maverick in the year 1974? A 1974 Ford Maverick only becomes interesting and notable much later, say, in the year 2000 or so. You have to skip a generation before it’s really cool and worthwhile. I can remember being a small kid, in southern Kentucky, in the 60’s and 70’s, and having my parents and grandparents drag me through rural southern Kentucky, thru the coal mine areas and the falling-down shacks, so that is first-hand to me; it is MY experience, intimately. But I’m right on the verge of being too young to be allowed to be so nostalgic as that, photographically.

The place was a mob scene -- people sprawled out everywhere. Almost gives you hope for the Arts in Nashville.

William Christenberry -- discarded eggcrate cross salvaged from Alabama cemetery.

Framed grid of barn photographs. Each frame approximately 9x12 inches.

To me, by far the most gorgeous image of the show, and one I'd never seen before -- red Alabama mud grave, with bright red flowers inserted. Stunning image.

Appears the Christenberry will give lecture there in mid-April. Must-see. (Click/enlarge).

Doug Rickard on a roll, (today, featuring Jim Goldberg)

Screengrab from American Suburb X

I just want to mention a site that’s really in a nice flow right now. The site is called “American SuburbX”. Today, he’s in good stride, featuring some amazing portraits by Jim Goldberg of Magnum.

If I remember correctly, when i was a kid, I was at Maine Photo Workshops, taking a class under Mary Ellen Mark, and I’m pretty sure Goldberg was there, in the class. His work certainly stood out, even then, at a young age. (Apologies if I’m incorrect). But I can remember, even then, there was the trademark B/W portrait, and then the handwriting from the subject of the portrait added later. So intimate; so simple and pure. Right to the core.

I was talking to my friend Troy House the other day, and we both agreed that — if money was not an issue, or raising a family, or any economic issues whatsoever — the highest calling on this planet would be to do environment portraits for magazines. I feel this more and more, the older I get. What an opportunity, for someone else to share the details of their life with you. What a priviledge to be included.

So check out these excellent Goldberg portraits, and then continue on to the Magnum site, and see his other work too.

As far as American SuburbX, DR is just on a roll. He’s featuring excellent photographers on a regular basis. Not sure I care for all the added words, but his choice of imagery and topics is right on the money. His blog/site is one for the Bookmarks, for sure.

(Update, added later: I was driving to the grocery tonight, wondering about this Goldberg fellow, and how he makes a living. I think of all the editorial assignments that I get called to do, and the phone call usually goes something like this: “Yes, we have a story where one of the subjects lives in your area. We need a nice portrait of them. They’re involved in ________ (fill in the blank, with their content). Can you shoot it next week?”. (It’s when you hear “he lives in your area”, and “we just want a nice portrait” that you know to turn it down, that they’re not calling for your style; they’re just calling to save money on the expenses, by having a local guy shoot it). And I imagine that my portrait might be be combined with other portraits from other photographers in different cities. (No budget to fly one photographer around any more). And then I imagine Jim Goldberg getting that same phone call, and then I think his style of work combining in with two other guys that shoot the standard “fill flash on location portrait”, and then I imagine the picture editor opening Goldberg’s Fedex box, and there’s one frame inside — no contact sheets — just the final frame that he chose, with the trademark writing below the image. And I imagine the picture editor’s face, and they realize that Goldberg’s style has to mesh in with the other two portraits. And then I imagine them fainting, and falling over backwards. And then I stand up, and I applaud Goldberg for doing what he does…

I see in his Bio that Goldberg teaches there in Oakland at CCAC, (great school). So that’s how he makes his living. I go to Magnum’s site, and I see his books, and I think, “My God, there is no money in book publishing — does he live in his car?”, and then I see that he teaches, so he’s doing OK, i guess.

DVD rental recommend: “Wagstaff and Mapplethorpe”

Cover image of DVD

If you have a Netflix account, this should go to the top of your list. Watched it last night. Excellent.

A documentary of the New York scene in the 1970’s, great interviews with many of the art leaders of that time, but the star is the massive collection of B/W photography that Wagstaff collected during his peak time, (and then his strange choice to sell it all, and switch to collecting silver). Mapplethorpe sort of gets a bad rap; comes off as an opportunist in a way. But interesting how Mapplethorpe seemed to be Wagstaff’s key into allowing himself away from advertising, and into a full-fledged life in the art world.

If you have interest in B/W photography, and the art world, this is a must-see rental.

Several dumb questions, (and a few statements)

1. If we own 80% of AIG, then what percentage of the United States does China own? 1%? 10%? 20%? How long will it be, (if we keep printing more fake money), before China comes to us (just like we went to AIG), and says, “Hey, no more bonuses. And no more high salaries. And while you’re at it, how about only one kid per family, and we really hope it’s a boy”? Do we really want to get this beholden to China…? How can that ever be a good thing?

2. I keep hearing these amounts of money thrown around, like $800 billion, or three trillion. If the number was, say, three trillion, then what percentage of “what the USA is worth” is three trillion? How overdrawn are we, at the bank? This is a serious question. How long can we just keep loading up our Epson printer with white paper, and printing more money, (to give away with no strings)? How much longer can this country just keep saying, “We need to invest more money into the economy”? More money, based on what collateral? Here’s a NYTimes article today, speaking of this money coming out of “thin air”.

3. I know it was fun to bash Blago for quid pro quo, but in a way, isn’t this entire country based on quid pro quo? But for some reason, it’s legal, and even promoted? In the form of campaign contributions. “I”ll scratch your back now, if you scratch mine later”? Isn’t that really how this country works? Yet, there was such outrage at Blago. When, at that very second that he was arrested, there were a hundred lobbyists on the phone with a politician, trying to contribute money to a campaign. I just don’t get it. At all. Yes, Blago is a dick, and he really crossed the line, but really, in the big picture, isn’t he just guilty of crossing the line a bit too much, when the exact same practice goes on, legally, every single day.

4. When I become King, that Burris guy in Illinois will be sent packing. He never should have sniffed around for that seat in the first place, but he did, and that’s history, but if you’re gonna go sniffing in a trash pile, you damn well better keep your own suit very clean. And, as it turns out, he lied. I’d say to him: “Pack your shit, and get out of town by sundown. We trusted you to be clean, and you lied. Get out. Now”.

5. Movies recently: Saw “The Wrestler” the other night. Shockingly good film. Mickey Rourke was so compelling to look at. Every single scene. So believable. And I just loved that it wasn’t overlit. Looked like ASA 1600 pushed a stop. In a good way. In a believable way. It felt more IFC than Hollywood mainstream. In a good way.

Saw “The Reader” and read the book. The movie, to me, was much more moving than the book. That british woman hit it out of the park. The book was very distant and unemotional. Hard to bite into it.

6. Obama Leading: I read some article the other day on Daily Beast, saying Obama should inspire more. I agree. I know he’s in the middle of the largest ShitStorm to ever hit this country, but still, the general public still wants to feel good, and they want to work, and they want to work HARD, and they want to succeed, (and make back some of the money that they lost). America needs that person, a la Jack Kennedy, to be at the forefront. Not to talk some sappy fake feel-good language, but to simply speak from his heart on the aspirations of Americans. I hope he doesn’t let himself get too mired in the muck. He needs to stay above it, and stay out in front of it all, clearing the fog.

7. Where is the hard hitting REPORTING in all this financial mess? Why is Jon Stewart the guy who’s telling the truth moreso than any “real journalist”? Where is Chris Matthews? David Gregory? What the hell do they do every day? They need to get out of that studio, and onto the streets, and really report on something. Why is Jon Stewart, comedian, making more headlines about CNBC than Chris Matthews or Brian WhatsHisName at NBC or Charles Gibson or any of those “seasoned reporters”? Where are the Woodward and Bersteins of today? Sure as hell not in Chris Matthews.

8. Chris Dodd and Barney Frank: You’re done. Just too many strikes against you. Please do not run again. You’ve served your country well, but it’s time to go do something else.

9. And can anyone say: TERM LIMITS.

10. Why does our presidential election need to last two years, from the time of the first primary, to the actual final election? How much money is wasted doing this? How much gasoline? How much airline fuel? How many bad rubber chicken meals? And who is paying for this — CORPORATIONS, (and also the general taxpaying public). Why can’t the whole thing be determined in six months? What would really suffer? Why do the primaries need to be spread out for weeks and weeks? Why not every damn primary be held on one day, just like the election? To me, much of the basic framework of this country is broken. But there are just too many people making money for anything to really change.

——–

Just one opinion, from a simple-minded, tax-paying, lawn-mowing US citizen. Other opinions might differ.

Is there a Radio that receives internet?

Does anyone know this? I want a radio for my house; something like that Bose Wave thing that would just sit on a table. I want it to do this:

1. I want to put my ipod into the top of it, if i want to listen to my same old tired music.

2. I want it to receive signal from my Apple Extreme Airport Base Station, so I can play Pandora.com, but completely without the aid of a mac computer.

3. I might even want to listen to standard FM radio at times too.

But mostly, I just want emphasis on Number 2; I want it to receive an internet signal from my Airport inside my house.

I did see this on Amazon, but it’s not released yet. Are there other models that are even better thought-out? Thank you.

(Update: Make sure and click on COMMENTS below, for great recommendations sent in by people).

Getting your head around this Economic Mess

Several people have sent me good videos and podcasts lately. I’m a news junkie, but these two NPR “This American Life” episodes, coupled with this Google video, explain it pretty well. Each requires a commitment of time; each one is about 45 minutes long, but open it up, and let it play, and go about your business. (I know in this Twitter Reality that we’re now in, Attention Span is very short). Each of these is based on simple concepts, so don’t be bashful — sit down, watch it, and try to understand.

#1: “This American Life: Bad Bank”. Either click FULL EPISODE link and listen to it on the web, or download into iTunes.
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#2: “This American Life: The Giant Pool of Money”. Either click FULL EPISODE link and listen to it on the web, or download into iTunes.

#3: Google Video, on the smoke-and-mirrors concept of “Money as Debt” and how banks use this to their advantage.

And if those three videos are too taxing for you, then send somebody a Twitter, or watch this video, or this video, stick your head back in the sand, and get back to “Dancing With The Stars”.

Thanks to S. Morgan and T. House for these excellent links.

Post #1 (of 50), about turning Fifty

Gift from Buddy Jackson (in my mind, he made it for me personally)

Card that accompanied the sculpture

I turned fifty years old last Wednesday, February 25th. Fifty years old. When I think of the crazy stuff I’ve done over the years, it’s amazing that I’m in one piece after this long. But here I am. This one hit me pretty hard.

But I had a great birthday day, and then a few days later, many friends pulled off the Surprise party of the year. I truly had no idea. I thought I was heading to a bar, to attend Kristin’s one-year-old daughter’s birthday party. I would have liked to have seen the look on my face when I walked up those stairs to the second floor, thinking I was heading to a baby party, and there in front of me were probably a hundred close friends. And then the weirdest part, over by the bar, stood my 78-year old mother! At the bar! (Not drinking of course). But close your eyes and imagine walking into a bar in East Nashville, and your OWN mother is standing there. I will never forget that memory. And then Tricia and Brett flew in from New York City!

Anyway, I want to drag out this Birthday Thing. I want to write several posts about it, because honestly, it was pretty powerful. In these crazy times, (when you’ve worked your ass off your whole life, and tried to be responsible, and put money away for retirement, only to see it wash down the drain), you realize that it all can go up in a puff of smoke, overnight. (Your SEP-IRA, that is). So the only thing you’re really left with is Friends and Family. I know this sounds like some bad lifestyle TV commercial for an insurance company, but it’s simply TRUE. It just is.

So above, in that top photo, (even though the invitation said NO GIFTS), I opened up this amazing bronze sculpture from Buddy Jackson, a lifelong friend. He probably made this as a guide for one of his large lifelike sculptures, but in my mind, he made it personally for my birthday. And if you see him on the street, make damn sure that he gets his story straight, and that the story is: It’s an original piece of art, made for me. Below the sculpture is a very nice photobook from my friend Joerg Colberg in Massachusetts.

Tricia Scott, and Brett Sahler, and Shannan Shepard put on the bulk of the party. They have a future at The CIA, due to the successful secrecy levels maintained. (Although Alexia came close to blowing it, I hear, although I had not a clue). Below is a great photo from Tamara Reynolds — a decisive moment when this Ninety-Foot-Woman came up the steps to serenade me.

This kicked off the party. My right hand got lodged between her breasts.

Anyway, the party was amazing. There were little kids everywhere, dancing. The DJ was great. Derrick and Hollis and Joel and Jon set up a white seamless and a Beauty Dish and we shot pictures all night long.

Here’s another fun one of me picking up my mother and jumping:

Mark Tucker (50), Margaret Tucker (78)

More later…

Is the NYSE Floor next door to Central Casting?

Do you wonder sometimes if the floor guys at the Exchanges don’t just get together after work and take bets on who is going to get photographed for Page A1 placement on the newspapers the next day? Don’t you think there’s a bar somewhere, a block or so from Wall Street, and all these floor guys get together after work and plan their strategies for the next day? “OK, Europe is headed downward, so that means that the US is headed down too, tomorrow, so everyone go home and practice their “Oh, Shit, can you believe this” face. Let’s pass the hat now. Everyone that’s in, the ante tonight is fifty bucks, because you just know that all the PJ guys are headed to the floor of the NYSE to shoot the dreary faces, and they’ve GOT to bring back a dramatic picture. So everybody get their Game Face on. Whoever wins, gets the pot, and the pot looks like about $450 at this point. Everybody go home and practice the Big Exhales, and the Raised Eyebrows, and the Furled Forehead move. We all need to be at the top of our game, because as the Market tanks, we’re the only ones in this Zip Code making any money, and it’s all coming off the back of the NYTimes and the WSJ. So when those photographers mount those 24mm lenses on those Nikon bodies, and stick that thing in your face, just be ready. Get those eyeballs sticking out; get those eyebrows in the air. Because there’s money to be made. Don’t forget what you learned in the Lee Strasburg School of Method Acting — the more the market tanks, show the world how bad it feels, (and then be here tomorrow afternoon at 4:30pm to pick up your dough)”.

Comparing occupations (total imagination, achievement).

My friend Kim sent me this amazing video from Wallpaper Magazine today. We’re both architecture fans. Check out how the house is designed to slide in and out, exposing the glass, depending on the weather and the seasons. What an achievement.

Do you ever compare your own occupation with others’ occupations? Do you ever think “Which occupation requires the greatest brainpower, or imagination, or vision, or ability to reason?” Where would “photographer” rank in the overall list? Where would “architect” rank? What about “mathematician”? Or what about that Vetter guy, that charted the human genome?

When I started college, I thought I was going to be an architect. I can still remember sitting in that freshman class, with my mechanical pencil, and having the teacher obsess about how thick my pencil lines were. One day, I just walked out and never returned, knowing that it was not meant for me — to sit at a desk all day obsessing about tiny lines. I just knew that life was too short to do that, and that I wanted to take pictures.

(But what do I do now, at age 50 — I sit at a desk, many days a week, staring at a 30″ monitor, and obsessing about tiny retouching issues in a 200 meg file).

Anyway, check out the video above. What an amazing photo studio that house would make. An available light portrait job? Just slide the house out, drop a 40×40 silk out of the peak of the roof and get to work. A ten-head Profoto job? Just slide it back in and drop the blinds.

Separately, here is just a great link, 101 Great Questions.

It’s getting a little more raw lately.

Rick Santelli impromtu rant. Excellent.

Pat Buchanan and Dyson on race; that CNBC guy yesterday; and Dennis Miller on Leno. You can just feel things getting closer to the bone. For the record, I agree with Pat Buchanan. The really scary thing: In the last seven or eight days, you just get the feeling that NO ONE can get their head around this mess. It must be incredibly complex and complicated and intertwined.

What was Eric Holder thinking when he made that “cowards” comment? What a lame-brain attempt to be dramatic.

I’m sorry, I cannot get these to embed:

Santelli on CNBC. I love this.

Buchanan and Dyson on Hardball last night. Jesse Jackson should take note of this. Buchanan kicks Dyson’s ass.

Dennis Miller last night on Jay Leno. (this link does not work either, but it takes to you Tonight Show). (The Dennis Miller quote was something like, “We should help the Helpless, but the Clueless? I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Clueless”.) (great quote).

I’m sorry. Lame post. I can’t get WordPress to work correctly today.

Update: More with Santelli and Kudlow.

Production Photos: Colonial Williamsburg, (last week)

Here are a couple of quick images that producer Brett Sahler shot during the first part of a new ad campaign that we’re working on for Colonial Williamsburg, through Arnold. The AD on the project is History major Jamin Hoyle; (“see, sometimes being a History major does pay off!”). The writer-(turned-photographer) is Trevor Sloan. These ads are contrasting the historical aspects of CW along with the modern activities. We photographed the firing of the cannon several times, and no one was really ready for the feeling of having your ribcage rattle when the cannon went off. (Shot it with the 100 lens on the H2, so everyone was pretty close to it when it went off). Brett caught one image perfectly, when the fireball left the cannon. Even worse, we were shooting almost directly into the mouth of the cannon; at one point we got showered with the aluminum foil that serves as a “blank”.

Another shot involved two boys doing cannonballs off a makeshift diving board that we built in the indoor pool. (Way too cold to shoot the outdoor pool yet). In the pool, it was an Angry OSHA Inspector’s Wet Dream — 110v cables running for miles; everything temporary; a homemade diving board; Profoto packs on apple boxes, inches from the pool. We had the computer and the Hasselblad covered with plastic — most every time the kid hit the water, we’d have to reach for the lens tissue, even with David Weaver shielding the lens with a towel. It was good fun though; the kids were great.

Part two of the project continues in mid-March. (This is not a suck-up to CW, but honestly, if I had kids, I’d want them to spend some time over there, learning about the history of our country, and maybe for a while, they’d put down the ipod and the gameboy, and dress up in historical clothing, and learn how to work with their hands, get outside, get dirty, and breathe some fresh air. It would be a great family vacation. I love it every time I pull into town. Nothing like the smell of a wood-burning fireplace. It’s just a really special place).

Cannon firing. First comes flame, then the smoke.

Boys doing cannonballs into the pool.

Shortening the attention span? Is it good?

I’m on the road again, this week in Virginia, on another ad project. There’s something about leaving your home, and getting away from the comfort of your own home, that to me, is so invigorating and healthy. Checked into the room and made damn sure not to turn on the television news, and get slapped with those same droning pundits. Time to clear the head.

Woke up this morning thinking about that Alec Soth post on the Magnum blog, and how dead-on he is about it, (at least in my opinion). And I thought about this very blog, and the pressure to post something every few days. But why? For me, the downside is that my “time blocks” have now been reduced to “every few days” photographically, instead of zooming way out to the Really Big Picture, which is where I think you find answers about new bodies of work, and new ideas, and concepts that you could commit yourself to for MONTHS at a time. An even more deadly evil is that Twitter thing, where the “block of time” is reduced to HOURS; not even days, any more! How healthy can that be? “Quick, quick, find something to Twitter about; you haven’t posted anything in fourteen hours!”

I almost pulled the plug on this entire blog this morning, but I’m gonna give it some time, and try to bring this clarity forward, and keep it in the front of my mind. Honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m talking about here, but I just want to write it down, before I forget it, kinda like you do when you wake up at 4am from an intense dream, and you want to write it down before you forget it.

I just think it’s important to find those substantial ideas, and stick with them, and commit yourselves (myself) to them, and not get so distracted by the day-to-day pressures, or even the day-to-day One-Off photo ideas. (“There’s a cool image, I’ll just shoot this and post it to the blog! That way, people won’t forget about me!”) That’s the Fear talking. “Always keep new new new out there“. (No matter whether it’s worthwhile or not).

So there. It’s down on paper. I’ll reflect on it more later.

What will be next, after Twitter? Something with a shorter time span than that…? Reminds me of that old saying: “Just because you CAN do something, doesn’t mean you should”. Will it be a head-mounted webcam that you wear like a hat, and it sends a constant video feed to your blog? I can imagine something like The Truman Show, where people tune in and say, “Yep, there he is, standing fourth in line, at the bank, making a deposit. Or buying groceries. Wow, HOW INTERESTING…”.

I want to subscribe to the WordPress blog format that only allows one post per year. Your window of opportunity opens up on your birthday, for only eight hours, and only at that time can you post what you’ve learned in the entire prior YEAR. Now that might be worthwhile and substantial.

Imagine that Joakim Eskildsen guy, who did that Roma Journeys work, with his girlfriend. Imagine spending SEVEN YEARS on one project. Now THAT is something to sink your teeth into. Think he was using Twitter every few hours…? Don’t answer that.

I just feel that, once you get into this “blog mentality”, where you’re trying to post something every few days, it simply does not encourage a deep and substantial thought process. It’s more like “get it out the door”, rather than really taking the time to bite off something meaningful, and then take the time to invest yourself in it.

How do you deliver jobs?

Just left Fedex; my semi-normal trip right before the 4pm Saturday cut-off time. Sent a DVD with final TIFFs on it.

How do you guys deliver jobs? Most of the time, there’s such a rush, I end up just FTP’ing the job either to the ad agency’s server, or I upload it to mine, and send them a clickable Link.

If there’s time, or if the files are huge, FTP is too slow, and I burn a DVD. I used to use these DVDs but they were overly complicated. Nice system, but when you’re rushing to make Fedex, they just have too many pieces to assemble.

Now, I just burn a DVD, and then make a print for the jewel box, that’s 4.75″ square, and slide it into the jewel box front cover.

It’s always sorta slapped together at the end, mixed in with printing out the airbill.

But every time I put that package together, (in a rush), I always think, “There ought to be a more professional way to do this”. (But still fast and easy). More professional, as in, not just some jewel box sandwiched in between two pieces of corrugated cardboard, and then taped up, and then just dropped into a Fedex Envelope. I imagine some kind of plastic binder thing, that opens up like a notebook, and on the right is a molded pocket to hold the DVD jewel box, and on the left is a slot molded to hold 8.5×11 guide prints. On the front, all nice and neat and professional, would be your logo. Maybe even nicer would be a molded slot to hold a peppermint mint or something fun. And this whole plastic molded thing would be designed to slide snugly right into a Fedex Small Box, all nice and neat and professional.

My friend George Fulton also sends these nice CMYK Kodak Approvals that he orders from California. But if I send guide prints, they’re normally RGB converted to CMYK and then converted back to RGB, since the Epson wants RGB information.

(Note: Topic continues in the Comments section).

Back in the warmth; finished shooting

We just completed a campaign for Lewis Advertising yesterday. Shot outside for several days. Freezing cold. Here are some small production photos. I wish I could attach a thermometer gauge to each one. Even worse, I was in the bucket of the cherry picker one morning, and got caught in the spray from the fireman’s hose, as he was wetting down the pavement.

Doing an early-morning shoot-down shot.

Casey standing in for the talent.

Drew looking at stuff on the monitor.

Fireman hosing down the parking lot.