I saw this interesting page on the Swiss Miss blog about The Moment Jars, where people click on an empty jar, and then write a little snippet about a pivotal moment in their life. The one that rushed into my mind won’t fit in a jar:

In May 2001, my friend Libba Gillum invited me and four others to join her on a trip to New Delhi. She was going for business, but a few others tagged along to make the adventure and to shoot photographs. She went early, and I flew by myself. The instructions were to get a cab, stay at this one hotel, and find each other the next morning. So the flight is like 22 hours, start to finish. I had no idea. But I can remember landing in Delhi at 2am local time, and somehow locating my bags, and trying to stay awake and alert, and find a cab. I can remember leaving the airport building, and wandering out into the street, and trying to find what I thought was a reputable cab driver, whatever that means. So off we go, into the night. All I had was an address scratched onto a piece of paper to give the cabbie. We’re driving along, pretty dark roads, and an ELEPHANT walks across the road in front of the cab. Somehow he dodges it, mutters something, dodges a sleeping cow that’s lying in the road, and keeps driving without much notice. I just thought, “F___, was that what I thought it was? Was that an elephant, in the middle of the road?“

So we continue, winding thru the crazy streets, with the windows down, and it’s two in the morning, but it’s still like 85 or 90 degrees. We pull up to the hotel, and the cab driver goes into the hotel, and there’s some commotion, but then, some guys come and fetch me, and check me into my room. As I’m walking up the concrete steps to my third floor room, I noticed in the dark, that there were the bodies of many children asleep on the floor, in the hallways of the hotel. I tried to act cool, and so I just start step over the bodies, like i was playing Twister or something, trying not to fall down, or wake up these kids.

I make it to my room, and it’s like 140 degrees in the room, and one tiny window that would not open, and this clackety clack clack air conditioner that was mounted in the wall, but it only blew hot air into the convection oven that was now going to be my home for the next 24 hours. I lie down on the bed, and realize that the bedspread is wool. “Just great” I think to myself. “Wool, and it’s 140 degrees in here”. I dropped my bags, thought I’d sit down on the bed for a second to catch my breath, and the next thing I knew it was ten hours later. You know that feeling, when you wake up, and for those first quick seconds, you have no idea where you are, and your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, and you’re still fully dressed?

Back in the film days, I used to get in my truck and go shoot for myself, on Sundays. It’s about time that that’s cranked back up again. I’m messing with these settings on this soulless digital camera, trying to put my thumbprint on it. After five years of shooting this thing, you’d think I’d be bonding to it by now. This past week, I got out the old vaseline filters, and the filter wrench, and started making my own filters again. No more “doing it in post”. I’m not saying I won’t mess with the pictures after shooting them, but I’m trying to get the camera to have an opinion too, at the time of exposure. Rather than relying on “saving it later”. Here’s a scene from out on Dickerson Road; this Walmart, or whatever it was, has always spooked me every time I drive by it. The whole property has been fenced off, like the whole development has the swine flu or something. The last three images are just random scenes from today; I do love this used tire store that, for some reason, displays old license plates as decoration.

Quarantined, sickly, abandoned shopping center development. Dickerson Road, Nashville, Tennessee.

Davidson Street, underneath I-65. East Nashville.

Tar Store, Dickerson Road. Nashville, Tennessee.

It’s funny how a few emails back and forth with friends will trigger a memory. Also funny how one link will lead to another. This morning, I saw this video about the Times Square area, in the 1970’s. I love old videos of New York; the grit, the crime, the shell games, and the reckless sidewalk action. Also love how everyone on the street during that period seems like a rejected subject from a Diane Arbus portrait assignment. So anyway, I’m watching this YouTube video and I noticed how great the accompanying sountrack song was — Herb Alpert’s “Rise”. So I sent this video to a few friends in NY. One of them wrote me back with another video of Herb Alpert, playing the same song, but interwoven in the video are some snippets from a Norman Seeff photo session in LA.

So this takes me to the next connection: When I was a kid in college, about 1978, my hero was Norman Seeff. He shot all the album covers that I was buying, and he shot B/W, and I loved how his printer, Keith Williamson, diffused Norman’s prints with panty hose, wrapped around a embroidery frame. I was in my third year of college, basically flunking out and never going to class, because all we did was shoot photographs, and stay up all night printing in the college darkroom. So, at some point, I said, I’m quitting college, and I packed my Chevy van and decided to move to California. To me, California was the promised land. I remember calling Keith Williamson on the phone, and told him my plans to move there, (he didn’t have a clue who I was; just another redneck kid from Kentucky), but he says, “Yeahhh, mannnnn, come on out. It’s great out here. Call me when you get to town”. That was all the permission I needed, so I drive out there with my father and brother. We stopped along the way in Vegas; my father was an amateur gambler at that time, whatever that means. He made some phone call, and they put us up in a room. I think my father won enough to pay for the trip.

So I get to LA, and I call Norman’s studio, and Keith says, “Yeah, man, come on over”. I drive up to Sunset Blvd in Hollywood, near that old Tower Records building, off of Crescent Heights, and I find this tall funky white wood fence, covered in ivy, and a gate. No address marker. I open the gate, and go in the building, which seemed like the skinniest building I’d ever been in, maybe twelve feet wide it seemed. I walk in, and it had been raining all day, (December or January), and water is about three inches deep in the front room, and they’re frantically grabbing brooms or whatever, to get it pushed out the front door. In the first room was the famous darkroom, and Keith really was in there printing. But in front of that was a small graphic paste-up table, and Glen Christensen was sitting there, and there on the desk was an original print from the Joni Mitchell “Hejira” record. I was just starstruck at that point. But I kept walking past the darkroom, up into the studio, and there was a photo session going on with the Doobie Brothers. You can see the tiny room in that one YouTube video (below). Grey canvases covered the walls, black duvatyne covered the floors, for no bounce fill. The assistant didn’t use a light stand to hold the keylight, he just used a boom, but he handheld it, and propped up the end on the belt of his jeans. This way, if the subject moved, or laughed, or fell down, the keylight could follow the subject, at the same fstop. I remember the fact that Norman kept a windex-type squirt water bottle on the camera kart, and if the subject got too stiff, he’d pick up the water bottle and squirt them, to get them to loosen up. There were assistants frantically loading old Nikon F2s with PanatomicX, and Norman wasn’t even looking thru the camera some of the time; he was about creating a mood and a feeling and setting the tone, to find that moment. There were girls lying around on the floor, and even a few babies crawling around, and the music was on spinal tap Eleven. So here I was — this dumbass kid from Kentucky, and I walk into this incredible scene.

Keith turned out to be super-nice, and showed me around the darkroom, and I even helped him make a few prints. I never ended up actually working there – maybe those few initial memories were better than day-in, day-out, reality. In the video below, Norman’s studio footage starts at about time code 00:16. There were no publicists there, no marketing people, probably not even a clothing stylist — it was all about The Energy and The Moment. To me, he’ll always be a Master, and way ahead of his time.

On Saturday, we loaded up my giant Ford Van, and eleven of us created our own little temporary Commune, and off we go, headed toward The Farm in Summertown. My friend Diana spearheaded the trip; she had heard that they were hosting their Holiday Bazaar, so the community would have events and food and gifts for sale. It was a timely invite for me, because secretly, I’ve been researching the concept of shared communities. I love the idea of a community Art Colony, (everyone has a separate home, but comes together with shared projects), or even a community Athletic Colony (everyone meets at 7am for group yoga, or group weightlifting/cardio).

I have no idea how they actually make it work at The Farm, either responsibility-wise, or financial-wise, but it is an interesting approach to living. Although I did get the feeling that most of the people there now had grey hair, which somewhat felt like the concept started in about 1969, but not a lot of newcomers had come since. But I do not know that. As we drove through the woodsy gravel roads of the community, you’d see tiny homemade homes off in the distance, and even school buses that had been converted into homes. From time to time, I’d flash back to scenes from “Into the Wild”.

Below are several random images that I shot along the way. This is not “serious photography”; I was just there to hang and enjoy the day, but we did see some fascinating scenes. I just took off my bra, and lifted my head to the sunshine, and walked through the woods, and felt free, and shot some images along the way. I’d love to go back and stay for a week or so, and bring a stack of books, (and no internet), and just unplug, and let some other sides of my brain get some exercise for a while. There is some type of a hotel there, where you can come and rent a room for a few days.

What was apparent, after being there for an hour or so, is that the community there in Summertown is very welcoming and friendly and open. It was a little eerie pulling into town at first, (several jokes referring to “The Village”), but once there, we were welcomed with open arms.

(Several of these files below are largish; you might need to give them a second to rez in).

A friend of mine sent me this link this morning. Really nice vision. When I saw it, I thought, “Oh, this is another one of these ‘moms with a vision’”, as I call them. As it turns out, this photographer is in the eighth grade, age 13. Not even sure what her exact name is, but this one is credited to Amber Rose Ortolano. As I scrolled through the pictures, it seemed like it could have been from some young photographer from Sarah Lawrence or SVA or something (hundred grand student loan), then I saw the Design Sponge link that explained more about it.

The cynical part of me wants to think that this young girl is the daughter of some high-placed art teacher, or daughter of somebody that owns a lab, and has access to the best people to process and prep these files. But I’m hoping it’s just some kid in Ohio, or Nebraska, living out in the country, with no television or internet; only a giant library of books.

Anyway, the link seemed worth passing along. Very encouraging to see an eighth-grader with the discipline and motivation to produce this little body of work. When I was in the eighth grade, I was watching Gilligan’s Island and Gomer Pyle USMC, and riding motorycles; hadn’t quite found my vision yet. This gives you hope for the next generation.

Link One.

Link Two (Design Sponge).

Somewhat related to this, my friend Joerg linked to this woman Margaret de Lange the other day. (click: Daughters). I thought her work was very strong. I assume that these are her own daughters. When you contrast the Daughters chapter to her Single Images chapter, to me, it comes off like “Sally Mann meets Roger Ballen”.

Thirty-second exposure, outside my window last night. They planted this beautiful high grass in these concrete planters, and it was a Wizard Of Oz night, last night. Mesmerizing, to just stand there, and just watch the wind and the trees and the grass blow.

I walked into my bathroom this morning, to grab a shower, and my jaw dropped when I looked down at the sink. I am turning into Woody Allen, hypocondriac. What the hell happens to your body when you turn fifty? One day, you’re forty-nine, and you’re going to the gym regularly, and the next day you’re fifty, and you’ve got your own reserved parking place for Customer Of The Month, outside your Doctor’s office. I don’t get it.

Of all the lessons in life to learn, here’s one of them — be nice to your ex-wife(s). One of them sent me a link to this great house for sale on the west side of town. I’m really drawn more to the land/lot that the house is sitting on, but hopefully, the house can be salvaged and can be a creative, festive place — hopefully a place for campfires, events, and Community. But we will see. So far, it’s pretty grim. But the land has water on it — that’s the draw for me. Below are some images that I shot so far, during the process of trying to buy it. But the most interesting moment so far is walking into the garage. Maybe it’s just A Guy Thing, but there’s something so interesting to see where a person does their work, and creates things. This fellow that lived in this home was a painter and a putterer — I’ve never seen so much surface-mounted Romex in my entire life. Electricity strung up everywhere, all surface-mounted, and attached to the walls with a staple gun. But the garage has been the most interesting — that’s where most guys’ creative moments happen. In this one, the light is just streaming in, and there are tools strewn all over the worktables. You just stand there, and think, “This man lived here for maybe forty years; imagine what all went on in this room over the span of forty years?”

Two-car garage, with required discarded workout machine.

When is the last time you've seen a Radio Shack receiver? (High school?)

Homemade bridge over creek, in driveway.

Incredibly beautiful creek, on this property.

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)

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