interesting work here. this scandanavian 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

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?

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.

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…)

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.