On The Purple That Never Ceases

Richards Street At Sunset

From the 305 Van Brunt Street Show

It's common knowledge that Red Hook has the prettiest sunsets in all of New York City.

Not-so-common knowledge? The E.J. Trum (reverse "R") billboard is really a cosmic antenna.

That is all.

Further Along

From the 305 Van Brunt Show
Vanishing points imply ruler drawn straight lines, and the imposition of abstract architectural overlay on the scene. I love how picture battles against that imposition. The arterial canopies of the trees  and the calligraphic tire tracks, meander in counter valence to the formal edges of the buildings, the decorative park gate, the curb, and the ghost border where the snow ends and the road begins. All points are vanishing points—but more so in the snow.

and miles to go...

This picture was taken last February. I remember the ride pretty well. Snow had been on the ground pretty much the entire year up until that point. Riding around in it was no big deal. This ride was pure honkytonk piano run (think "Hot Potato" by The Kinks — also Don't Honk, $350 Penalty).

I gave this photo kind of a misleading title by taking a line from Robert Frost's most anthologized poem, "Stopping By The Woods On a Snowy Evening." But where that poem is a paean to stubborn solitude, there's hardly any solitude in this picture. Yes, it's the only photo in the show that does not have another human being in it, but I am the eye. I am the human in it. And with that eye, am happy to see the presence of others etched in the snow in front of me and to be able to recognize something entirely other and wild in those tracks. It's comforting to know that humanity doesn't naturally tend towards the straight lines of artifice  — that we wobble a bit along our way. Yeah. I think this photo has more in common with Douglas Rothschilds poem "Further Along" than Frost's — especially in the final lines.

What next Manhattan?
i will not be here again
for a long time — there
are only twelve more shopping
days till X-Mass & i

don't even know for whom
i'm buying these things.
It's the flashing lights &
the seeminglessness of
purpose that attracts me.

Christmas Trees — Fire
Engines —Police Cars or
Emergency Vehicles —it's
all the same: Someone
needs help. Someone else

is coming. What more
could any of us ask
beyond this static re-
assurance? i grumble,
walk South, watch the

River rise, & think of
"the beuté of hem nat
susteyene," as the tide
chews away at the reed-
covered Pier. So much

of what we resemble
reassembles us.

Still LIfe at Stuyvesant Square

August 20, 2010

From the 305 Gallery Show

A quotidian stoplight snapshot. Still Life, but there isn’t really anything still in this picture except for me. This one ends up being rare because multiple points of movement are rendered as crisp stills. A un-staged wind up staginess to it. The freshly paved macadam surface is simply a coal colored orange peel. The sunlight hunting in the west animates leaves, glass, faces. Stoplights gone domino for blocks and blocks. Pedestrians, cyclists, cabs – everything moving in a slightly robotic way. Even the color in the sky,  mechanical. Opening the face of the grandfather clock to view the innards. Even the trees, husbanded as they are within the 2-block long confines of Stuyvesant Square. Of course it looks robotic, it's above 14th Street, isn't it?

Manhattan Bridge Diptych

Two More From 305 Van Brunt The Show
The two images below were captured during the summer of 2010. They were taken on opposite ends of the Manhattan Bridge bike path. The one on the left is on the Brooklyn side and the one on the right is on the Manhattan side.

They're bookends. Physically, there's barely a mile between these two points on a map. Between the two subjects, however, the distance between their states of mind could not be farther apart. Both are deeply into their own heads. On the left we have troubled contemplation, On the right, perfect meditation. I think of these two men as allegorical sentries and love the way these two pictures talk to one another about journey and place, about crossings and humanity. The guy meditating on the left is still, yet his mind is actively pursuing a higher state. Over in Brooklyn, the body language says agitation, but in this guy's head, there's dead calm and perhaps despair. Then there's the backdrop. In Brooklyn, the Jehovah's Witness headquarters Watchtower Building, looms over the sad gentleman. In Manhattan, meditation guy is watched over by a benign piece of smiley face graffiti.

I never saw the Brooklyn sentry again, but I encountered Meditation Guy (as I ended up calling him) all that summer. I actually took a whole series of Meditation Guy. Check it out. Watch the progression of Meditation Guy and the world around him. In a way, this set is the closest I've come to the Tom Phillips piece I mentioned in the last post. Everything changes — billboards, graffiti, the weather. Although he's the most constant thing in the set, even Meditation Guy changes it up occasionally.

When summer ended, so did Meditation Guy's morning ritual. I haven't seen him since that summer. I hope both gentlemen are out there doing well.

There Is Always Something Coming Toward You

This post is about one of the photos I have installed at 305 Van Brunt Street — see previous post. I plan on writing about each of the 11 pieces in the show this month.

About 5 years ago, I started carrying a digital point-and-shoot with me on my rides in an attempt to capture the brief, but vivid sights and sounds of my 20-mile bicycle commute in New York City. I was inspired by Tom Phillips "humdrum epic" 20 SITES n Years, but instead of taking one photo of one place over the course of years, I was going to photo the entirety of the commute every day. Of course, originally I was going to try and emulate his project a little more closely by taking a photo-a-day off the Manhattan Bridge. Turns out I'm not patient enough to stop in the middle of a ride to set up a shot. The ride is the thing, see, and the rhythm of the ride is important to the pleasure of the ride. You don't need to stop and smell the flowers when you are in an unending field of flowers — flowers made out of steel and concrete and flesh and rubber and light and all of them always coming toward you. I stopped a few times and snapped some nice pictures of the East River and lower Manhattan from the same perspective, but it didn't really do anything for me. Sorry Tom. The urge to take pictures was pretty strong though. How was I going to do it? Digital cameras are small enough to carry in pockets and I could just pull it out and snap the picture with one hand while keeping the bike in control with the other. Right? No. I needed something more-or-less hands free. Something that would offer safety and speed.

I decided I would try and film my commute with a camcorder. I borrowed one from my very trusting friend, Mimi, and with about a half a roll of ductape, managed to strap the camera to my helmet. There were multiple issues: shakey shakey video, a weight distribution problem that kept pulling my helmet into my eyes, and I looked fairly ridiculous. I returned the camcorder and engineered a different solution. By engineer, I mean I used bungee cords to strap my point-and-shoot to the handlebar of my bike as best I could. It worked, but I quickly determined it wasn't practical to rig the system every day. Finally, I settled on a mount and clamp system I found online at Campmor. It's called the ultraclamp.

You Go Girl: taken with Canon Powershot A560 on October 4, 2008

And then I took this picture — took it literally on the third or fourth trip with the new clamp. It's not perfect, a little washed out and just ever so out of focus, but when I saw it on my computer screen, I just stopped and stared. Up until that point, most of the photos has been pretty blah or completely out of focus. This one, however, it caught my attention. This one started the whole thing. Portraiture, storytelling, action, composition and poetry — all there and all born from happenstance. Like I said, there's always coming toward you — starlight, an 18-wheeler, your children, soundwaves, a whiff of orange, your next failure, the next war, word, or worry, a full beer from your bartender, your birthday, a poem, a friend. In this case, three BMXers, a fairly famous graffiti tag, and some of the lovelist bridge architecture anywhere, was headed my way. I'm just lucky I caught it.