“Adventure is not only measured in kilometers. Strong emotions are not only found in front of the Parthenon. Emotion, if you are worthy of it, will be felt before the smile of a child returning home with his school books, a tulip in a vase touched by a ray of sunlight, or the face of a beloved woman.” — Willie Ronis
(click here to view additional photographs of Sophia’s first Christmas program performance)
(clicking photograph below will bring up larger view)
unable to find it
where did the time go?
often killing it
thoughtlessly
stalking answers
to questions sans reason
killing and eating
time
will tell
or fly
really?
perhaps if I’d saved some
or spent less
if you have a minute
share it well
The above poem floated around in my mind for a long time. Last week I began to look at and move the words around on the screen; while also contemplating images that may accompany them. On Saturday I received a call from my friend Doug. He informed me that he was in Thiensville, my home town, attending a funeral for a former student; Rick Borkin, 42 years old, a volunteer firefighter in Thiensville for 16 years, died during a training exercise 12/8/08. Firefighters from all the surrounding cities and towns attended. The appropriate photograph appeared from my attending this solemn event.
Click here for a slide show of additional images
(clicking on images below will bring up larger view)
“…the age of Photography corresponds precisely to the explosion of the private into the public, or rather into the creation of a new social value, which is the publicity of the private.” – Roland Barthes, 1980
(click images for larger view)
So I opened my virtual eyes/ears to the twittering world; the virtual equivalent to walking into a room full of people; some you may know; some you’ve never met. Two weeks into this world of tweets, I still wonder if the time it takes to sift through the noise is worth harvesting a few charming voices and remarkable links they provide. But then I have a similar reaction at live networking events. I don’t consider myself antisocial; rather I like my socializing to feel rich and worthwhile.
Many of these twittering people seem to do it virtually 24/7. As in any social situation some of the people I’ve chosen to “follow” have valuable things to say and share; while others seem to feed a need to hear (or read) their own words between sharing useful or valuable information. One of several odd feelings I’ve experienced: invisibility when I’ve attempted to make connections; to “speak,” as in “reply,” to a number of those I follow; and my replies appear lost in cyberspace. Quite unlike a live networking event.
Another odd feeling I experience: akin to listening to one side of a phone conversation which I’m not meant to hear. Then all of a sudden a designer will drop a link to a fabulous collection of art; or a Non-Profit will alert me to a petition worth signing or some other worthy cause; only to return to what seems like hours of needless tweeting and chirping. Except, it’s not like birds in the trees. I feel a need to read (or at least scan) each tweet — in case I miss something of value. Puzzled. Reading. Listening. Looking.
How do you feel about the “new social media;” and how it fits or doesn’t fit into your life?
I’d love to hear your comments here or Twitter Imagist.
“Like doctors, photographers work with what is present. I suspect our chief emotions are anticipation, frustration, and patience, balanced by a marvelous sense of elation when things go right — when we think we’ve captured within a photograph some missing feeling, some sense of beauty, or bit of mystery in the fabric of life.” — John Loengard
Sunday brunch at the Centennial. Watching Ann’s son and his partner as they listen to Ann speak (don’t remember what about, because now I look rather than listen). Not famous people. They probably won’t even like the photograph. No amazing action. Yet, they’re young and lovely in this window light. A 28mm Summicron on the M8. I slice one forty fifth of a second and a small span of five feet out of the infinite possibilities of space and time. Seemingly mundane. Then, examining the photograph on a computer screen, it seems that the parts equal more than their sum. That the individuals behind the eyes have nothing to do with one another. They seem to have more power, and beauty, when isolated. A closer look. Always looking. Closer.
“A good photograph can penetrate the subconscious – but only if it is allowed to speak for however much time it needs to get there.” — Ralph Gibson
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The first moment after MSNBC declared the first Irish-African-American winner of the 2008 presidential election.
first snow fell last night
this morning, cold, lovely and
new visions to catch
Tuesday, November 4th, 2008, Grant Park, Chicago Illinois: 70,000 ticketed guests, with who knows how many additional participants, gathered to listen to President-elect Barack Obama; elected just minutes before. This group of hundreds of thousands of young and old, rich and poor, of all colors, genders, and ethnicities gathered to hear our first Irish-African-American President inspire them with a message of hope and determination to make the country, and indeed the world, a better place for our children and grandchildren. While not there, I watched this event on a screen, through tears of great joy; shared with Spike Lee, Jesse Jackson and Oprah.
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Wednesday, August 29th, 1968, Grant Park, Chicago, Illinois: Just 40 years earlier; just 4 years after President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act into law; at the hight of the Viet Nam War and the military draft; as a twenty two year old photo journalist, I was in Grant Park with 15,000 others, including Jean Genet, Allan Ginsberg and William Burroughs (none of which lived to see today). Instead of tears of joy and hope; we had tear gas, clubs and blood to contemplate and record on film and in our memories.
Today the memories of 1968 blend beautifully with 2008 memories.
We wanted change then and we want it today.
“If I had to pick a single word to describe what my pictures are all about, I would say ‘secrets.’ As a child I always had a secret world and my favorite book was A Secret Garden.” — Joyce Tenneson
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Each time the shutter clicks I’ve always had that feeling; as if my little black box may have just captured something like a secret. Something no one else has seen. When I opened the above image I felt as if I’d stepped back in time, to those wonderful fall days, as a boy lost in fantasies of adventure, at the edge of land.
“In our society, most of us wear protective masks of various kinds and for various reasons. Very often the end result is that the masks grow to us, displacing our original characters with our assumed characters.” – Clarence John Laughlin
(click images for larger view)
Click this link for a slide show of additional photographs from Trick or Treat O8
Headline about sums up my life. Forty (or so) years ago poet Philip Whalen wrote:
Our main difficulty: fear and distrust of freedom
In America we’ve been fighting each other 100 years
We pretend we’re unimaginably rich
But we’re poor and afraid of the poor who must become
The Army to defend us against right and wrong
The real shame of America is the lack of an anti-clerical
Movement or party. All parties try to compound
With invisible State Protestant Church that theoretically
Doesn’t exist. Rubes who think of themselves as
Members in good standing are bilked and robbed
When did the dumb-bunny bomb first hit U.S.A?
How come everybody appreciated it so much?
Almost all Americans aged 4 to 100
Have the spiritual natures of Chicago policemen
Singer/songwriter Shawn Mullins performed at the historic Pabst Theatre Sunday, 9/21/08 (with Dar Williams headlining). Shawn reinforced my belief in the power of a talented story teller with a deep heart and a guitar. His character sketches bring to mind the people we’ve all met along life’s highway.
Selected “photographic” lyrics from Another Look by Shawn Mullins
Another look into her might just free me now.
I feel the drowning pounding of her pain
and her dreams like eyes,
as she looks into my sin.
So knowing where and why she’s looking through my window.
The cameraman wants to take her picture.
Now words spill out of hearts onto the stone,
and her image ties the knot of never knowing
the whole truth from lies.
Feels like I’m just now showing pictures to the man
whose dreams are realized.
He’s older now but he’s got newborn eyes.
Another look into her might just set me free.
I took her like a shot into my arm
yesterday my 62nd year ended
today my 63rd begins
the day before yesterday I found this fellow, and song