So whattya think it is, Liv?
"Uhhh...hmmm, it's not an elephant"
"Nope. Too small. And it's not a pig. Kinda smells like a pig, though."
"It's not an anteater"
"Yeah...not with that stubby snout. And it's not a hippo"
"Seems friendly enough. Hey look; it's a girl. Let's name it Prudence"
"No...that's a stupid name. Let's call her Ethel."

Excerpted from "Adam and Liv; Two Gibbons contemplating Darwin's Theories of Adaptation and Natural Selection" a very short film (Actually, more like a single frame. But if you move you're head fast...) presented at the Briarcliff Manor Society for the Creative Deconstruction of Creationism on December 20, 2012. All Contrarians, Dysfunctionalists and Dyslexic Agnostics (wondering if there really is a dog) are welcome.

This is Malik. He asked me if I believed in reincarnation. I said I wasn't sure but hoped so as I wanted to "come back to get it right next time." This led to a whole long conversation about his past life as a hunter and a warrior. 

And led to my processing him as one of his ancestors. Can't wait to share these with him.

Finer Feathered Friends

I love meeting new people. Talking with them. Hearing their stories. Sharing with them in hopes that they'll share back.  Watching the transformations from wary to friendly. From cynical to approachable. From closed to open.
Approaching people is not as hard as it seems and is so incredibly rewarding.
My friend +Mike Shaw and I talk about this a lot.
Stay tuned for something special he approached me about that I think will be meaningful, transformational and wonderful.
In the meantime,
Stay inspired.

A creative exercise regimen: One flower; multiple ways.

It's not about which you (or I) like better. 
It's about looking at all the opportunities a single image provides.
It's about experimenting, 
honing your processing skills 
and studying composition, framing and texture.
Most of all, it's about seeing what's possible and having fun.

Stay inspired.

Another day, another mountain man sizes me up before accepting my challenge for a snowball fight deathmatch

Okay, I just really wanna KISS you

You show us everything you've got
You keep on dancin' and the room gets hot
You drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy
You say you wanna go for a spin
The party's just begun, we'll let you in
You drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy
You keep on shoutin', you keep on shoutin'

I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day

You keep on saying you'll be mine for a while
You're lookin' fancy and I like your style
You drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy
You show us everything you've got
Baby, baby that's quite a lot
And you drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy
You keep on shoutin', you keep on shoutin'

I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day....

Another day, another person fighting off more than the cold

When we look at portraits, what happens?
Is there an instantaneous spark of recognition? 
Or a sputtering flame of empathy?
Do we make an immediate call whether to linger and somehow get to know the photographer's subject or quickly move on based on our mood at that very moment?
Do we tell ourselves stories pulled from our own experiences and world views? Or do we rely on the photographer to provide context and substance?
Is the power with the subject or the viewer?
And what is it about certain images that seem to leave an indelible imprint in our mind's eye.

This image is of a gentlemen named Chris and the more I look at him...look with him...at his reality, the more questions I have.

Another day, another vet recounting too many battles and nowhere near enough victories.

I met Richard this morning on my morning walk to my office. He had set up a small oasis and was napping. I was across the street and saw some youths approach him with questionable intent. He woke as I was telling them to leave. He looked at them, sprang to his feet and started a hobbling slow motion run at them. They laughed and walked away. I stayed.

Richard is 87 years old (last Tuesday was his birthday, which he spent in a New Jersey VA hospital). He served in WWII under Patton (way under Patton...but the pride never left his voice as he talked about their victories). We spoke about his life in the military. His new life in the shelter. And the girls at the Hooters in Times Square who bring him chili and soup late at night after their shifts are over. We talked and talked and I took picture after picture while too many people walked by wondering about the interaction. Not sure whether it was the moments of boisterous laughter or the painful moments of silence as he shared the more tragic parts of his life in short story form while I fought the waves of despair. At one point he asked whether I needed to get to work and I told him this was far more important. I was not lying.

I have a special place for Veterans. I never served but I do have a profound appreciation for those that did and do to this day. I remember hearing a fact at last year's Veteran's Day Celebration that a full one quarter of all US Veterans are homeless at one point in their lives. Perhaps that number has changed in the year but I am not an eternal optimist.

I am now in my office but quite distracted. By our conversation. By the sad reality that touches me so deeply. And by the positive thought that Richard agreed to have dinner with me this evening. I expect there will be lots more stories. And with his permission, I intend to not let them go unheard.

Don't spare change. Make change.

Sheep

The lambs weren't silent.

Nor were the sheep.I walked in on what sounded like the most disharmonious, dischordant, cacophonous soundcheck imaginable complete with Sheena, the snow white sheepdog barking furiously as if to organize her anything-but-symphonic flock.Then a large cloud passed overhead throwing the barn into darkness and for a moment, everyone got terribly, ominously silent.

Here kitty, kitty...

Here kitty, kitty

Nice kitty, kitty

My what a deep and resonant purr you have. 
Oh hey, that got loud fast.
And what perfectly sharp teeth you have. Why, they're as long as my fingers.

What a pretty, kitty
Hey 
HEY
stop looking at me that way
and...and...and licking your lips

Yo, when was she fed last?

I know I look delicious and well marbled 

but I'm really quite bland
and tasteless 

(go ahead everyone...have a field day)

Another day in Chinatown

Another day, another attempt at diplomacy rebuked.

Another day, another King Crab reveals a small glimpse of what's under his tough exterior shell

Another day, another walk through a distant, smoke-filled and mysterious land

Another day, another family too far away

Another day, another fishmonger who sells mackerel, tuna and crab all day long but keeps the dried shrimp and oysters all to himself (to go with his stash of ginseng, velvet deer antler, ox and goat penis)

Another day, another woman who knows why the caged bird sings...(and will do everything in her considerable power to let her children, her grandchildren and her soon to come great grandchild know as well)

This is Dorothy. She is an artist. A writer. A retired freedom fighter (although you never really retire from that avocation).

We talked of Maya Angelou (her hero) and life for her as a young child and now; as one with many, many young children in her life. This was one of those moments as a photographer where it was more important for me to listen than to take pictures. That my 12 year old daughter was with me listening as raptly as I was made the connection that much stronger. And left another indelible mark on us both.

She ended our conversation with this
"Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone."

(click)

Just had a small epiphany:

For me,
Every picture is a small prayer.

each one different and heartfelt and important (in it's own distinct way)
Something to be thankful for,
Something to be celebrated
Something to be corrected,
Something to be sorry for,
Something that makes us feel big (in a small way)
Or small (in a big way)
Something that needs to be thought about
over and over and over
That needs to be shared.
That needs to live on
That needs to be heard.

An acknowledgement
A reminder
A plea
A thank you

Something that makes us feel at peace
Awed
Inspired
Incredibly, profoundly moved 
Part of something huge 
And magnificent
And connected.

Amen.

Just thought I'd share something incredibly personal 
Never really articulated why I love photography so much. Now I know.

Another day, another squirrel to welcome to the neighborhood

This is Victor. He takes care of Madison Square Park (at the base of the Flatiron Building in Manhattan) the folks like myself who love to hang out there, do a little people watching and just enjoy the day. Victor can tell you the latin names for all the flowers planted there and has named all the squirrels in the park who seem to regard him as one of their own and seem to look forward to his daily rounds. I have walked with him on several occasions where they would eye me warily but come right up to him. Then he would introduce me to them. This has yet to help with their attitudes toward me. (Sigh)

He told me his boss at Public Works refers to him as the black Forrest Gump. To which Victor immediately replied, "well that's fine but you still ain't gettin' a box of chocolates no matter what."

(Click)

Just a thought...

Just a thought...
A sort of spiritual "what if" to stick in the back of your head and wonder next time you're walking by some nameless, less fortunate soul...

Don't spare change. Make change.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled show.

New York Re-examined: Traffic Cones? Oh no, dear friends. Me thinks not.

Once upon a time...a very long, long, long time ago, mythic creatures roamed the streets and tunnels of Manhattan. You could identify them by the colorful, pointed hats they wore, some were striped, oftimes with their initials printed on them. 
These hats were made of rubber with a small opening at the very top because, legend tells, that if you made one of them angry, their heads would grow fiery hot and steam would need a place to escape. 
And the locals knew when trouble or mischief had occured as these creatures left a trail of steam marking their escape route into one of the many tunnels that underscored the growing city. (These were often accompanied by deep and damaging indentations in the street.) 
In their haste to get away unseen, they often lost their hats.

Ladies and gentlemen, start your imaginations...

This here garden ain't big enough for the both of us.

Open on orchestra playing theme from "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly'

This here garden ain't big enough for the both of us.
Flea-bitten vagrants like you aren't welcome here in the 'Cliffs (That's Briarcliff Manor for you slowpoke cowpokes.)

Fella, you look like you got a short supply of guts. But yer carapace is pretty thick. So why don't you just hop on outta here 'fore someone gets hurt.
This is my land; I settled here, raised my family here, and dad gum it, I'm probably gonna die here, and no bushwackin', hornswagglin' croaker is gonna ruin that for me.

(cue the vultures... and the hummingbirds)

Well, then it's a standoff. So let's settle this
(Jeez...Lately it seems that every ticked-off garden punk would hop, fly, crawl or slither into town to stare me down.)

20 paces them I'm gonna start shootin'

1...2...3...4...5...6... (CLICK)

Hey, you said 20...yer a cheat and a liar

Nope. I'm a photographer

Oh yeah, well I'll be back. I'm needed elsewhere now. Wherever outlaw gardeners rule the backyard, wherever innocent ladybugs and damsel flys are afraid to for their very lives, wherever a beetle cannot live in simple dignity, wherever an aphid cries out for justice. And I'm bringing my kinfolk for reinforcements (Note my clever use of foreshadowing.)

Fine. Now hop on Outta here 'fore I sic Stella on yer sorry green ass.

Cue the tumbleweeds (arg...damn weeds!!!)

Another day, another woman for whom cotton candy is a hairstyle rather than a carnival treat

Essential gear for photographers #84 (what the big boys don't tell you)

Much attention among G+'s photographic elite has been devoted to camera brands, preferred lenses for varying situations, travel back packs, memory cards and tripods.

So, in addition to having my 5D Mark II body with Canon's superb 600mm f/4L IS USM telephoto, my Gitzo Tripod and my Kata Grizzly bag filled with breath mints, lens cloths, filters galore and many, many SanDisk Extreme Pro memory cards, I am considering (based on a recent trip and encounter with a male lowland gorilla who clearly didn't like my flirting with his women-folk) doing a whole discussion on adult diapers. 

And I have it on record from several accomplished street photographers and respected photojournalists that when finished shooting a celebratory event like, say, the annual St. Patrick's Day Parade here in New York City, that once you have secured a prime seat at the pub for the ongoing documentation and celebration, that said adult diapers also come in handy (wouldn't want to lose a prime seat at the bar, would we now?) 

Of course, if you are shooting hummingbirds or butterflies, please ignore this upcoming post. (Hmmm, note to self: think about post on herbal teas and incense)

Another day, another deeply troubling issue needing immediate attention added to the pile of deeply troubling issues needing immediate attention in the newest country in the world.

Another day, another deeply troubling issue needing immediate attention added to the pile of deeply troubling issues needing immediate attention in the newest country in the world.

Several weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting a most charming, gracious and humble man from Juba in South Sudan here in New York to "listen, learn, shake many hands and glean the full promises from the empty ones."

The Republic of South Sudan is the newest country in the world and I have become quite enamored with this "little country that could" especially as I read all the myriad issues surrounding this tiny troubled country. 

The emails that Magbula sends me are fascinating as the issues range from dividing oil fields and teaching the new national anthem to all citizens to developing a postal system and establishing a football team for London in 2012. The less fascinating and more horrifying are the continuing border skirmishes, the near total lack of an infrastructure and abject poverty.
I couldn't help but look back to my impromptu portrait session with my new friend...a tribal elder whose life has been spent caring for his people and whose countenance on this day reflects that of an entire nation.