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.

Meerkat Melodrama

Meerkats love melodrama.
When photographing meerkats, make sure you have a TV (Ideally, a giant plasma screen) handy. Turns out they love to watch movies. But not just any movies, mind you. Oh no. Turns out they are hopeless romantics. Betcha didn't know that, didya?
In fact, when you see them all grouped up in the wild looking into the distance, they are in fact looking for signs of Drew Barrymore, Katherine Heigl, Kate Hudson or Jennifer Aniston.
Side note: This grouping of meerkats is usually called a gang, mob or clan if you're a devotee of National Geographic, Discovery or Animal Planet but I prefer "girl's night out" and am waiting for Lifetime to do a series "The real housewives of Botswana"...ahhh, but I digress. 
Back to the shoot... 
Fortunately, being the worldly and sensitive guy I am, I had a large collection of romantic comedies in studio perfect for my afternoon session with this lovely creature whose real name was Suma but who I nicknamed Sally (after the title character in...yup... "When Harry met Sally")

So we watched scenes from:
"He's just not that into you"
"The Wedding Singer"
"Pretty Woman"
"27 Dresses"
"Maid in Manhattan" 
"Pretty in Pink"
"50 First Dates"
Note: " I totally drew the line at "Sex in the City" (sorry SJP. Would rather drink bourbon with Matthew rather than cosmos with you)

At this point, the folks assembled in my studio had gone through 2 boxes of kleenex, 3 pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, a box of chocolate covered cherries and 3 bottles of white zinfandel. I on the other hand was trying not to hurl and focusing on Suma/Sally.

At the end of the day, I filled a 16mb card and everyone hugged. Ahh, catharsis.

For those of you taking copious notes on working with animals, know that this shot was taken during Meg Ryan's famous scene in "When Harry met Sally." No, not the scene in the deli; meerkats find loud orgasms startling and makes them seek shelter (much like some of my lesser-male friends...if you're reading this, you know who you are.) 
No, this was taken when Sally was placing her order in the restaurant earlier in the movie. (Turns out meerkats are picky eaters, too.

Another day, another boy sowing seeds that have been in his family for generations.

"So Steve (Estban, for the official record.) are you gonna follow in your father's footsteps?"
(Steve's father is Manny, renowned grower of the most fabulous and varied heirloom tomatoes in all of New York)

"Yes and no. Tomatoes make my family a good living. But I can do more. Tomatoes are for the present. Seeds are the future.
[Photographer's note: Here today, gazpacho tomorrow]
My father taught me that each generation should take from the last generation and make it better."

"And you actually listened?" (Note to self: send Drew to hang out with Manny and Steve next weekend)

"Of course...He expects it form me. So I will be studying agriculture. I hope to go to Yale, Cornell or Texas A&M next year... 
(We then talked about germination, hybridization, applied seed biology and biotechnologies.)
...and then I will make my father proud as he made his father proud."

I said to Steve "do you have any idea how proud your father would be right now if he were here?"

Pause.

Then Steve answered "He doesn't need to be here. He knows...and you will tell him anyway, right?"

Click.

"Steve, with your permission, I'll be telling more than him."

Another day, another life changing smile.

Was preparing for a bear of a day and feeling a bit overwhelmed when I literally ran into this happy fellow with the totally infectious smile. He was walking around lower Manhattan busy looking up at all the buildings and taking in the sights and sounds (that most of us take for granted) with the biggest grin. He apologized and I said "Why? your smile just turned my day around." Turns out Kwame has been here for all of three days after arriving from Ghana. He was so happy to be here and couldn't wait to start work tomorrow for his uncle with whom he is staying with the goal of bringing the rest of his family over. 
He said "They will not believe how wonderful it is here and how happy they will be"
I said "so c'mon, let's show them."

Click.

And remember (because it really does need repeating): The bigger the smile you give, the bigger the smile you get.

I see twin towers everywhere.

I see twin towers everywhere.

For the past ten years, 
I see them everywhere I look,
In the elderly couple standing side by side 
taking comfort in their closeness. 
In the pencils I keep sharpened on my desk 
and quickly straighten should they begin leaning.
In the ladders I see propped against houses.
In the popsicle my daughter eats on a humid August day
In the various edifices that I used to (and want to) marvel at as see them
(but now feel a sense of dread.)

I see twin towers everywhere
And I am reminded
of epic heroism
of tragic, unfounded loss
Of what hatred can do to a city, a nation, a world
Of what those of us who lost friends, family, colleagues are experiencing today 
(Or whenever the number 11 shows itself...on Restaurant checks or calendars or bridges...)
And unfortunately, that is all that comes today and whenever I see a twin tower.

I'm sad.
So very, very sad.

Another day, another triple-feature of Apocalypse Now, Full Metal Jacket and Platoon playing nightly in 3-D with surround sound.

I love to talk to people. And some of the folks I most enjoy talking to are those who have served their country. I am of the generation born during the Viet Nam War so I never knew the draft or any of the repercussions. Whether I have my camera or not (which is quite rare), I always say "Thank You" no matter their service, conflict or cause. To put yourself in harm's way for your country is a staggering thought for me. But Eddie did. And still can't get some of the images out of his head. I simply cannot imagine what he and countless others experienced. But I listen to them; and take in some laughter but far more of what I take in is chilling and haunting.
What I can do, in exchange for their sharing their time with me, is take pictures of them (not like the one below) for their families and their grandchildren. 

And, I always say "thank you"

Another day, another busload of gaping, gawking tourists to entertain

oh sure...scamper from tree to tree, play with some flower buds (ooh yum), catch and eat some insect larvae (that'll gross 'em out), throw some poop at the crowds (ha...that'll REALLY gross 'em out), join in the kids' impromptu wrestling match, act all chatty and friendly with the young ladies (those sluts...what, are they ALWAYS in heat?), groom that big, lazy male with that god-awful pelt...Jeez! Momma's tired. My back aches. I am way overdue for a waxing. All I want to do is sit here, relax and wait for the Real Housewives of Bali to come on. (click)

Another day, another demolition derby babe working her charms to sell more fried butter

Another day, another demolition derby babe working her charms to sell more fried butter.

Be still my heart. Literally.

Note: take 100 percent pure sweet cream butter, whip it until it is light and fluffy, freeze it, then surrounds it with dough. Drop the butter-laden dough balls into a deep fryer (whether the oil is clean or has been frying up bacon, twinkies or turkey legs is entirely up to you).
For purists seeking the unadulterated taste of butter, serves plain. For others who want a little more pizzazz, feel free to flavor your batter with garlic, bacon fat or coke syrup. (sigh)

Another day, another demolition derby intermission when a young man's fancy turns to corny dogs

Another day, another demolition derby intermission when a young man's fancy turns to Corny-Dogs, kool-aid dill pickles, spaghetti and meatballs on a stick, chicken-fried bacon, deep fried turkey legs bigger than his head, fried mac 'n cheese balls, buttery kettle corn (to munch and throw at his older brother when his back is turned), a caramel apple (to take three bites of and then...somehow...ends up wrapped in his kid sister's hair), deep fried twinkies and oreos covered in chocolate syrup and whipped cream and (last but not least) a towering, fluffy, cumulonimbus cloud of cotton candy that looks surprisingly like the pink beehive of the surprisingly attractive woman 5 rows back...

Another day, another flawed photo that speaks volumes more than the perfect ones

A few moments ago, I was marveling at the work of +Carl Stovell over on Google+ (have a look as I think his work is quite amazing) and I came across a quote by Scott Adams included in Carl's post about Creative Perfectionism that I happen to have hanging in my studio. I love the quote and it bears repeating:

"Creativity is making mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep."
Scott Adams

It's a constant debate isn't it: When is something a simple (honest) mistake or something more.

And who gets to decide?

I for one have an ongoing love/hate relationship with mistakes. But having said that, it's something I encourage my folks to strive for and make on a daily basis for that is where growth is and Art lies waiting, hiding...

This is Lucy

Maybe it's that I was there, literally a few feet away from her 
as our eyes met and held. 
Maybe it's that I kept wondering 
who was more curious? 
Who was studying who more intently? 
No matter, this image for me is about connecting with our subjects and the spirituality that comes from having photography as an all-consuming passion. (Note I did not say "job" for it may not be for everyone and even if it is, it rarely feels that way...at least to me).
For me, this image is beyond powerful as it reminds me of what is possible and what is waiting (demanding) to be shared. And while I know technically, there are things that are less than perfect, on an emotional level, it doesn't get any better for me.
It's one of the joys of being a photographer, isn't it...when these moments of connection arise for each of us (no matter your genre of choice or experience level) and take us to a truly magnificent place. 
Find them.
Share them.
Celebrate them.
Stay inspired

Another day, another boy who's only memories of his father are the faded photos he and his sister keep hidden from their mother

A few faves from the Coney Island Mermaid Parade, 2011

Another day, another boy finding out who his secret admirer is

Divertimento da Cozinha

Edible Bloody Mary

Tomato Vodka gel, citrus, celery sea salt, horseradish, sriracha, worcestershire

White Asparagus

Camomile Black olive jello, Lime olive oli zabaglione, toasted coscius, bacon infused roe

Bacalhau Santa Cruz

Sweet Potato Espuma, Peruvian Corn, Panca Pepper

Summer Truffle Soup

Foie Gras filled Croissant, Truffle Milk Foam

Soda

Freeze dried banana

Ashes

Escolar, Ginger Marinade, Roasted Ramps

Pork Belly

Clams, Vinegar Pepper Relish, Oysters and Oyster Foam

Refresher
Fennel Salad, Carrot Sorbet, Jalapeno Dust, Chilies, Fennel Pollen, Citrus Olive Oil

Banana Sorbet

Brown Sugar Bubbles, Coconut Rum

Jelly Roll

Liquid Nitrogen freeze dried Blueberries, Bitters, mascarpone, Pistachio, Currants

My dear friend Chef Anthony Goncalves is the creative mastermind behind Restaurant 42 and Bellota. He has started creating a series of ever-changing 11 to 14 course tasting menus inspired by his Iberian heritage to keep his Foodie followers elated. He never ever disappoints and always surprises with his perfectly prepared and inspiring preparations and combinations. I'm not sure which I enjoyed more; being in his kitchen with his phenomenal staff watching them work together so effortlessly or enjoying what they so lovingly prepared. Fortunately, I don't have to choose.

Another day, another Lindsey.

"So dad"
   "Yeah Lindsey?"
You know how I've been really moody lately?"
   "Uh...yeah!"
"Hah! Sucks for you."

Then every door in the house slammed shut, a bolt of lightning that could have supplied power to an entire medium sized town split the largest tree in our backyard down to the roots and hail the size of marbles and golfballs started pelting the roof. Oh, god...are those locusts?

(Jeez)

Is it just me...

...or do other people think about doing their best Buster Keaton or Charlie Chaplin-esque routines in bead stores. Must be careful not to share this with too many people (especially the owners of the establishment.)

Of course, being a Taurus, the whole Bull in a China Shop Bead Store-thing speaks to me.

Another day, another set of mood swings

 I am the incredibly proud father of a nearly twelve year old daughter. And I am totally convinced that if we could harness the power of a teenage girl's mood swings, we would be able to completely eliminate the need for oil, coal or nuclear material as an energy source.

In the meantime, God give me strength

The last...the very last Wild Mushroom Ravioli

So here's the problem: last night, crazy talented Chef Miguel DeBride of Karma Lounge in Ossining sends out a plate of his home-made Wild Mushroom Ravioli to our table. Everyone "ooohs" and "aaahs" and then digs in. One to a person from the heaping plate glistening with butter and redolent of parmesan and wild mushrooms. Literally nanoseconds later, forks clatter to plates, lips smack and glances are exchanged followed by moans, sighs and eyes rolling into the backs of heads as everyone's taste buds jump up and do a Coyote Ugly meets Footloose happy dance.
"Ohmigod this is soooo good."
"No this is waaaaaaay better than good."

He calls his cuisine "wet and sexy" and he means it. Miguel is from Belize and life and love is different there. (I am considering moving, BTW, if only to see if Miguel hasn't spawned a race of mythical chef creatures whose love of food is surpassed only by their love of sharing it). But I digress. Let's get back to our Ravioli issue.

Another round of ravioli rapture for everyone. And another. And another. Until (gasp) the last ravioli. Once again, glances are exchanged, but this time there is more than a communal, collective "Kumbaya" joy for what Chef Miguel has shared. This time, there is lust, gluttony and the unspoken question as to what gets the last ravioli. (Pick me. Pick me. Pick me.)

Moments pass.
Attempts at conversation are made while furtive glances to the glistening mound of perfection are made. (Maybe I can arrange a suitable distraction....hmmm...What to do? What to do?)

And so it goes... moments turn to minutes and the ravioli sits there
for we are a polite, well mannered and ever-so-civilized group
(maybe if I follow owner Alison D'Elia, herself a master mixologist into the kitchen when she comes to check on us, I can lick the plate in private under the approving stare of Chef Miguel.
("Yeah, man! That's how we do it in the wet and sexy parallel universe I call home")

Then horror of horrors, our next course arrives. This is a bittersweet moment for I know that it will be equally superb (I say this with absolute and total confidence because I am a card-carrying member of the Karma Lounge Fan Club), but still...that poor, poor ravioli. And all that sauce. (Gasp!)
One last round of glances are exchanged, this one accompanied by polite but totally insincere offers:
"Go on. You have it."
"No you."
"No you"
(Ha! Yeah right.)

And then it is gone. (sob!) "Come back. Don't go."

So here's the problem: Odd amounts of food.
Damn. Damn. Damn. It's happened to all of us and it's time to put this to an end.

Solution 1:
Perhaps Chef Miguel could have sent out an even number of ravioli to match our party size. Would it have been too much trouble, Mike? (Alison calls Miguel "Mike" but it just doesn't work for me to have put someone named "Mike" on such a pedestal.) Then none of this would have happened. Ahhhh, but part of me thinks "Mike" was secretly looking to provoke a brawl.)

or

Solution 2:
If he had sent out the plate just to me, none of this would have happened. I would have given everyone a taste (that means one "wet and sexy" ravioli plus one extra dip of their bread to sop up the buttery parmesan sauce) and that last ravioli would have been...to quote Daffy Duck..."mine, mine, mine. All mine!

I vote for option 2. Who's with me?

(Sigh.)

Memories...look so beautiful and then...

Aggghh. See what you did, Chef? I'm singing Streisand. Curses.