hand. eyeball. "stemware"

Take a look at these hands

"The Scream" (finger puppet)

Our piano is the backdrop here.  Works nicely, no?  And below is the original prior to my digital manipulation tomfoolery.  And by "original" I mean my original photo, not the original painting "The Scream." Just a little clarification in case you were confused.

Between hand and face

Hunter Museum of American Art: The New NOLA

Just when you are saying your thank you prayers that we are absolutely concluded with the year-old Hunter photos, I decide to bust out some last-gasp photos for you.

But I think we've pretty much soaked it for what it's worth. So that means that now is the time to move from the soaking stage to the beating of the dead horse stage.

Or to go all zombie on you: First squeeze all life from the topic. Then let it terrorize you as the undead.

It how I do.

p.s. As a side note I HIGHLY recommend "It Might Get Loud" for y'all. It's a fun little documentary about three generations of electric guitar maestros: Jimmy Page (my fave); The Edge; and Jack White. I especially commend the film to Andy D. It would serve as a salutary musical education for him as it somehow (shockingly!!!) locates showcase-worthy genius in the staggeringly vast space between the two bizarrely improbable musical antipodes--Eddie Van Halen and Leon Redbone--that constitute the entirety of his musical universe.

Okay, that's a lie. Andy recommended the movie to me a year or two ago, and I just now watched it. But it is true that Andy's music tastes are defined by antipodal exclusivity. Okay, that's a lie, too.

Southern Gothic

Lydia's pose reminds me of a Degas sculpture. Maybe you know the one. I am thinking of Degas, right?

49 Rings (This boat is sinking)

Like Poe's shaft of light on that deformed eyeball (oh you know what I'm talkin' about), the word "images" at the beginning of the video is driving me rapidly to madness. I inserted the word as a "placeholder," as I had yet to come up with a title for the piece. I intended to change it to a more video-fitting word or introduction but forgot to do so. And then only after I saved the piece and uploaded it to the blog (a process which took about twenty minutes or so because the file is so large) did I notice that "images" is still there.

The madness.

The raving lunatic madness of it all.

Loyalty

This morning my wife suggested something to the effect of, "You are such a fortunate man. You have such good friends. They are amazingly loyal." And then she rattled off a healthy list of proper names, several of whom are among the blog regulars. And then she proceeded to explain, very sincerely and lovingly, how despite the fact I am unceasingly making everything all about me me me, these dear sweet loyal friends are forever indulging me in just about every way imaginable. And their patience seems boundless. They let me be me despite all the stuff about me that begs to be just a little bit less me-ish, if you catch my drift.

And beloved readers, the truth of it is that that while I knew this fact, I hadn't considered it as deeply and gratefully as I should have in a long time until Julianne reminded me of it. I was genuinely touched by both her sharing this truth with me as well as of the reality of it. I paused and realized, holy crap, I really am very lucky. My friends are incredible. I really do have sweet and interesting and brilliant and loyal friends, don't I? And I told Juli that I think I ought to take time this week to write them individual notes thanking them for their friendship.

Upon reflection, I hesitated, however. We both agreed that any such gushing note of gratitude on my part would have to be accompanied with a separate note written by Juli herself reassuring the reader that, no, I am not suicidal. Both of us know I'd be incapable of writing such a note that would not draw on the themes of the briefness of life and the reality of suffering and, well, just generally being a great big downer. So for the good of my friends, Julianne convinced me that I probably best NOT write the note. Just this once consider them, she urged.

This cuts against everything I live by, but for the sake of my friends, including many of my dear readers, I assented. So count yourself blessed this week if you don't receive a note from me. Believe me, your day will be a little brighter on account of it.

Perspective

Two different shots of the same two statues. To capture the second shot, I positioned myself to the left of the angel in the top frame.

Girl in the bubble

Father Hill

Yes!

And yes yes yes!!!




Well, if I was disappointed with how I couldn't manage to line up all the elements of the last shot, I am giddily happy with how these photos turned out (after massive manipulation, natch). Because as you can see from this photo below of Jean Baptiste Carpeaux's Ugolino and His Sons--extracted by me from someone else's photo on the the web--the hands don't line up in any kind of intuitive way at first glance. Still, I was convinced a hands-centric shot was mine for the taking! I was really lucky to sneak in the shots I took, crouched way low and at an odd angle, before the security guard politely asked me to stop taking photos. In my defense, I didn't know the room I was in was off-limits to photography.

SO tempting to label this a self-portrait. But, at last, I resisted.

Gandhi and the orange

In Union Square I came across this statue of Gandhi in a little garden enclosed by a fence. Though there were thousands of people milling around the surrounding park, no one was inside this little enclosure. Perhaps that should have served as evidence that I oughtn't have entered. But to no avail, however. Photos were to be had.

Because how often does one encounter a statue of Gandhi holding a brightly colored orange? I don't know whether the orange was real or plastic, but it seemed to me a lovely gift to give this moral exemplar and blessed martyr of the 20th century--indeed, one of my heroes and undeniably one of the most beautiful souls of modernity. Certainly placing a hamburger in his hand would have been bad form if not just horribly offensive. Though it would have been richly ironic had the cow from which the hamburger had been churned actually once held the soul of Gandhi himself. Then there would have been a kind of poetic symmetry. Or perhaps just more Western imperial oppression. Really it's your call. In either case, oranges--plastic or otherwise--were the way to go.

What are you made of?

Photo of a TAG Heuer poster in the window (watch and hand) and a nearly seamless reflection of the street behind me.

This advertising campaign is really effective, in my humble. I'm not the world's most materialistic dude (or anywhere close to it) and I have no sense of fashion it would seem. (As friends delight in telling me.) But I must say that I like these watches. Basically I need one. Yeah, need.

And a BMW. I need one of them, too. But other than those two things, I'm good to go. (Except for my future camera.)

So when my buddy Andy let me drive his new BMW, I was stunned by how many thoughts of sumpin sumpin came immediately to mind. I know, it's cliched. But they weren't lascivious thoughts at all. But the ride sparked a parallel line of thinking. That machine allowed for a very pleasing connection between mind, intentionality, body and external responsiveness. Plus the engine growled.

In German.

I'm just saying.

Nasty.

Bright sunny day

Just when you thought I would NEVER go back to the 2009 NOLA photos.

Redo

I hated that stinkin' green photo. Seriously. Even at the time I was wondering why I was posting it. And that made me wonder once again who it is that's doing all the interrogating in my head and who's doing all the answering. And who it is who's thinking about the interrogator, and whether that's the metaself. And whether the metaself isn't like God--in charge but sorta out of sight and seemingly out to lunch, too. And I decided there's a fun house of mirrors in my brain, and all the parts don't have to fit. So I've got that goin' for me, which is nice. That and total consciousness.

But that photo. Why did I post it? It reminds me of hearing the great Rod Steiger interviewed about his acting and how in The January Man he couldn't get his mind wrapped around his role's character. He kept hoping he'd find the key to unlock the character, but it never emerged. So when he was on the set, he was feeling desperate and tried to force the character out by will alone, and as a result he ended up shouting throughout every scene. That shot was like Steiger's role in January man. Rotten. And loud.

BTW, I was pleased with Nora. I asked her at the Hunter Museum of Art what she thought of a certain piece. She said. "Dunno. It's too busy for me." Atta girl, my minimalist munchkin.

That being said, this photo isn't minimalist. Just because Lydia has no head in the photo doesn't mean it's minimalism. That's important to remember. I did this one "in doubly." Literally.


And the untouched original:



Minimalism in art has a specific meaning. An example of genuine minimalist art is this piece by Brice Marden called The Dylan Painting.



I have my own name for it: "Cleveland." So gray. So very very gray. The grayness...it's just under- AND overwhelming.

But here's an example of minimalism in the more casual sense, and it's simply exquisite. It's by the 17th-18th century Chinese artist, Gao Qipei. It's titled "A Pine Branch," and it's taken from the series, "Finger Paintings of Assorted Subjects." This painting, which is displayed at my beloved Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, captures every thing I want to do with my photography. It reveals and conceals simultaneously. It points beyond itself while inviting closer viewing. The problem, a severe one, is that my stupid camera (which is literally falling apart, and rapidly) doesn't have a "Chinese finger painting with ink" mode.

I'm very very angry with Gao Qipei. And at my camera.



Have you ever listened to Brahms' Violin Concerto in D? You should. And have. (Admit it.)

Zac Greene's freaky prayer hand(s) praying a freaky prayer

Oh, you know it's freaky if it's Zac. Freaky is how Zac do.

...in our image, in our likeness....

hands and eyes

A candid shot.

We were listening to a discussion about the architecture of a home, and I was sitting across the room from Lydia. I had my camera out and was taking photos of people as they listened.

I like how she's holding her hands.

ice cube on finger at 33,000 feet

This is an ice cube on my daughter's finger at an altitude of 33,000 feet.

I could not be more happy with this photo. This photo is the reason I started this blog.