Friday, December 4, 2009

Still







Willets Point, Queens, NYC

Why?



Willets Point, Queens, NYC

Friday, November 20, 2009

The Iron Triangle

















Willets Point, Queens, NYC

Still Life



Mexican Diner on 6th Avenue
NYC

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Mazel Tov







Bat Mitzvah
Riverdale, Bronx, NYC

New Project





Willets Point, Queens, NYC

The Burden of Being Whoever You Want to Be





6th Avenue NYC
Central Pennsylvania
America

Archaeology







NYC subway.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Mere Observations





Side note: I needed iconic photographs in color for this, restricting me to the last 30 years of so of photographic history. In the process of the search I started to realize that, well, there aren't many in the traditional sense - by that I mean a composed photograph by a photographer during a live event. Pre-color is easy: V-Day kisses, flag raisings on Iwo Jima, executions in Saigon, terrified Vietnamese girls, Muhammad Ali and Sonny Liston, the Hindenberg, Kent State, the list goes on and on. Universally recognized photographs from the modern era? Afghan Girl obviously, and...??? I think Marlboro Marine's probably a bit of a stretch, maybe the starving girl and vulture from Sudan (though sadly controversy fed its ubiquity as much as content), Ground Zero, perhaps the Exxon Valdez bird (for which, by the way, Exxon has yet to pay restitution for as of earlier this month), or Elian Gonzalez in the closet.

This is not to say there are no universally recognized photos from the modern era, but that most of them don't seem to resemble our traditional cherished photographs. Most are reminders of events rather than a gripping event summarized in one photograph. Many of what I would call universally recognized photographs from the modern era are taken by amateurs in the right place at the right time, astronauts, robots, satellites, security cameras, frame grabs from video cameras, everything except a professional photographer composing a shot. And that's fine, I don't have a problem with it at all as it's just the changing nature of how we distribute information amongst ourselves, but its got me thinking about how our self-perception might be different in the future if our children see our world through the imagery we leave them in their history (e-)books. WWII was Robert Capa at D-Day and Joe Rosenthal at Iwo Jima, Vietnam was Nick Ut at Trang Bang and Eddie Adams in Saigon, Iraq was... off-color amateur shots of Lynndie England? Whats the iconic image from Iraq? Afghanistan? Do we need one? Has the decline of traditional media left us without the resources to adequately pursue these images? Do the conflicts not lend themselves to photographers operating freely? Have they been politicized to the point where they can't be encapsulated in a single frame? Can I end eight consecutive sentences with question marks? Yes.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

High Above

















Sunny and Julianna
Le Parker Meridan, Manhattan
Courtesy Jayd Gardina

Monday, September 14, 2009

Window Lit Wedding















Al and Vittoria.
Long Island City, NYC

If I Ever Get Back



Citi Field, Queens, NYC

Sunday, August 9, 2009

For All Those Killed By Cops

In perhaps the only time the Internet has ever failed to deliver for me, I had a very tough time finding a Mike Ladd album for a few months. Finally got the CD, and the last track is pretty breathtaking. Perhaps not surprisingly, the lyrics don't seem to be on the web anywhere, so I decided to try my hand at transcribing and create what may very well be my only contribution to the collective digital knowledge of the planet. It's a coincidentally topical song coming off the Henry Louis Gates affair. There's a couple bits I can't make out, help is very much welcome.

Mike Ladd
Feb. 4, 1999 (For All Those Killed By Cops)

It's all confused and beautiful
Like Cambridge Mass
Like Roberts upon Roberts and Sylvias and bushes and pawns and projects and steeples
Sweet Ivy with acid leaves
Like (?)

And at 16 I saw the snows turn purple at the top of the world
and the green carpet of the plateau went so warm the sight alone could feed children
Old men and women pray with their whole bodies in dust, length by length around temples

And I couldn't play basketball for shit so my friends made me toss a glass bowl in the dark to test my coordination skills
The sting on my knuckles when it slipped through, everything slipped and dropped (?)

In the Himalayas five boys and a pound of gee for Ramadan omelettes at 4 AM with Rahan
Coaxing God in my ears, the mullahs' song bouncing off mountains, down to plains and off to horizontal stars

I don't wear saffron
and I won't cheat my feet out of a pair of soles

Kraft macaroni and cheese all week long tastes better in the company of cousins
Uncle Jimmy joking about spaghetti and peanut butter
His Laz-E-Boy all duct taped and plastic
Luke and Lauren learning how to get it on in front of my little face while I'm waiting on Easy Rita

All I know is when its cold, hazy, and you're high
the Great Zimbabwe looks as if it's being born in this morning
Stretching out of the mists like the world was an egg to emerge from

That keef, and fez, and the wet of two lovers making room for me,
allow we to be cradled in folds that should be eternal

If I could be cradled in a boat of wombs within a womb
Odysseying through the worlds
I'd be there now, fully drenched

All I know is Jesus, Vishnu, (?), Taurus, Osiris, Odin, Muhammad all wait in line for seconds just like me
That we are put together by masses of eternal trinkets of matter from the cosmos in the bathroom
And that they disappear and reappear like worlds between matter
That mountains, seas, and sidewalks won't justify this
But they will serve
Serve like universes

Somehow bullet holes in steel doors look like a collection of constellations trapped to catch the wrath of idiots
And we are the size of constellations in the path of wrathful idiots
And all these heroes we will map the sky with come across arcane next to off duty demons in denim

And you would think that Cambridge would finally buckle under its own ego
That the Himalayan stones would melt and somehow drown the right people
That (?) ghosts would rise and fly vengeance
That the very matter from every crossed path would turn resolute and shatter themselves for justice

(Interlude)

But no, the world is too beautiful for that
Too beautiful to let go pain
Too confused to leave out the stain
But if days are numbered, the day will come, and they will serve.


Saturday, August 8, 2009

Rebirth



in a nondescript corner of New York City.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Photo Fetish: Airports





Baltimore Washington International Airport.
Baltimore, MD.

125ubway





125th Street subway stop, NYC.

Illusionist


Jules, Russian.
Bryant Park, NYC.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Bits and Pieces





Columbus Circle, NYC.

Patriotism



It's just not an independence celebration without authority all over the place.
West Side Highway, NYC.