In Laos, as in most of Asia, one takes off their shoes before entering a building. This is a great practice, keeping the inside of buildings much cleaner. However, it can lead to a bit of chaos right at the doorway… click to enlarge.
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Writing To A Photograph: Flotsam or Jetsam?
Another photo for the Writing To A Photograph project. Photo provided by my friend Jade in Japan. My writing to this photograph below.
I used to own this neighborhood. Now, I’m just a too-old underling. I’m not exactly sure why the new, younger mafia kept me around. Probably because I know this place like no one else—I can still see deep into the cracks and crevices, see around corners before I get to them, see into storm grates and watch the past slide down them. I cock my head and hear things: stories, dirt, facts.
But I don’t get the same respect that I once did. I used to peer into any of these shops and receive a downcast set of eyes in return; now all I get is a glassy-eyed, monochrome look like I’m a ghost, a denser bit of air. They still don’t trust me, but now they don’t fear me.
Flotsam or jetsam, which am I? I can’t seem to ever remember which is which—one is accidental, one is intentional. Mmm, flotsam, that’s it.
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Beauty In Simple Things, #2
I love the way the back rim of this bowl starts to blend into the background. I’m not sure what this particular bowl is used for, but I’ve seen them all through the hospital. One, holding bloody surgical instruments after a surgery; another holding water used to wipe the face of a woman in labor; and another, in a remote health center, again holding surgical instruments—instruments doused with alcohol and set afire to sterilize them. Such a simple item, so many uses, polished by so many hands.
This is the second post in my series Beauty In Simple Things. Take a look at the first post in the series here.
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Lester Cannon: On Nude Portraiture (NSFW)
I’ve been a big fan of Lester Cannon and enjoy his nudes. Take a look at his take on the subject matter here.
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Through The Infirmary #17
Since the hospital had long since run out of high intensity lamps for the operating theater, this is what was used when operating on a patient… apparently it is quite dark inside a human! From the upcoming Through The Infirmary project.
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Botanica Obscura Plywerk On Sale!
Just in time for Christmas. I’ve shown my Botanica Obscura series at three different gallery shows and have sold a bunch, but I have some left over stock that I’d like to move. So, until December 15th, take a 20% discount for a price of $192 (plus shipping). See the gallery below to see which are available.
Botanica Obscura Print On Plywerk Bamboo Panel These are all face mounted on 3/4″ Plywerk Bamboo panels, have a hand finished edge, and are UV coated. They come with hanging wires and wall bumpers already attached—a really cool presentation.
And don’t fret—If I’m sold out, I can always make you another piece on a 16×16″ panel (I’ll have to order other panel sizes if a different size is desired).
Botanica Obscura Prints In Standard Frames—Also Available. This Is In A Client’s Home In Brooklyn. Thanks for looking!
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Writing To A Photograph: Threshold
Another image from my friend Jade in Japan. My writing to this photograph below.
Threshold
Every day. I get on the subway, but I can’t get off at that stop. The door opens, but I can’t move—a wall, a chainlink fence, barbed wire. Yeah, it’s in my mind; no, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Around the loop I go and get back off at the subway station near my home. Tomorrow. I’ll try again tomorrow.
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New Project: Writing To A Photograph: Desire
My friend Jade is living in Japan and teaching English, we met in Laos. She came up with a great idea: we swap photographs and write about them—no specific form, it can be a poem, essay, etc. I minored in writing in college, but visual arts took over after that and I consider myself quite rusty with words. So, this will be a good exercise to get those writing skills back up to snuff. This project may go on for years, it may only be an occasional post, It’s basically an experiment. So, without further ado, here is the first image she sent and my short essay below.
Desire
I’m old, but that feeling never quite goes away. It starts in my groin and then the heat travels up and fills my body. When I was young, it happened in seconds, an intense burning—an intense desire. At points I wished I had a switch that would just turn it off, turn it down even. It was all encompassing. I’ve moved states because of it, I’ve gotten in fights because of it (oh, just a little blood), and I’ve made bad decisions because of it. As I’ve gotten older, it has mellowed, it’s not so sharp-edged and jagged. It doesn’t affect my mind as strongly as it once did. I don’t mean to denigrate it, but I do appreciate the level that it is at now—warmer and rounder, and slower and tempered. It no longer makes me push, run hard through things, twist until I’m ready to burst. Desire. I don’t regret my past with her now, but I do appreciate that now it is a slow dance with her, a caress, a brushing of lips on her skin.
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