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Posts Tagged ‘Photography’

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On view as you enter the front door.

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When Steve tapered the legs of the dining room table he made by hand this pandemic season … I gardened, he made furniture … these pieces of wood were left behind. Now he told me about these pieces before I actually saw them and said, “I can turn them into a fan for you to do something with. I just need to get the right bolt.” “You mean like a Japanese fan?” He shrugged. “Yeah, more or less.” And I exclaimed with glee, “Yes, make that and we’ll hang it on the wall.”

Given that I don’t work with wood yet and he can’t read my mind yet, we each merrily traveled down a mental path completely unaware that we were not on the same page. He made the fan, 9 pieces bolted together and because of the nature of the design they have to hang down and not up as I had imagined in my head. And while I thought it was a totally him piece … his creation … he seemed stuck on this idea of collaboration. Well, I do declare. “You can stain it like you did the table,” I said. He nodded slowly then said, “But I think a watercolor wash might be better. That’s just me.” And for an eternity … actually only a few moments … we went back and forth. Finally I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Okay, mister, I’ve got some watercolors somewhere. What’s your vision?” He shrugged. “I don’t have one. You’re the artist.” He walked away as I semi-glared.

And then I began to play …

… knowing that nothing would be perfect and that I was learning along the way.

There are nine leaves to the fan. I began to think of the leaves as nine opportunities to tell a story or vignette. I think that is how I will handle such an opportunity in the future.

Watercolor on wood. You can’t get much more ephemeral so who knows I may use these same thin pieces again one day. But this fan can stay as it is for a bit because a certain someone is beginning to work on a new table. A much smaller table. We’ll see what falls by the wayside this time for our next collaboration. Be well,everyone. 🙂

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Artwork in the square. Deceptively simple looking and especially quite elegant when a gentle breeze blows and there’s plenty of breeze in Copley Square.

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Honestly, I have no words. I think Stephen Colbert captures it best for me. Check out his video in the following New York Times article: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/07/arts/television/stephen-colbert-trump-capitol.html

p.s. the subject line … I worry that, as I did after Biden won the election that first night, I worry that, once more, now that the riots are (so far) done, I hear people saying,”well, this is the end.” It is not. During World War II, after many defeats, the British finally obtained a victory. Some may have thought, well, this is the end. The year was 1942. Winston Churchill’s reply? “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

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Joseph A. Horne, 1943

Joseph Anthony Horne will not be remembered as one of Roy Stryker’s greatest Farm Security Administration – Office of War Information (FSA/OWI) photographers such as Dorethea Lange, Gordon Parks and Walker Evans but there is much to be gleaned from his photographs. With his camera, Horne primarily focused on the Washington, DC area where he lived with his wife and son. My understanding is that Stryker did not give specific direction on what to shoot but, once a region or event was selected, photographers had great leeway to shoot as they pleased and he would sort through the photos later. You can read more about the background and evolution of the photography project here. The photos of these photographers, including Horne, are available at the Library of Congress. What I find increasingly interesting about Horne’s photographs is seeing where his eyes gravitated.

He took these photos in the summer of 1943 in Franklin Park, Washington, DC. It appears to be a circular park with benches around the circle and from Horne’s photos it appears that white people settled on benches on one side of the circle and black people on the other side.

But when it came to listening to the presenters, like the Catholic Evidence Guild, all could stand together. Or at least the children could stand up front.

I’ve learned that Franklin Park, DC’s largest green space, will soon be transformed. It will become a destination point for residents and visitors. Horne’s photos reminds us that the park used to be quite the destination spot for a mix of peoples in the 1940s. Hopefully in 2021 that will be true once more in the park.

Franklin Park

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I’m always looking for inspiration. So when you’re more or less stuck in the house during a pandemic … and your eyes need a break from the screen … after awhile you start to look in old boxes that are just sitting around and that’s where I discovered Steve’s cache of chess pieces. I vaguely remember playing chess as a little kid but goodness knows I was never meant to be a Beth Harmon. I’m more into the zen of chess, as I am into the zen of fishing. The zen of fishing is tie a string on a stick, slip the string into the water, and then ponder the world about you. I’m not so into actually catching a fish just as I’m not so into demolishing my opponent across the board. But it’s nice to know how to do it. So … I had Steve set up the board. He picked these pieces up in Mexico years ago. I thought he’d simply tell me what I need to do … I know the basic moves. But he handed me a book! Starting Out: the Sicilian. Well, I moved my first pawn. We’ll see how this journey progresses.

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three tomatoes on a windowsill

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A person in Copley Square feeds the pigeons quite regularly and in great volume. He may have been doing it so routinely that the pigeons have become attuned to his hand gesture when he disburses his feed. So if anyone makes a similar gesture, their hand sweeping the air, the birds settle immediately en masse until a few quick pecks at empty ground reveal no food. Then away they fly. I’m not sure if the hawk gets them when they are flying in or flying away. But I know this hawk caught and consumed at least two pigeons while I was in the area. The man has been asked not to feed the birds. We’ll see …

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While puttering around the kitchen this morning I suddenly yearned for a particular cup of tea. I could see it clearly, could almost smell it. But instead of Lipton tea with sugar and a long pour of Pet’s evaporated milk, I made myself some chai. I smiled at the memory though. Lipton’s was my mother’s tea. Really, the family’s tea. She never added anything except a bit of sugar but my brothers would empty the can of milk and the sugar bowl. Awhile back I noted my oldest brother’s grandson doing the same. I happened to be sitting by my brother at the time. I looked at him and with a raised eyebrow asked, “Well, I wonder where he learned that from?”

Yellow onions were a fixture in our home too. I’ve not cooked with them probably in 15 plus years having made a gustatory switch to red onions. But while walking through the grocery store earlier this month the yellow onions caught my attention. I was compelled to pick up one. Slicing through that first yellow onion brought tears to my eyes with its wonderfully pungent scent. A forgotten scent remembered. As I washed my hands before I accidentally rubbed my eyes I remembered how my father used to cry as he cut these same onions. It was a task that my mom often had him do. Now I know why. But I can’t help myself. Every time I cut one I now raise the half to my nose and inhale deep. I don’t feel compelled to eat them raw, as I must have as a child, and as I remember my father doing all the time. There is something simply serene in slow cooking with the onion, sauteing it in butter, or slicing it up for roasting vegetables. There is an upwelling of familiarity and home even in a different time and place and home.

There are other foods, flavors, scents from childhood that are “upwelling” this month. They come unbidden and they are welcome and so far they have always brought a smile.

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