Truth be told. My photography and the inspiration to take photos have been at an all-time low. Going out in record heat during times of the day that aren’t conducive to the rules of light and shadows. That and other factors have seriously put a damper on my creativity. So much so that I was beginning to think I needed an open-ended break from one of my true loves. Thoughts such as “Haven’t you taken enough pictures already?” and “Maybe it’s time for something else.” With thoughts like that working their way into my mind. Leaving the camera behind on occasion have worked its way into my subconscious. That thought, “Leave the camera home.” immediately came to mind when my wife and I travelled to Baltimore to satisfy her craving for a great burger. And while Baltimore had been a regular destination since our return to the east coast. This time, we’d be traveling to an area we had yet to explore. Luckily, we brought it along. As we found this industrial beauty somewhere in between our burger and search for refreshing iced coffee. It’s many shadows and interesting lighting provided a boost and many opportunities to shoot in different modes that helped bring me out of what felt like an everlasting slump. Thus, allowing me to realize, while it’s okay to chase. Letting the right time come to you might be the most rewarding approach.
Living in Hell’s Kitchen was nine years of growth in countless ways. It was where I became a photographer and sharpened my writing and storytelling skills. I met and befriended a wide array of people from diverse backgrounds and I got married in the community garden directly across the street from my apartment on 48th Street. With all the rolls of film I shot. I wish I had spent more time photographing the character and character of my neighborhood. Accurately depicted in movies such as Sleepers, State of Grace, Gangs of New York, and countless others. As a kid, my Father would share his stories about his encounters with James Coonan and the Hell’s Kitchen gang, The Westies. When I look back, it’s surreal.
Living somewhere between Dulles Airport and the Pentagon. We see our share of aircraft. Strangely enough, the number of helicopters might be concerning for someone who’s seen enough conspiracy theory movies. (Not to say I have.) One hovering over your home for a good hour can rattle the nerves. The time. Allowed me the opportunity to change my Canon 28 – 105 to a 100 – 400. Giving me the ability to document the moment. With the cuurent political atmosphere being what it is. The idea of the secret police coming to take you away, Is not as outlandish a thought as it once seemed. Be safe. Stay safe.
If you’ve ever been taken to your local hospital’s emergency room. I can empathize. Having been taken their more times than I’d like to share, by ambulance, friends, and loved one’s due to an unfortunate life threatening condition. Well, what if I told you that your local hospital’s emergency room was actually a secret layer of hell? A place you went seeking for immediate assistance, only to be left for dead?
As Winter rolls in. The nights are coming earlier, while the temperatures are dropping like flies. With the arrival of freezing cold weather. It’s getting harder and harder to convince myself to bundle up in layers that once applied, have taken away most of the energy needed for such outings. However, last week, with my wife visiting family in Tokyo and the temperature at a steady 36 degrees. I left home twice with camera, tripod and a few other essentials to have a little fun on the dark, cold evening. When evaluating those moments. Armed with a sense of confidence that I packed everything I would need and the patience I often lack to properly set up the shot I wanted to capture by closely following certain rules regarding photographing under more challenging circumstances. I returned home knowing I achieved my goal without the burden of second guessing.
The beautiful and kind woman pictured is not the subject I speak of in this post.
Recent adventures regarding YouTube videos featuring incidents of acts of kindness and their lasting results had me visiting long-buried memories that show some of the better moments of my life. Times when I chose or realized that, in the end, I was and wanted to be a good person. Someone who, despite a sketchy background and running with a questionable mix of delinquents. I had a solid moral compass. At the age of sixteen, in my junior year of high school. My mom and stepdad decided to pick up and move from our Jackson Heights, Queens Co-Op, to the suburbs of Wayne, NJ. More on that later. For now, I’ll skip to my senior year and meet a girl worth proving I wasn’t the average street kid.
While her name escapes me after forty-plus years, her short, curly blonde hair and the confident way she conducted herself still loom large. We met in a class where we often shared our opposite opinions on the world and its people. Somehow, despite being on opposite ends of just about every subject, our bitter relationship soon became a friendship. It was like a scene out of a John Hughes 80s teen movie.
As senior year evolved. She would go on to make the honor roll while I struggled with my grades and the strong possibility of having to repeat the year. Still, I looked forward to passing her in the hallways and exchanging a few words between classes. It never went much further than that. I worked at the mall while she was volunteering at the local hospital. I remember visiting her on occasion. Trips that always put me in a positive state of mind. Thinking back, I spent much of my spare time convincing her that I was a decent guy.
Then it happened. The perfect opportunity presented itself. Our town and the hospital where she volunteered were hosting the Special Olympics. I can’t recall exactly how I caught wind of it. It was likely posted on one of our high school message boards in search of volunteers with determination and an honest will to be a part of it. I convinced her to volunteer together. Her agreement ensured that she was finally going to see me in action. We both had a great time. Being involved and interacting with special needs kids felt good. Shaking hands with the governor and being thanked for our hard work and participation was pretty rewarding for a seventeen-year-old kid. Above all, though, was convincing an intelligent and pretty girl that her, from the other side of the tracks friend, had a kind and thoughtful spot. At the same time, I think I needed to prove something to myself. That I wanted and was already a good person who wanted to help others while leaving a positive footprint on the people I met and places I went. Senior year soon ended, and I left Wayne for my old neighborhood. I don’t recall ever speaking or writing to her after parting ways. Perhaps for the best. In the end. I was just happy for the short time as her friend, proving that despite being a street kid, I wasn’t bad by any means.
Starting our day at Waffle House has always been a good choice. Choosing to sit at the counter? Even better. Today, however, we were given an unexpected bonus when the entire staff spontaneously broke into an impressive song and dance routine while song from the Backstreet Boys, NSYNC and TLC resonated over the speakers. It was the perfect example of living in the moment. An experience my wife and I will cherish for a long time. As both of us instantly became an adoring audience. Singing along and dancing in our seats. I can’t think of a better way to start my weekend. Well, a satisfying breakfast with a bottomless cup of coffee come to mind. But experiencing both at the same time can only be described as a once in a lifetime event.
This image was taken late Saturday afternoon as we left the Virginia State fare. It was a long, hot day that featured all the signs needed to prove that the human race, as we remember it, is as good as gone.
Since elementary school, my addiction to music and the culture it involves has consumed much of my life. Which, for all purposes and interests consumes a lot of territory. It came to a boiling point shortly before I got married in 2001, that I sold all my first press hardcore punk records individually and used the money to finance a honeymoon in my wifes’ country of origin Japan. First off. Japan is without a doubt, the most beautiful country I’ve ever traveled. By all means. If you get the chance. Go there. By any means nessacary. Second. Don’t sell your records. Ever. I mean, unless your doctor just diagnosed you with an incurable dicease and given you less then a year to live. Even then, think hard. I mean think really hard.
Lucky for me.Throughout my adult life, I’ve had the space and later rooms to store and enjoy my music. As for that large collection I sold. Well, that two crates of LP’s and two boxes of 7′ EP’s have since been replaced and multiplied by crazy numbers. Even after selling ten boxes to a retailer before moving back east. My collection is a beast. My current home, much like my last four dwellings have had second bedrooms divided to records, cd’s, dvd’s and other monuments to my extended childhood. This one, a nerdist kingdom, if there ever was one.
I had just taken a job with a new studio that was experimenting with adding short video interviews to the studio photography session. It was a brand new idea at the time, and the photographers were given a chance to improvise and scrip their own interview questions. My first customers were a young couple from Brooklyn who had this amazing chemistry together. I sped through the photo session, giving them a nice session of images to choose from. When it came to creating a video that would bring in some extra cash to the studio. I was in new territory. For Christ sake. Aside from the training. I had never held a video camera before. However, having seen the couples chemistry throughout the photo session. I was ready to give it a try. Besides, both of us were new to this. Finally, lights, camera, action and they’re introducing themselves. Who they are and where they came from. Then it happened. Boom. My first question. “What was it that made you fall in love with one another?” Click, click, boom. As the woman started her response. Tears began running down her cheek.I knew, then and there they I had not only made a sale, but I made a connection. One that taught me how to communicate with complete strangers in order to get them comfortable enough to not even notice the camera.
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