I was on the way to the Film Forum in the west village when I came across this simple, yet powerful statement someone had spray painted on the wall. While I’ve made it a habit to carry my camera with me at all times. However, with my sole purpose of heading in to the city for a flick with some friends. 
It seemed less than necessary. With my iPhone 6 being my only option. I snapped this and quickly continued my walk to the theatre. While I’m not one to usually support public vandalism. The message itself felt important, vital and timely. My message here, if any, is to document your surroundings, your travels and your experiences. They’ll change over time. That snapshot might come in handy one day.
Category: Documentary
Buried Treasure
As I began to plan my route back home last night I ran into more than several dead ends and locked fences. Feeling a bit worn and self aware that I wasn’t exactly walking through territory that saw much heavy foot traffic. The rocky, uneven and muddy ground below me had already began to take it’s tole on my new pair of Nike’s and a slight sense of paranoia had start to set in. Weary of being sighted by any construction foreman’s or pulled over by the authorities. My pace quickened as my eyes widened searching for an opening in one of the fences. 
As the night grew dark and my path became more like an obstacle course. I kept my eyes close to the ground. That’s when I found buried treasure just below the muddy terrain. Without wasted breath I leaned forward, scooped up a couple and headed towards home. The experience quickly reminded me of my elementary school days when my friends and me would explore the train yards of Sunnyside Queens looking for buried treasure. While I may not be hoping any fences or climbing up on roofs these days. The explorer in me is still alive and well.
The Setting Sun
Living in Hoboken for a good ten years. My lazy, nothing ever happens before coffee, ass managed to capture just a handful of sunrises. That said, the sun coming up over Manhattan is a sight worth capturing again, again and again. Since moving to Jersey City however, I’ve come to appreciate sunsets in new and endlessly creative ways. In my first weeks and months here. I would climb up on the construction side of RT. 139, 9 and the Pulaski Bridge to watch the sun set over the nearby Kearny factories. It was, in a sense, the start of my daily meditation ritual. My moment to breathe and release the days stress and anxiety.
After a long winter with very little sun to rise or set. During those dark days, I promised myself not to take for granted the little things that make life worth living. So tonight I took a long walk west on Newark Ave. towards the setting sun. Despite the endless string of automobiles noisily passing from both directions. I felt a sense of peace and solitude. Along the way I found some new angles and vantage points to capture the sunrise. And while it’s hard to avoid taking the same picture over and over. I’ve got plenty of time to try new things. Keep chasin’.
Roadside Attractions
I’ve lived in New Jersey for twelve years now and in that time, done my share of driving. Wherever my travels take me, be it far or near. I always find myself feeling enamored with the factories, railroads and industrial sculptures that feel somewhat out of reach to a driver speeding down the interstate. 
Whether I’m driving alone or with a sidekick. The thought of pulling over or taking the next exit to seek out the adventures that often tease me to look deeper. That said, the thought is often just that. The facts that I’m usually on my way to something and driving at speeds that will most likely warrant a summons often postpone my urges to explore. Add to that, the areas that intrigue me the most are off limits and often patrolled by very suspicious security and or folks who call 911 as if it came with a free pizza.
So after moving to an area that was essentially surrounded by the same things that have intrigued me for years. I decided to take it upon myself to seek out those elusive treasures on foot. 
The risk of going out with a camera and photograph what is basically private property definitely has it’s risks. I learned this early on when I was innocently out shooting for a portfolio titled “Left Behind”. During that time I was confronted, chased by security guards and even detained by police as a possible terrorist suspect. Despite the possibilities of arrest and possible bodily harm. I find the rewards far outweigh the risks. It’s something I’ve been drawn since my pre – K days when my Father would bring me to the junk yards that lay just beyond Shea Stadium.
Till tis day, I find myself drawn to explore the factories, railroads and industrial centers more and more. And while I’d never recommend trespassing or breaking the law. I whole heartedly support following and documenting the things you love. Get out there, find it and document it. The world is yours. 
Summer is Here. Jump for Joy.
Summer has officially arrived, as our complaints turn from “It’s too damn cold.” to “Damn, it’s f@#king hot out.” Soon, the streets will be teeming with sweat soaked residents, tourists and the like. All looking for a moment in the spotlight and a day in the shade. Personally, I’ve managed to capture my share of moments and mayhem. With some new gear and a strong focus towards doing what ultimately makes me happiest. Be sure to stay tuned for the laughs, tears and lunacy.
Everyone Has a Unique Story to Tell. Sometimes We Just Need to Listen.
I’ve met a lot of unique and beautiful people in my lifetime. Though trying to 
start a conversation with a complete stranger can be a humbling kick in the ego. It can open the doors to to so many new and rewarding experiences. These days I don’t feel all that comfortable speaking myself. Often catching myself stumbling over my words or feeling unable to say exactly what my brain is trying to communicate. Depending on how you look at it. It can be viewed as a positive, negative or both. For me personally, I try to see it as a positive. The positive being I can muster the words and expressions well enough to invite a conversation before letting my ability to listen take foot. Though I didn’t expect it. I find myself enjoying the time I spend with my mouth closed and my ears open. I’ve met some very interesting characters with some really incredible stories to tell. I’ve learned a lot with this little gift. More about the world and it’s people. More surprisingly, I’ve learned a lot more about myself. Most times, a smile, a nod or a simple hello can start a conversation. I took each of these three images within about an hour with the help of those three expressions. Try it some time. You might be surprised by what you get.
Attention You Seek
Wherever you go these days, make sure to your camera in tow. For the world is a stage and there is a long line to get on it. It seems that everyone and their uncle Sally are looking for the fifteen minutes of fame or moment in the spotlight. For better or worse, good, bad or ugly. It matters not the presentation. What matters is your documentation of such. Since my days in Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen to my current Hoboken state of mind. I’ve always made a point of documenting my surroundings. It provides a sense of history and boatload of fun and frenzied images.
Once Upon a Bicycle
We had just left a somewhat underwhelming open house for a condo in Park Slope. The growls in our stomachs echoed from the emptiness caused by the morning rush. So with our taste buds crying out for some deep fried comfort food, we began to head towards an old favorite in ” The Chip Shop”. We had just walked a few blocks when suddenly, we heard a crash that was quickly followed by grinding sound. The sound totally caught me off guard. It all happened within a few seconds. Seconds where I could feel my heart stop, pick up and begin racing. Though we had actually witnessed what had just happened. The visual impact and the sound it made felt like two completely separate incidents. The sounds we had just heard was that of a Yogurt truck (I shit you not) hitting a bicyclist, rolling over the bike like a Sherman tank and baking up off it. Looking back, it seemed like one of those freeze frame moments you see in the movies or TV. Yet it all took place in a matter of three or four seconds.
Quickly, I reached for the camera in my bag and managed to get about a half dozen pictures of the truck, it’s license and the driver as he momentarily stopped to peek out from the truck before speeding away. A crowd poured out of the corner restaurant where, just seconds before, they were enjoying their Sunday brunch. The group of onlookers quickly began tending to the just hit bicyclist, speed dialing 911 or just looking on in complete shock. The bicyclist, bruised, slightly bloodied and shaken was soon back on his feet while his former mode of transportation looked more like a sculpture headed to a local art gallery than anything else.
Within a few minutes the police, fire department and local ambulance service arrived, took care of the victim and began taking reports from the still shocked, onlookers. “He just got back in his truck and sped off!!!” 
“He went that way. He can’t be more than two blocks away,” It was a truck.” “An ice cream truck” “No, it was a pink yogurt truck.” “That shit was pink and it sped away.” Quickly I went to one of the officers and showed him the pictures. At the time I couldn’t zero in close enough to show them the license number but it gave them a good enough look at the truck. Good enough that even the most color blind albino could pick it out of a line up. Still, I made sure to give the officer and the bicyclist my business card and let them know I’d be happy to help with the license plate number once I got home.
As we got home and settled in. I began to check my email. The following is what I received…. “Hi Mr Damion, Today I got hit by a frozen yogurt truck (which I believe to be YOGO). If you can, please help me out, I need more information to catch this guy. My contact number is XXX 888-8888 and you can email me at this address at any time.” Sincerely, Johnny Bicycle” I sent him these images, along with a close up of the trucks license plate. In the end he was very appreciative. It felt good to be able to help out and maybe, just maybe, help bring a happy ending to a very unpleasant experience.
Things Go Wrong…
I was having sushi with an old friend and mentor when he jokingly brought up a job he put me on to during the summer of 2012. Since we first met some years ago we’ve worked together on a few jobs and he’s put me on to a few clients along to the way. One day I get a call asking if If I would be interested in handling a job for him. “This woman I’ve known for about thirty years just lost her husband and she contacted me asking if I could shoot the services for her.” He went on to tell how he had known her for years and that she was bat crazy for as long and most likely, long before.
Despite his description, I decided to give her a call to discuss the details. One call led to another, and another and another before getting all the bat shit details of the event down. I knew from my very first conversation that she was nuttier than a fruit cake and had a habit of repeating herself numerous times.”Yes Ms. M., I got that the first eight times you said it.” The date and hourly rate were set. About four hours of work at $200 an hour seemed easy enough. I would go to the funeral home in the morning to photograph the body and the mourners, (Creepy I know) then head to the church where I’d photograph the mass and to the mausoleum where the body would be put to rest.
The day of the event everything went as planned. 
The wake, the funeral mass and the entombing went without any issues. There were weird looks along the way such as the mausoleum director telling me he had never in all this years experience a widow who wanted the ceremony documented. Through all of it though, I conducted myself with grace and dignity while sharing my empathy with the family and there friends. So much so that I was invited to join them for lunch afterward. Lunch being the time where I was able to take the most natural and laid back pictures of friends and family she might never again get to see. “Phew, I actually got though this with my soul in tact.” Or so I thought.
As promised I had the images ready for delivery in less than five business days. I made plans with her to drop off the discs I created and pick up payment. 
Shortly upon arrival everything began to unravel. I gave her the discs expecting the exchange to be short and without incident. “Let me see what’s on there.” As I inserted the first disc in to her decades old Del I recalled her telling me she had no software issues and the she had many photos stored within. Slow became slower and she starts in “You need to fix my computer.” “There’s something wrong with it.” My blood pressure steadily rising, I kept telling myself to be patient. Still, I have seen no resemblance of cash or a check book.
After what seemed to take forever, the images began loading. I sat with her going from image to image. At one point we came to a B&W image “What the hell is that!?!” She rattled. I explained to her that I thought the B&W added a dramatic element and that she still had the original color image if she didn’t like it. She often muttered and spoke under her breath to which I would politely say “Excuse me?” Nice lady she was she would quickly squawk “What are you deaf?” Still no sight of any cash or check book. When I brought up payment she’d go into victim mode exclaiming “I’m not rich you know.” “This is a lot of money” and “I’m in mourning here.” The “What are you deaf?” squawks continued. To which I finally replied “I’m sorry, my ears are sensitive.” “They only register intelligent conversation.” An hour had past. A time where I clearly delivered the product I was hired me to document. I explained to her that all transactions have a beginning and an end and that I had delivered my part of the contract. It was now her responsibility to pay me. The insults and cries of poverty continued. Still no sight of any cash or a check book. I had reached my breaking point. 
Correction, I was way past it. My mind was racing. At one point, I eyed a pillow in the adjacent room and for a second thought of smothering her with it. No one would ever come for her I menaced. Finally, I reached my senses. My stay had gone past an hour and I was never even offered a glass of water. I got up confidently. “I’ve taken enough abuse from you.” “I’ve had it.” “Pay me now or I’m leaving with the discs.” I left, cursing and menacing inside. As I walked to my car I felt so overwhelmed with anger I could feel it in my teeth. I started the engine and drove away with a road rage I can’t even describe. I called my friend explaining what happened. “I told you she was crazy.” He did his best to calm me but I was so far outside of myself that no words could ease my tension.
We finally met up and he agreed to work as a middle man. He was just as angered, if not more, by her b.s. as I was. We put together a plan to meet again at her home. I would keep my mouth shut as he worked as a diplomat. 
“If she doesn’t pay you then and there we will inform her that she will be taken to small claims court and we will have a lien put on her house if payment is not made. The plan worked perfectly. Though she continued to play the victim and throw vague insults our way. I received paid within five minutes of our arrival. I smiled, thanked her and offered my services to photograph her own funeral. It was a parting shot I felt I needed to regain the soul I felt I had lost in those rough weeks before. Though I’m sure I’ll never get asked to photograph a funeral. I promised myself I’d never consider documenting such a sad event again.
“How Do You Measure Success?”
Earlier this evening I was interviewed for a project a friend of mine is working on. As her small crew (two people) went about setting up and making me feel beautiful I had a pretty good idea of the line of questioning I was in for. The interview went pretty much as planned. Being that I was being interviewed by someone who looked as nervous as I felt relaxed me a bit and made me feel a lot less self conscious. Then came the question that just took the train right off the tracks, “How Do You Measure Success?”. I sat there, reaching deep, like the scene in “A Bronx Tale” where Calogero is in the back seat of a stolen car with his friends and a case full of Molotov cocktails, “Someone was pulling the chain and I was going down the toilet.” Okay, so it wasn’t that bad but it was a question I felt needed the right answer. I stumbled and staggered for a moment before pulling myself from the abyss before referencing Henry Rollins and Ian McKaye as two individuals who became great successes both creatively and monetarily on their own terms.
In retrospect it was the easy answer. As I look back on my life I’ve had my share of successes and failures. I’ve cheated death a few times and fought back from what I was told to believe were insurmountable. Growing up I was taught to believe that success was gained by money and fame. It was a road I never really traveled. Regardless, I feel that I’ve experienced plenty of success in my life. Part of that success comes from the fact that I love what I do. I love the people in my life. Both inspire, energize and influence the feeling that I did something right with my life and I treated people as I wanted to be treated. I’m living life on my own terms. Booyah!!!
Photogeek Blog 