As a kid who grew up in Queens and spent most of my life in the city, trips to the country and farms still fill me with excitement. This weekend’s trip to Lancaster, PA, was no exception. When mapping out our way home from a satisfying day, we drove past a group of cows relaxing after a hard day’s work. I shit you, not. The whole crew was sitting together as if they were at a family picnic. We quickly found a place to make a U-Turn to circle back. I excitedly grabbed my camera and pulled myself out of the car. Unlike last week while positioning myself along the Potomac River. I did not step into mud. However, the uneven patch of grass and my general lack of balance caused me to grab the fence as I fell forward. Unfortunately, the cows hadn’t warned me that the fence was electrified and…… zap. I was electrocuted for the first time in my life. Shocking, right. In all the years of jumping fences and trespassing. I’ve never had that happened. And though I survived. I learned a good lesson. Maybe it’s time to return to photographing babies.
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?
Granted, living in areas such as Hell’s Kitchen, Hoboken, and Seattle provided endless opportunities to find inspiration just outside my doorstep. Honest characters, both safe and dangerous. Many, eager to share their life, loss, and growth over a cup of coffee or a cigarette. (P.S. I don’t smoke and never have.) But you get the picture. Despite living blocks from hotels, a shopping center, a metro station and a busy blvd. The area seems to attract minimal foot traffic and little, to no personality one might find in a big city. Regardless of the captures. I’ve decided to take my camera elsewhere. A location, I hope will be both inspiring and reciprocal to my need to create. Below are the blurred results of what looks to be my last neighborhood photo outing. Since finding the blur and bokeh features in Lightroom. I’ve gone a little crazy. But, in the end. It’s been fun. It would seem, the more I learn about the basics of editing, The more fun I’m having.
During a short phone call with my Mother. I admitted to resenting the fact that she, along with her third husband (The One I still consider my stepfather.), left me behind whenever vacationing or traveling beyond our borders. Now granted, I was thirteen or fourteen when they tied the knot. Old enough to fend for myself, too old for a Home Alone scenerio and the perfect age target to base an 80s John Hughes teen flick on. (You know. Parents go on vacation. Teenager throws party for the ages.) Not to deny the fact they might have needed an escape from the constant stress of raising a troublesome teen.
However, not including me in trips to Spain, Puerto Rico, Spain and Hawaii over a four year span is downright neglectful. (Note that I am sitting here with my arms tightly folded and a scowl on my face. Awaiting my overdue tickets and passport.) While I certainly missed out on some amazing adventures and exploration. Their vacations were as much a break from them. Than they were a break from me.
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.
Travel is a key. to happiness and fulfillment for many, including myself. Having visited many cities and small towns in the United States and throughout Asia and Europe. I’ve been treated to so many opportunities to explore different cultures. Meet amazing people and eat fantastic food. From escargot in Paris. Scorpions in Tokyo. Alligator in New Orleans. Snake meat in Taos and more. A full belly makes any trip worth taking. I took this picture while heading to the southern tip of Virginia. The food was great and we met a lively couple with two adorable daughters. As experienced countless times. It not the destination, but the journey that matters.
My obsession with photographing people goes back to my teens, when I got my first 110 film camera to take pictures of my two-week trip to Ireland. From that day on, my passion grew. Throughout my teens and early twenties that passion turned into an obsession. My camera was always the magic wand that allowed me to start a conversation with complete strangers and invite them into my world. While I’ve become somewhat as an introvert in recent years. I’ve turned ti carrying a business card that features one or ten of the countless people I’ve worked with. While time has moved me towards landscape and travel photography. Portraiture of any kind is where my heart remains.
While photographing people has been my passion since day one. It wasn’t always easy. From my earliest days photographing friends and working for retail studios. To working with models and complete strangers That personal connection peels away the layers and depth of people’s personalities was one of the best feelings I could describe.. Forging a trust in a matter of minutes. One that allows you to peal away layers to show them in a way they may not have expected. I want to get back to that, while exploring the stories and experiences behind the session and image. As much as I’ve enjoyed and benefited from travel and landscape photography, I’ve dearly missed the challenge and rewards of portraiture and studio photography. What once looked like a closed chapter seems to be opening up again.
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