This weekend, for the first time in more than ten years. I took a trip to Richmond to attend a long-time friends inclusion in an intimate record show. Aside from seeing this beautiful friend, getting the stuffing hugged out of me, and meeting her husband. I enjoyed nourishing food, walked the streets of a diverse city and took lots of pictures. On the right is the restaurant, delicatessen where we started our day.
Sleeping in has it’s Rewards
Though we decided on a rather lengthy road trip, my wife’s oversleeping, the traffic and our appetites that seemed to grow as we sat in one car jam after another. We decided to again, stay somewhat local and save our trip plans for another weekend. After mentioning four breakfast options, we agreed on trying a place in Rat City that we had yet to dine at. Truth be told, I think my wife knows exactly what she wants. She’s just waiting for me suggest it. If after numerous tries, I don’t mention it, she will suddenly swoop in and say it. With empty stomachs we headed to 16th Ave. and had a mood altering breakfast at a place called Noble Barton. And while I usually save my reviews for Yelp, we could not have had a better experience if we tried. Everything from our super friendly waitress to the overwhelming amount of bacon made our decision to stay local one worthy of a golden award followed by a long speech and a lengthy speech. Due to the fact that it was colder than usual, we didn’t stay in the area for long. Aside from a two block walk to the Salvadorian bakery, our stay was short. Depending on how early we rise, we plan on heading to Tacoma from breakfast, record shopping and copious amounts of coffee. We’ll see if our desire to go crate digging will overcome that of sleeping in and a lazy Sunday afternoon.
You Can Never Go Back
I was in downtown Manhattan this afternoon enjoying a beautiful day when I decided to stop in to a photo gallery in which I was once a member of. As I walked in, one of the members popped her head out of the office to greet and ask if I was familiar with the gallery. I said yes and even went on to add that I was once a member of the coop.She took a closer look, but did not recognize me.”You must have been here for a short time.” I replied “Maybe two years, but I lit some fires and even thought of planting a bomb before I burned my membership card.” Without much more than a glance, she returned to the office as I proceeded to check out what was currently showing. While my words had no intent to intimidate her. I always prefer to interpret art as I see it. As opposed to the person who’s day it was to handle office duties.
As I enjoyed my walk through. I was reminded of the reasons I left in the first place. I simply couldn’t connect or relate with a lot of work the group and the gallery was producing. Not to say that mine was any better or more insightful then or now. My two or so years as a member where a growing process. A testing ground. I was able to regularly display my work in a gallery that was built from scratch in the seventies and nurtured with creativity and love. However, unlike many of the members. I did not look to remain there until my ashes were scattered amongst the wood and brick it’s foundation was built on.
In the end. I’m glad I had a chance to go back and see what was happening since the ten or so years I turned in my scouts badge. In recent conversation with a friend and professional photographer. I shared with him my thoughts or becoming a member again. Perhaps, for the sole chance of having new work displayed monthly in the gallery. He scoffed, adding that many of these coops, important as they may be, somewhat mirror a sewing circle where old photographers go to die. While I found that to be harsh. It was honest and true. I’ll never be able to move forward if I keep looking back.
(The pictures posted above were taken during my tenure at the gallery.)