Over the weekend, my wife and me took a trip north to the area of New Jersey we once called home. During those two days we covered a lot of ground and met up with a respectable amount of old friends and loved ones. One, a long time friend and photography mentor met us at a otherwise overlooked Irish spot on Clifton. This friend, one who had met some health issues head on and conquered them was full of life and laughter. He made my wife smile from ear to ear and even knocked my hardened personality back to life. As our meet up began to wind down. He pulled out a coffee table book on the famed photography and directorial icon Herb Ritts While the book served as a priceless token of our friendship. One I can’t imagine I earned. It served as a reminder of my childhood visits to DDB (Doyle, Dane, Bernbach.) where my Mother was a financially struggling secretary.
As a ten year old, it was such a privilege being brought up to the art department where artists and designers were working on the next, best sketch, art piece, or movie poster. The work, along with the artists I met, gave me an early passion and understanding of art that influenced me to draw and ultimately dive into photography. Years later, I was sitting next to a friend catching up on one another’s travels and run ins. The time was short, yet conversations through regular phone calls Kept us up on the important things. As our time came to an end, he revealed a old brown bag. Within, a book to brought back the memories of the apartment I grew up. Yes, we were poor, but my Mom always brought art and art books given to her at work. Things and memories that enriched us in countless ways. Funny how two unrelated stories reflect one another. I guess that’s life.
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