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.

_MG_8781MAs 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.

IMG_3960MIn 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.)

Memories Remain

Strangely enough, I have little to no memories of my parents time together. Being that their marriage was long over by the time I was six and legally documented by  divorce papers before I ever entered the second grade at the age of seven. It’s hard to recall or visualize much at all. The two or three events that have stuck with me all these years are not, by any means worth revisiting.

HorshackIIAs I do grow older, many of the memories of my very early life have been kept alive and unexplainably visual through story telling and writing about people and events that took place so many years ago. Some of my stronger memories from that time revolve around the toys and for the most part, action figures I collected throughout my childhood. Graduating to puberty and eventually adulthood. Much of the collections from my childhood were sold, donated or given to anyone willing to take them. In some very rare cases. I’ve come to reacquire some of the rarer or more unique items through flea markets and ebay searches.

For years I somehow held on to the the memory of one of my Mom’s eccentric friends giving me a Horshack figure from the then popular show “Welcome Back Kotter”. No, not Vinnie Barbarino, Freddie (Boom Boom) Washington, Epstein of even Mr. Kotter. The one and often lonely only Horshack. In limited searches over the years I’ve seen the boxed figure going upwards of sixty bucks on Ebay. I’ve even come across a buck naked, broken legged one at a Connecticut Flea Market priced at a dirty thirty. Finding this excellent condition nerd DeJour on Ebay for the price of a happy meal gave me an enduring nerdgasm I won’t soon forget. After years of searching. I finally hit gold. The only thing left to do was share. Enjoy.