Sailing Into Sunset

It's been a busy week, but now it's time to sail right into the weekend. Took this shot from the southwestern coast of Guadeloupe a couple of winters ago... a great place to go to find some winter sun while still speaking French.

Highway Star

Earlier in the blog I posted a photo of an armchair taken in the Entrepôts de Bercy, the ancient wine warehouses along the Seine in Paris, which have disappeared long since. That same day, in another corner of that vast area which was bulldozed to make way for apartments for the wealthy, I stumbled on this graveyard for street signs. In case you had ever wondered where street signs went to die in France, now you know. It was tough to photograph, as the sun was glaring down on all the signs, and it didn't occur to me until much too late to take the picture from the other direction to avoid the glare... and then just print it up side down to get the text right side up... does that make sense??? Anyway, too bad, this flawed photo will have to do. What I would give to go back and plunge into that pile and flip over all the buried ones, I'm sure there was hidden treasure there. But such is life, wishing for what can never be... and how I would love to follow the sign on the right and get on the highway heading for Lyon and points South... many a fine road trip here in France has started following similar signs toward Lyon... if Paris is the City of Light ; Lyon is the City of Dreams ...

Dream Car From Guadeloupe

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After posting those photos taken just a few days ago below of some dream cars that have been mouldering away in the pitch black night of a stone quarry cave, it seems appropriate to give you the other extreme of the abandoned car spectrum. This beauty has been getting a deep brown tan under the brilliant sun in Guadeloupe for who knows how many years now. There seems to be a problem there with basic public services like towing old wrecks of cars to the junkyard, because the island is dotted with basket cases like this one. This stripped out wreck was by the side of the road near the far north end of the island where there are breath-taking cliff-top views east and west over the ocean, and south looking back along the lines of cliffs that disappear in the distance. Old cars left to slowly disintegrate in public places are a monument to our times... which explains why, like with roadkill, I tend to photograph them wherever I encounter them. But that doesn't mean that I didn't notice the brilliant blue sea here... that same blue visible even from space...
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Those Were the Days !

Well, I obviously didn't take this photo, and have no idea who did; it was on an old postcard that was in a drawer long ago at my parents' house, and somehow became a part of my permanent collection... guess it dates from around the 1950's ? Back in those carefree days of happy insouciance when life was a sunny day doing water-skiing gymnastics... don'tcha love those bathing suits??? Must have been the height of fashion. And the color coordinated scarves and skis... wow, someone went to alot of trouble to get this shot... and how the heck did she climb up on the shoulders of the other two, anyway, on moving water skis ?!? Smiling all the while ! Miraculous, nothing short of miraculous... but where are they today, those bathing beauties of yesteryear??? That's right folks... life's short... enjoy it while you can !

A Day In The Life

You never know where a day may lead... sometimes what starts out as another mundane day turns out to be full of surprises. There is a little known Australian movie named "Breaker Morant" about the Boer War (based a on book titled : Scapegoats of the Empire") in which Harry Morant says : "You should live each day as though it were your last, because one day, you are bound to be right."
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I always liked that quote, and in some measure try to keep it in mind. What I love about photography is that it forces one to live in the very immediate present, and forces one to really look hard with a critical eye at one's surroundings. And it is amazing what starts to come out of the woodwork when you really start looking carefully at the world around you... Today, for example, I was sent to run a quick errand at the hardware store to track down some paint brushes, a new shower curtain rod, and some lightbulbs (the better to see with), but before I made it to the store, I got into all kinds of mischief... and while I'm thinking about it, the quote that goes with the title here :

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"I read the news today, oh boy

About a lucky man who made the grade

And though the news was rather sad,

Well, I just had to laugh—I saw the photograph . . ."
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I have to admit, I did sort of set out with a mission... for weeks now I've been meaning to photograph a derelict old house that I drive by on my way to work, you could even call it a house of ill-repute... but I assure you my intentions were the innocent pursuit of photographic pleasures... which hopefully the following images will attest and confirm, in case you had the least doubt...

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I started to think something unusual was in the air when I spotted this '64 Buick parked by the side of the road in La Chapelle en Serval on the way to the House of the Rising Sun... odd seeing french plates on a huge American car like this, which was looking good under the looming gray sky... a dinosaur (!) from another age when gas cost 25 cents a gallon and poets were On The Road...

Shortly after encountering that dreamboat of an automobile, one that has escaped the junkyard so far, I stopped at my favorite poster place, where week after week the posters change as cultural events come and go. I've been shooting a series of photos here over the past few months as the scene evolves. Will have to remember to post some of the others. At the top edge and upper right corner the first poster I photographed here many moons ago is still showing, but you will see how it quickly aged before being submerged by an onslaught of others in the succeeding weeks...


















Going up the road from the poster site toward the aforementioned house, I had to stop on the side of the road and get a shot of the intense lightshow that was going on in the sky above the local Leclerc supermarket sign... this photo doesn't do it justice at all, either, the human eye in real time remains the most incredible image sensing and capturing device ever devised... how lucky we are to have those amazing pieces of technology equipped with iris, cornea, lens, focusing muscles, and optic nerve built right into the front of our faces ! How do you explain that???















Well, here it is, this is the house I set out to photograph on my way to the store... isn't she a beauty?? I love texture like this. Nothing like age and weather to bring out the best in an ancient house. Faded paint showing bare wood below ! Crumbling masonry ! Missing or crooked shutters ! Gaping windows ! A definite add to my galery of dream houses...




















Now I don't mean to offend anyone's sensibilities, but in fact this dilapidated demeure really is a house of questionable reputation. Often there are young women in provocative dress stationed outside one end, and cars stop apparently quite often... I can't help noticing as I go by on my way to work. But today there was no one there, so I took a quick look inside... and I guess it is no surprise there was a sorry looking broken down couch tucked in there for god only knows what purposes...
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And on the wall by the couch there was an assortment of dubious looking graffiti. The graffiti I've been reading about from World War One is far more interesting... the music of course which goes with this is a dubious piece from none other than the Rolling Stones...
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However, despite the sordid setting, this shutter on the back of said house was a most beautiful shade of faded blue... if I have any sense I'll go back and remove it one night, before it disappears when this place gets bulldozed, as it inevitably will... this kind of effect cannot be created in a studio... only rain beating down and freezing sleet can do this to paint...


























After leaving that sad shack of a house (quickly, as one doesn't want to linger in such places) I headed up the road, and at the next stop I stumbled on a plant at the edge of the woods of the likes I'd never seen before. I admit my ignorance, I don't know the common or the latin name for this beauty, it had red-orange berries below pink petals; if someone can enlighten me as to what it is, I'd be most grateful. As with the photo in a recent post below, this is another homage to Eliot Porter... I could have spent the rest of the afternoon just gazing at these vibrant colors there by the woods. But I had to get to the store, remember ?
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Just up the road from where these pink berries were, is a military cemetery for Dutch dead from World War Two. How they chose this spot for their final resting place escapes me, if I understand correctly they brought many of them from far away to bury here. Some were victims of a boat sunk by the Germans off the coast near Dunkerque. This sculpture, which I had never been aware of before today, commemorates the fallen with a falling man, reminiscent of Robert Capa's famous photo from the Spanish Civil War which purportedly caught a man falling backwards just after being shot.
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And in the next village another monument caught my eye which I'd never noticed before, though having driven by the spot many times... driving a car is a good way to miss seeing the world... The plaque on this commemorates the 1944 bombing of the round table which thankfully spared the village of Pontarmé. In the woods in this region there are a series of round stone tables that date back quite a ways marking crossroads... I guess one got bombed for whatever reason. The things we do to each other...

The last stop before I really did go to the hardware store was at the Chateau de Pontarmé, a small but lovely centuries-old home surrounded by a moat with still reflecting water... not bad for a single afternoon, what? Much food for thought there... which I suppose, after all, is the purpose of all this.

Listen to the Music Play

Way back in September 1988 there was some wild energy in the air, and simple twists of fate produced tickets for back to back nights of music to see, on September 2nd, the Grateful Dead at the Landover, Maryland Capital Center (where the Dire Wolf in the first set and the Drums=> Wheel=> Watchtower=> Stella Blue run were pure magic), and then the very next night on 3 September, Carlos Santana played at the Columbia, Maryland Merriweather Post Pavilion... a fine place to see a show. That afternoon, as we had some time to kill before the concert, we went over to the Merriweather to look around, and got there just as Carlos and company were getting there to do a sound check. As the gates were wide open, we strolled in and sat down in front row seats, and literally lapped up about 45 minutes of Carlos jamming away free form, and I was able to take a number of photos before finally some Security folks politely asked us if we had Press passes, and then asked us to leave when they realized we were just fans who had wandered in. It was two nights in a row of high heaven.

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Like the photo posted below here somewhere of Jerry Garcia in halftone black and white, this photo of Carlos really pleased my amateur eye, I love the way he leans into every note he plays, it is eminently plain that he is totally immersed in his music as he plays it... few musicians convey such raging intensity. The show later that night was burning hot from start to finish... as quoted below, "If you get confused, listen to the music play" ! I will try to remember to post soon another photo or two from that unforgettable day.

Hang On For Dear Life

As mentioned below concerning the wildflowers growing out of cracks in an old stone wall, life springs up in the most surprising places ; lyrics from a timeless song come to mind :
"Wildflower seed on the sand and wind
May the four winds blow you home again"
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Out in Zion National Park last Spring in a place we ended up naming "Endless Canyon" for want of better, this glistening pine tree was growing out of a minuscule crevice in what was otherwise a near vertical rock face hundreds of feet high, and seemed to be thriving there... a natural bonsai, trunk pressed up tight against the slickrock, hanging on for dear life.
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Given the uncertainty and fear that seem to be dominant in the news these days; foreclosures and unemployment breaking records, banks failing, automakers realizing that in fact their business plans are light years away from reality, entire countries like Iceland on the verge of economic revolt, it is no surprise that alot of us are hanging on for dear life. Buckle your seat belts, there may be more bumpy weather ahead. Maybe Obama will be able to motivate us all out of the doldrums, I sure hope his energy will go a long way at any rate, but I find myself wondering more and more recently whether it isn't high time for a huge re-alignment of the entire philosophical structure of our so-called civilisation (which by many measures really isn't so civilized)? How much bigger can this cliff-face pine tree get before it will find itself in need of more water than the tiny crevice it lives in can supply it even after the heaviest of downpours? How far can the root system manage to creep into solid rock before it can creep no further? Can a tree that stops growing for want of water and root space continue to survive? Is this not a reasonable analogy for the current plight of the human race?
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To continue quoting from the same song as above :
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"God save the child that rings that bell
It may have one good ring, baby, you can't tell
One watch by night, one watch by day
If you get confused listen to the music play
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Roll away, the dew..."
(Franklin's Tower... Grateful Dead)

Have Camera Will Travel

In case anyone was wondering how the author of this blog has held up after surviving nearly 50 years of life on this topsy turvy planet, here I am wandering a back country lane in Brittany, western France, last summer... still have some red hair left, and still weigh roughly what I weighed in 1978... hopefully still have a few years left to continue roaming backwaters looking for that dream car and dream house (see earlier posts) and documenting whatever other oddities as may cross my path ... what really had me interested here were all those micro wild flowers growing right out of this ancient stone wall ... it never ceases to amaze me how life will grab hold almost anywhere and make a valiant stand, hanging on against all odds... love this kind of discovery... have camera, will travel !

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Have Camera Will Travel

Well, in case anyone is wondering what an old dog like me looks like after surviving 48 years of life on this topsy turvy planet, here goes... for whatever it's worth, out on a back country lane in western France this past summer ... have camera, will travel... still have some red hair left too, surprisingly enough... one learns to appreciate small miracles...

Shoes Looking for Good Home

What does this photo have to do with anything? Well not much, just a bunch of various colored and shaped shoes waiting for some kind soul to come along and put them on and walk off into the sunset.


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The sunset in this case would have been looking west over the Mediterranean Sea, as this market was on a street in Sidon, Lebanon, a ways south of Beirut, so if you walked into the sunset, you would very quickly be swimming. The Soap Museum in Sidon is worth the visit, as is the ocean front fortress, small but beautiful. Near Sidon is a large Palestinian refugee camp, like others in Lebanon, one of the saddest places in the world. I'm not a politician or a diplomat, but some things just seem so heartbreakingly wrong when you see them with your own eyes, that you know sooner or later they have to change. At least in the meanwhile there are brightly colored flip-flops to wear to the beach. The only problem is, most of the beaches in Lebanon were fouled by fuel oil that ran out of bombed storage tanks in the summer of 2006, at the same time most of the bridges around the country were bombed out, and some 400 apartment buildings in South Beirut leveled by high explosives falling from the sky. The things we do to each other. Driving down to Sidon we went past the Beirut Airport and the site where the US Marine Corps barracks was blown up way back in October 1983, sending 241 lacerated and crushed souls soaring up toward the heavens or plunging toward purgatory or some such, whatever, according to your beliefs. Go in peace... and in a pair of shoes from this photo... they are a bargain, dirt cheap.

Dreamscape

This is another REK painting which ties right in to the Autumn colors that have been brilliant over the past few weeks, but are almost gone now. This photo again doesn't do his paintings justice, you have to see it in the flesh to really appreciate everything going on in it, but Mister Bob certainly has it going on when he rolls up his sleeves, squeezes a row of paint colors out onto a palette, and starts slathering it on thick with blades, brushes, boot soles, fingers, whatever is at hand... he paints with raw energy. It is in fact extremely difficult to take pictures of paintings that even begin to capture the soul, let alone accurate colors... gave it a shot here... you may be the judge. And if you like what you see, I'm sure Bob would love to help you acquire some of his work... which is already in numerous private collections on at least two continents.

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Going to the Dogs

Well it had to happen sooner or later, alot of things are just going to the dogs these days, and this blog is no exception. Just open any newspaper, start reading, and get the vomit bag ready. How could the human race get so far astray??? Where can so much madness lead?

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Have been listening to a couple of Pink Floyd discs in the car lately, Animals and Dark Side of the Moon, from which a couple of lines come to mind :

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"With. . . . . Without. . . .

And who'll deny

It's what the fighting's all about"

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And these lines from Dogs :

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"Gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused

Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used

Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise

If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze"

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Does anyone know the way back out of this maze we have built and fenced ourselves in with? And this next bit, I don't know what comes over me sometimes, it's something akin to an epileptic seizure, frothing at the mouth I sit and start writing before the thought escapes...

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.. Epitaph
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I used to think
Long ago
That when the time came
I would be buried
My cadaver that is
In some cemetery
Under a headstone
With a fitting epitaph
Snug in a coffin
To keep the worms out
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In later years
I cast off such thoughts
And openly stated
That I wished to be cremated
My ashes flung to the four winds
No defined place known
As my final resting home
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In a revelation tonight
It appeared clear to me
That even cremation
Is too much trouble
And excess expense
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When the day comes
That I die
As it surely will
Just drag my body off
And dump it in
Some distant woods
Let the worms and rats
And maggots come
May wild dogs
Gnaw my bones
For my epitaph
Just carve an “X”
On some nearby stone

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Homage to Eliot

Eliot Porter's photographs shine clear and true and never cease to fill me with wonder no matter how often I gaze into their depths of color. His powerful purity of purpose in pristine appreciation of natural beauty was nothing short of astonishing. Type his name into Google, there are sites that show some of his work. Better, track down his books, they are worth the investment.

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Now I know I don't measure up to your little toe, Eliot, but wherever you may be resting now, please accept this humble homage from a devout admirer... I took this photo the other day thinking of you. Autumn is a beautiful time of year, bringing out warm rich colors from the sea of summer green; before it all fades to the cold heart of winter.

Belgian Beer

Was up in Belgium ( or "north" in Belgium if that suits you better than "up") last week for a few days wandering around, out looking at the world. In Ghent the castle of the Counts of Flanders reflected in this beer shop window took on worlds of meaning. I love images that have multiple facets... that are more than the sum of their parts, that cause the viewer to make an effort to see clearly what is going on...
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What is less visible here is the fact that inside the castle there is a room sized exhibit of instruments used for torturing recalcitrants of whatever stripe back in the dim dark reaches of our past history. Funny how in the display were pictures of people tied to a board with a funnel down their throat, and water being poured in... sounds suspiciously like that term we saw so much of in the press a few months back... waterboarding, or some such? Better go drink a good Belgian beer and forget about all that; the things we do to each other... There was a guillotine in the display as well.

Shades of Night

Odd things have been coming out of my camera lately, and what is worrying me is that I'm not sure how they have been getting in there. Some kind of strange magic at work here, for whatever it is worth... un Voyage au Bout de la Nuit... a dreamscape. This makes me think of Rudi Stern and his neon artworks. Magical light, shades of night.

Diamonds and Rust

This sign says basically "Private Hunting Grounds", but it wasn't the message that interested me here, but the medium... the deep red-brown rust against the fading blue, and the antlered deer portrait at upper left, easier to see if you click on image for bigger version. Finding small miracles like this is why I love to head out into the French countryside, or any countryside for that matter, and just start poking around... who was it that said, "Don't tell me this town ain't got no heart, you just gotta poke around" ? Now I know that is not very good English, but you get the general idea.

One More for the Road

This striking wreck of art was also in the cave mentioned below, in another gallery, and could be titled "Another Roadside Attraction", had that title not already been used by Tom Robbins for his marvellous book of that name. Robbins is worth reading if you haven't already and re-reading if you have, I never tire of his keen vision. Who could have dreamed these cars were waiting for me there in the pitch black night of these caves? Has anyone else ever photographed them in there, or was this a brave new step forward in the documentation of the less known world? These really were something out of a magic lantern show from many years ago... the flash going off in the total darkness was surreal to say the least. What draws me to such treasures? Is it my un-shakable faith that such wonders exist and can be found if one is willing to go out into the wide world with open eyes and heart and search a little?

Another Dream Car

Deep in the convoluted and disorienting pitch dark caverns of an old stone quarry cave north of Paris I stumbled this afternoon on a treasure trove of dream cars that some kind soul had placed there many years ago, like bottles of wine in a dusty underground wine cellar, to age and improve with time, waiting for a connaisseur like myself to happen along and re-discover them. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven ! See below posts on other dream cars I have known and loved. Look at the incredibly rich texture here, the romantic rust, the twisted fate of sheet metal, the flat tires and gaping doors... what is not to love about such a jewel of dilapidation? And what a dramatic setting... what tragedy brought her here to this tomb, this heart of darkness?

Stone Lion

While on the subject of World War One, given that the 90th anniversary of Armistice Day was last Tuesday, the 11th of November, just one more note for now, at another site north of Compiegne there is a large underground stone quarry cave complex where troops sheltered during the war. Many such places were decorated with sculpted graffiti of various sorts, given that troops waiting to be ordered into battle sometimes had time to kill during which sleep may not have been easy. This lion is one such example, slightly the worse for 90 years of wear and tear. There are two excellent books I know of that show more of this incredible art form; one by JS Cartier called "Les Traces de la Grande Guerre", and the second by Michel Boittiaux and Herve Vatel titled "Le Graffiti des Tranchées", so if you are curious, by all means track them down, both are full of high quality photographs of a poignant subject. Apparently there were many talented artists who went to war, god only knows how many of them survived.

When Will We Ever Learn?

This is the view from the entrance to the National Cemetery at Vignemont mentioned below. The orange colored tree is just visible behind the flagpole in the middle, as are the hortensias just above the far end of the crosses. "When will we ever learn?" The German crosses are visible on the left on the other side of the line of trees there, and are shaped differently from the crosses on the French side. Click on image for bigger version.

End of Autumn

Was out this afternoon tramping around the countryside out in the back of beyond way north of Paris, catching a few final glimpses of the end of Autumn. Almost all the leaves are down now, save for a few die-hard hangers on like this orange colored tree in the background, and there was a surprising last gasp of color in the hortensia here, well along the way to hibernation phase.
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The hortensia was growing on a raised bed of ground at the far end of a military cemetery from the 1914-1918 conflict which was an ossuary containing the remains of some 1200 French soldiers. Adjacent to it in marked graves were another 5000 or so. This area north of Compiegne was the scene of terrible battles in 1918 near the end of the war. On the other side of the cemetery were buried close to 7000 Germans. The things we do to each other... it has only been 90 years since the end of that bloody business, but sadly the human race does not seem to have learned much from this madness or any of the other regular bouts of insanity that we apparently are helplessly addicted to as a race. Is that pessimistic? Not my intention... but you know, like this great song said :
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Where have all the young men gone
Long time passing
Where have all the young men gone
Long time ago
Where have all the young men gone
Gone to soldiers every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
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Where have all the soldiers gone
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone
Long time ago
Where have all the soldiers gone
Gone to graveyards every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
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Where have all the graveyards gone
Long time passing
Where have all the graveyards gone
Long time ago
Where have all the graveyards gone
Gone to flowers every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
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If I'm not mistaken Pete Seeger wrote this one, what a timeless song... perfect for this photo...

White Rose

This small painting by Blanche Stirrat (see Dreaming of Infinity below) is another of my favorites for all time... the shadow of the window shade, the muted beauty, the lovely blue at the bottom, it all works. If I had more disposable cash I'd go see her and see what else is coming out of her painting corner upstairs in the big barn her crazy man re-built somewhere in rural Pennsylvania. I hope for goodness sake that she is still turning them out, because with a talent like that, it would be criminal to not use it frequently. Now if anyone out there does have some disposable liquidity and likes the Dreaming Cow and the White Rose as much as I do, well, I'm sure we could find out what is currently for sale in Blanche's studio ... great artists need sponsors... to prevent them from starving !
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Palace Lights

As I may, or may not, have said earlier somewhere below, I'm not usually too crazy about totally abstract art. But when abstraction comes naturally, or by accident, as in a compact camera that moved while taking a picture of a light display inside the Grand Palais in Paris this afternoon, I can almost accept considering it for publication here... well, I'll let you be the judge and jury as to whether this works for you or not. When I get a minute I'll try to remember to post a photo that will give a better idea of how this happened. We had stepped into the entrance hall of the Grand Palais for just a minute or two after coming out of the Petit Palais where the Patrick Demarchelier exhibition is running, and were taken by the light display hanging from the ceiling at one end of the hall. Paris... City of Light...

Blue Eiffel

For the record, in case I had neglected to mention in any of the earlier postings here below... I love living here in France and love most everything about the place. I wouldn't go so far as to say France is perfect, but hell, tell me where there is perfection on this planet, and I'll go take a look... but there are surely worse things than being sentenced to perform a labor of love in France. (which reminds me of Frank Zappa's song "In France"... for whatever it's worth culturally speaking; not everyone who comes here gets so enamored or enraptured...)
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Would you believe me if I told you that this photo is the Eiffel Tower? That most heavily photographed of icons... We went into Paris this afternoon to see the Patrick Demarchelier exhibit at the Petit Palais (Excellent show, don't miss it ! The photos are interspersed throughout the museum's permanent collection and they did a wonderful job on the displays) Walking back after dark to the car which we'd left along the Seine somewhere, the Eiffel Tower clothed in blue light appeared magically coming around a corner. Didn't have the equipment handy to do a better, well, clearer shot, so decided to fudge it a little with the compact that was in my pocket... after a couple of tries, this one looked alright on the camera-back screen...
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Love walking in Paris. And elsewhere in France. Have camera, will travel...

Ephemeral Reflection

For about 25 years growing up I went by this 19th century house fairly often, always looking at it as we went by, wondering who had lived there, and why whoever it belonged to was letting it get so run down, the windows broken out and gaping open, no varnish or paint on it, just disintegrating little by little. But it wasn't until 1987 that I finally stopped one day and took this picture of it, reflected in the creek near Port Republic, New Jersey. The next time I went back there, it was gone, bulldozed to make way for who knows what. What a crime. This house was an historical gem if there ever was one. And again, like the place in Guadeloupe below, what I would have given to have been able to see the inside of it. Hidden treasure for sure... Moral of the story : life is short, don't wait to take that photograph you have always been tempted to take somewhere, get out there and do it... because it might not be there the next time you go back...

Dead Zenith Pilgrimage

On 27 October 1990, REK and I (see Nuclear Cows and Autumn colors below) happened to be in Paris with tickets in hand to see the Grateful Dead play at the Zenith Theatre. Having travelled trans-Atlantic to see them in Paris was a major highlight in the string of Dead experiences we shared over a few years back there in the distant haze of memory. This photo was taken from the edge of the stage that night while they were playing Crazy Fingers, there was no problem moving around inside the Zenith. Reviews of that show, and the streaming audio of it for that matter, can be found at, along with many thousands of other Dead shows :
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http://www.archive.org/details/gd90-10-27.sbd.braverman.9373.sbefail.shnf

And what a long strange trip it was. We went to the Louvre museum the afternoon before the show, the number of people in tie dyed t-shirts walking around in there was impressive. The next day we went down to Vezelay, which if you've been there, you will remember is another intense experience, a pilgrimage into the past...

Facade

In December 2004, around Christmas, I was in Guadeloupe for two weeks walking all over the island, photographing right and left. This older home in the town of Basse Terre had a beautifully weathered facade. You can imagine what the real estate ad would have said... 2 bedroom old city charm in quiet street of Basse Terre, short walk to beaches and lovely view of la Souffriere volcano. Minor repairs needed. What I would have given to see the inside of it... hidden secrets, hidden treasures.

Magic Bus

The above photo is of course from the film publicity (and book cover of some editions) for the excellent adaptation by Sean Penn of Jon Krakauer's book "Into the Wild", into a movie that captures beautifully the wild spirit of the book and the voyage of Chris McCandless into the wild and beyond, into the great void. I apologize, I don't know who took this photo, so I can't give credit where credit is due, but by all means go buy the DVD of the film so whatever royalties are due will accrue to the appropriate party... and buy Krakauer's book as well, for it is worth the reading time... and while I'm at it, buy his other books, because he is an excellent writer... I particularly liked Into Thin Air and Under the Banner of Heaven. Cautionary tales... The story behind Into the Wild was controversial from the start, many people derided Chris McCandless for venturing into the harsh Alaskan wildnerness ill-prepared for the ordeal, but looking beyond all of the debate, it is a stirring tale of a young man seeking freedom, adventure, intensity, and ultimately seeking, and finding his own fate. The old Fairbanks City bus dragged deep into the edge of the wild and left there as a shelter for hunters or other wanderers was inextricably linked to the story, becoming his deathbed, a sacred tomb of sorts.

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I took the below photo in the wilds of southern France near the city of Nimes in July 2007... another bus dragged off into a deserted place and left to die, the paint peeling off to reveal successive layers, the rust creeping; the thorny brambles climbing through the floor and windows all broken out. I did not look inside to see if there were any bleached bones...

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Light Play

The first image here was taken with the first digital camera I ever used, the same one used for the nuclear kittens earlier in this blog, and is nothing more than the play of light on a wall in the house we were living in at the time, sunlight streaming through hundred year old windowpane, shimmering through the windblown leaves of the rosebush outside. The transformative powers of my PC did the next two from the original... see in them what you will. The light refracting through the old glass set the wall on fire... miraculous light !

Refined Art ?

Very near where I took the two pictures posted below at 20 year interval of the corpses of cars piled up high in the car crushing center of South Philadelphia, I shot this oil refinery storage tank converted into a colorful graphic representing Philadelphia in all its artistic glory. Who would think of using an oil refinery tank as a canvas for displaying art? Beats the heck out of me ! Hopefully one day we will not need oil, well, we better hope so, because at the rate we're going, we won't have any more anyway, whether we need it or not... that day may not be so far away. The eternal question : "Yes, but is it art?" applies here... Is it fine art? Is it refined art? A new domain created : Refinery Art...

Flat Frog

This has nothing to do with anything, then again, perhaps it has something to do with everything.

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Near where I live there is a road that goes along the edge of a stretch of woods, a road very little travelled as there is only one house at the end. But every year in the Spring for unknown and unknowable reasons, frogs come out in great quantities, and as it is a place I tend to walk to clear the head, I have found on more than one occasion a very flat frog that had been run over by one of the few cars that goes that way. One hot Summer afternoon not long ago, I realized that one of these frog cadavers had become something like mummified, tough and leathery, no further decomposition was occurring. So as I am an incorrigible collector of things, I picked it up and brought it home. It wasn't until many months later, after the statutory dead frog gestation period, that the idea of placing it on the scanner crossed my mind, to see what kind of silhouette it would produce. I couldn't decide on the color, so you get a variety here... I don't know about you, but I have the impression that it is dancing, in a ballet tutu, standing on one toe, arms and other leg raised in a graceful frog fandango ...

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Roadkill, by the way, has been an enduring theme in my photographic work, I've been known to stop along the side of roads on two continents to take pictures of particularly picturesque examples of roadkill... one of the saddest phenomenons in man's recent history. Obsessed with speed and bulging with pride, like Mr Toad in "The Wind In the Willows", we go barreling down roads at high speeds, and heaven help the lesser creatures who might have such obnoxious nerve as to cross our paths...

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A few years back I wrote this piece about such an animal...

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Rabbit Dead
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Sun up
The clear and cold light
Of morning
Blinding
Harsh prodding
Unassailable reasons to squint
To screw the eyes down to slits
Glittering reptilian reaction
The ultimate motivating miracle
Self preservation
Fear of annihilation.
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In the distance
As I drove down the road
A spot grew and took on form
Shadow and shape
In the center of the road
At the critical range
Color emerged from the grey
Immediately the silky brown
Of back fur proclaimed
Rabbit.
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Still as stone
Frozen on its side
Where it tumbled
Limp and broken
Following the last stricken leap
The crunch of bone
And final rag doll slide
Ending there alone
Near the callous yellow stripe
While some hulking steel behemoth
Bloodthirsty marauder
Ignorant fled
From the rabbit
As it bled.
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As I drove by
Cruel curiosity
Turned my head
The message blazed in crimson
Brilliant red already going black
Pumped out by heart
That would not quit the task
Rabbit dead. Rabbit dead.

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Imperialism

When living in Paris as a student in 1986 (remember "Down and Out In Paris and London" by George Orwell? - a must read, as is his "Keep the Aspidistra Flying") I would sometimes spend entire days walking from one end of Paris to the other with camera in hand, just looking, looking, watching life's ever present small dramas unfold ("All the World's a Stage", right?) I don't know why the word "Imperialism" on this wood fence hadn't been painted over like the rest had; a word that has heavily marked our collective history over the past few centuries, and which continues today... the things we do to each other...

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Late Afternoon Light

I love the quiet serenity that can sometimes be found in places like the one in this photo, taken in October 2008 in a small village just north of Compiegne... not far from where the Armistice was signed that ended the first World War. Waiting for the late afternoon light to bring out the warm colors hidden most of the rest of the day in the soul of the stones can often be rewarding in a non-quantifiable way.

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Wooden Ships and Everyman

I said earlier below here somewhere, maybe in Cornwall, that I generally avoid trying to do postcard photos, because the postcards and tourist books are already for sale in the gift shops... But every now and then a scene comes along that just begs to be photographed, like this lighthouse and sailboat on the far southern tip of Guadeloupe, bathed in the rose light of a Caribbean sunset. Taken on Christmas Day, December 25th, 2004, one day later we would hear that the sea had risen up in fury in Asia and swept away more than 200000 souls... there are no guarantees in life... it is sometimes tempting to dream of sailing off in a wooden ship, on the water...

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Great Egg Harbor Bay

This is another of my grandmother's works, in a private collection somewhere in the US. Perhaps one day they will find a place in a museum of American art, where in my humble opinion they richly deserve to be, such that many others could enjoy them for what they are... one woman's view of the beauty around her. In the distance here is the Atlantic City, New Jersey skyline. She must have loved those quiet spots along the bayshores to sit and paint an afternoon away...

Portrait of an Old Man

Earlier in this expanding blog I mentioned that my grandmother, Emaline Walker Phillips, had worked hard to become an accomplished painter, and posted two of her works. This portrait is another one that particularly pleases me, the piercing look of this older gentleman captures my attention every time I see it... who was he? What was going on in his mind? Her treatment of his rough blue shirt reminds me strongly of Van Gogh's Postman, and the heavy golden strokes in the backdrop bring to mind some of Cezanne's backgrounds in gray for certain still-lifes he did... now I'm not saying my grandmother was in the same league as Van Gogh or Cezanne... but then again... In any case, this portrait really works for me. May her gentle, loving soul rest in peace.

Cockburn : Burning Man

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While on the subject of music, my brother gave me a copy of Bruce Cockburn's album "In the Falling Dark" when I was about 17, and I've been listening to it ever since, as well as many other disks Bruce has produced over the years since then. But for me the source of my great love of his music are two phenomenal songs on that 1976 album : "Gavin's Woodpile", and the title track, "In the Falling Dark".

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I had the good fortune to be able to see Bruce play twice in two very small venues in Paris in recent years, in October 1999 at the Hotel du Nord, and in September 2003 at l'Espace Jemmapes, both warm, intimate settings in which to see Bruce let it all hang out... and did he ever, promoting respectively the albums "Breakfast In New Orleans" and "You've Never Seen Everything", both excellent ! I took this photo at the 2003 show where he was glowing hot in that floral motif shirt. I'm not sure how well known it is that Jerry Garcia, when touring with the Jerry Garcia Band, often played a cover of the Bruce Cockburn song; "Waiting For A Miracle", which gives an idea of just how respected Cockburn is as a songwriter, and which was a nice nod to the Grateful Dead tune "I Need A Miracle". So, come on back to Paris, Bruce, we are waiting for a miracle, and you are long overdue ! "Need a Miracle, Every Day"!

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From Gavin's Woodpile, an example of Bruce Cockburn's raw poetic power :

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"Distant mountains, blue and liquid

Luminous like a thickening of sky

Flash in my mind like a stairway to life

A train whistle cuts through the scene like a knife

Three hawks wheel in a dazzling sky

A slow motion jet makes them look like a lie

And I'm left to conclude there's no human answer near..."

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Stills Flashback

To return to Stephen Stills, here is another photo from the October 5th, 2008 show at the Olympia Theatre in Paris; a fine place to see music by the way if you happen to be in Paris. (Jackson Browne will be playing there next April... something to look forward to). The first half of the Stills show was an acoustic set which started with Helplessly Hoping which had me all choked up with joy to see him still going strong like that... we are not getting any younger, us children of the 60s.

Panel Trucking Through The Looking Glass

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Strolling through backwaters, hidden gardens, remote and totally unsuspected junkyards is another source of great pleasure to me. One day not so long ago in south central France I happened purely by chance upon this ancient panel truck rusting away at the edge of a field. Although I'm not normally fond of subjecting my images to the transformational magic available in certain computer programs, every now and again something magical can happen in this domain... with a few quick clicks the above photo becomes the below, applying the "impressionist" effect, followed by the "psychedelic" filter... and we're ready to roll off to new horizons...
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