Three Men In A Tub . . .

While strolling in the town of Rue this past weekend, I was clicking away with the camera, which is a madness that sometimes overcomes me, but it wasn't until I saw three pictures lined up next to each other while editing the weekend's work that it clicked with me that something mildly amusing had happened. Well, amusing to this easily amused individual . . .
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Perhaps you will recall the old nursery rhyme which goes something to the effect of :
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Rub-a-dub-dub
Three men in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
The butcher, the baker,
The candlestick maker,
They all jumped out of a rotten potato!
Turn 'em out knaves all three.
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This first shot is of the World War One memorial in Rue, with a fallen soldier looking up to an angel come to bear him away I suppose. In the background above the striped awning you can read the word "Boucherie", or butcher shop. In French, World War One is sometimes referred to as having been "une vraie boucherie" . . . or a real butcher shop of a war. Although nearly all towns in France have war memorials like this one, I'd never seen a butcher shop immediately adjacent to one, providing such a juxtaposition of images. . .
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Just a very short distance up the street was this bakery, with a friendly baker out in front hawking his wares . . .

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And just a little further along was a church where candles were burning, lit by faithful folks in memory of departed souls . . . so you can understand why the nursery rhyme about the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker came to mind when by chance these three photos lined up . . .

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In the wood box on the wall where candles waiting to be lit were stored, it was rather obvious that some irreverent person had lit a few candles and left them there in the box to burn, badly scorching the wood, but fortunately not doing any worse damage . . .

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Street Photos . . .

A few of you have expressed appreciation of previous "Reflections" photos posted in these pages. It is a dangerous thing to encourage me. While out for the weekend in the wilds of northern France, along the coast, we happened to find ourselves in a town named "Rue". Imagine a city named "Street". And in the streets of "Street", I stumbled on this advertising poster in a window across the street from the medieval belfy, just begging to be photographed. I saw no bats.
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Jacmel to Port-au-Prince Express !

Haiti was, in the 18th century, one of the richest colonies in the French empire. Coffee, sugar in plenty. Early in the 19th century, Haiti won her independence from France, and then rapidly descended into the disorder of dictatorships and political turmoil from which it has never really escaped in over 200 years. What a history there is to be found there when one digs a little. Before visiting Haiti and hearing stories in situ, I had had no idea that the United States had engaged in a complete and often brutal military occupation of Haiti for 19 years, from 1915 to 1934. We never learned that in any of the history classes I had in school. For some reason that pisses me off just a bit. As though some parts of American History weren't fit to mention in public schools.
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Jacmel, Haiti, was clearly once a beautiful colonial city, the remnants of former beauty are everywhere there. But Jacmel, like the rest of the country, has fallen on hard times. This ancient truck symbolized all of that and more for this traveller. ZA - 188 Jacmel Port-au-P express . . . at your service . . .
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Les Guignols ! The Show Will Go On !

Walking in Paris just a few short weeks ago, in a side street just off the Champs Elysée, near where the open air postage stamp market operates, I stumbled on this sign, which I'd never noticed before, although I'd been in that corner of greenery before . . . les Guignols. Les Guignols, as you are probably aware, are a fairly widespread phenomenon in France; puppet shows put on for children, often with elaborate old puppets, telling popular stories, teaching certain moral lessons. There is also a wonderful TV show where the Guignols are caricatures of famous political and other public figures, who are roundly mocked. (I'd love to see what they would do with someone like Sarah Palin.) But this well weathered sign was for the first variety . . . a puppet show for children . . .
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And the next show was at four o'clock . . .
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And this was the stage where it was all going to happen. Ah yes, all the world's a stage, and if only real life were as simple as the Guignols would have one believe. Interesting process whereby we gradually discover that life is a hell of alot more complicated than anyone ever told us when we were children . . . So, what would you like to see happen on this stage today ??? You may write your own play here . . .
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Some Unfinished Blog Business . . .

I am feeling so guilty . . . way back on August 10th a charming and delightful southern cajun lady gave me an award that I didn't get around to picking up until now, over a month later. So I would like to thank Marguerite at Cajun Delights from the bottom of my guilty heart for this Honest Scrap award . . . and while I'm at it, I would also like to suggest that you get over there to see what some real joie de vivre cajun style looks like, because she has got it nailed ! Every time I drop by there I come away feeling like I could eat a horse ! (That's just an expression) It more like, coming away feeling like I could eat a huge plate of crawfish gumbo followed by some cajun spice cake with praline icing . . . yes indeed, that is one sweet blog. . . thank you Marguerite !
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And in the same vein, on September 8th, Saroj of Saroj's Panorama up in Norway passed on this Humane award to me, and I'm only getting back there tonight. . . She writes on a wide variety of subjects, and she writes well, from the heart. Many thanks Saroj for your kindness !
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Not too long ago, I noted that Fucoid at Permanent Transience had tagged me, and I went to look, but didn't have time at that point to deal with the fairly lengthy question and answer session it would entail, but it is a moot point now, as that tag post seems to have disappeared off the face of the blogosphere. But whatever, thanks Fucoid for the thought there, and keep on cooking up your wild and wonderful visions out there in the hinterlands of Eastern Europe. . .
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Finally, just continue to call me Mr Guilty, way back on July 31st, JoMo at Peace of Pi Studio passed on this International Blogger Community award to me, in which the rules request maintaining a link to the source of the award, which is here. . . http://bloggistame.blogspot.com/ . In any case, thanks JoMo, really appreciate the award ! And keep turning out your artwork. . .
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Well, that about clears up some unfinished blog business which I'd noted down on my ever transforming "To Do" list, but hadn't crossed off until now. I'm afraid I'm not very good at following rules, so these awards are dead-ending here. I wouldn't know where to begin as far as passing them on is concerned, I think you all deserve awards every day, just for keeping all your fabulous blogs going.
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There is one eeeny meeeny, tiny miny, itsy bitsy little thing I'd like to ask you to give a second or two's worth of thought to, and it is a subject I've seen elswhere, like on Jo's Majority of Two blog in Vancouver not too long ago, but if you can bring yourself to do it, could you please consider turning off the "word verification" process on your comment boxes ? For anyone like me, who loves to get out and about and leave comments all over the face of the map as often as possible, (like a demented incontinent dog confronted with an infinite array of fire hydrants), having to stop at the end on many blogs and type in some inane, hard-to-read series of letters in order to prove that I'm a flesh and blood human being and not some maniacal machine bred spammer, is well, to put it politely, very often a pain in the posterior. . . so please, it's easy to do, just go into the blog parameters for comments, and turn off the word verification. If you find yourself overwhelmed suddenly with spam ads for inflatable dolls from China, well, you can always turn it on again, or use the moderation option. But I turned my word verification off about six months ago, and have received no spam whatsoever . . .
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So, what else can I say ? Love and hugs to all of you . . .
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A Bit of Bloggerel

As hard as it is for me to conceive it, today is a birthday of sorts, for it was one year ago today that the first post was posted on this blog. Like a flight of stairs in an abandoned house, I had no idea what such an undertaking might lead to, or where, or to who. Today, one year later, I can clearly see, it has led to alot of wonderful people. . . that's right, each and every one of you. . .
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Do numbers mean anything ? Close to 18000 visits since the site meter was started on New Years Day last January ? A number of followers (which seems to have peaked) ? A certain quantity of comments ? One can always find other blogs with more visitors, more comments, more followers; so I don't think it is a good idea to compare statistics. This blog is what it is, nothing more, nothing less.
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A cry in the wilderness ? An honest attempt to unleash a little creativity that has been penned in, dammed up for too long. A reaching out, a desire to share. . .
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I would like to warmly thank each and every and every one of you who has breathed life into this blog with your visits and your thoughts, for no blog is an island, one cannot exist in a vacuum. Thank you so much. . . I wish I could thank you all individually here, but I'd be at it all night, and it's late already . . . but the virtual champagne is open now, come fill your glass ! (now don't overdo it if you have to drive home !)
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Here is a stairway to heaven in one of my dream houses . . . just climb on up, and keep climbing, to see where this blog will go . . .
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And this is the ticket window for the Magic Lantern Show . . . Step right up ! Tickets are free ! Come one come all ! And tell a friend or two to drop in . . . the more the merrier !
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So, do tell me, after this first season's run, are you game for a second season ? Should the show go on ? Please cast your votes in the comment box . . . (music from "Magical Mystery Tour" plays in background. . .)
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Tearing Down a Mountain . . .

A few past posts in these pages, and more to come with a little patience, expounded on photos taken during a trip to Haiti in February, 1997. Through a convoluted series of coincidences we were invited to stay in a house in Petionville which belonged to Alice Izmery, the sister of Antoine Izmery, who was assassinated on September 11th, 1993 outside a church service. The house we stayed in, a beautiful place, was being rented at the time by Rudi Stern, who received us graciously. Rudi passed away in August, 2006, you can learn a little more about him in this obituary which appeared in the New York Times, and from many other internet sites by Googling his name. Rudi was in Haiti at the time making documentary films, some of which were broadcast on the PBS network in the US. Several past posts in these pages were dedicated to Rudi.
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Just down the road a short distance from that house in Petionville, where there was a voodoo chapel in the valley behind the house, and a neighbor was a former Tonton Macoute, the entire side of a mountain was being torn down, stripped of white rock, being hauled off in trucks little by little. There was already a huge scar in the side of the mountain. With picks and shovels, backbreaking labor, the mountain was being stripped.
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Haiti is a very intense place, a nightmare in paradise, intense misery for the majority contrasted with incredible wealth behind walled compounds for a minority. Gunshots ring out at night. Men reduced to the level of ants in the stripmine here. Intense poverty. The Cité Soleil on the outskirts of Port au Prince is one of the most wretched slums in the world . . . (for a few more photos of poverty in Haiti I found this site...) And now over 12 years later, I wonder if the mountain is still there, or if it has been totally leveled by the scratching and scraping of picks and shovels . . . I would love to go back and see for myself, but I hesitate, as Haiti has become a dangerous place to travel from what I've heard more recently . . .
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Wide Open Spaces . . .

This post may be well and fairly dedicated to Arnaud over at Random Shots who is out in India at present. Over the past months of 2009 he has been posting near daily photographs from his travels which frankly never cease to amaze this humble observer and fan. Shining humanity and humility can be found in abundance there. And Arnaud also confessed to me not long ago that he loves an area of France known as les Causses, and he proved it by posting a set of stunning photos that he did in that area not so long ago.
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So, these two photos are from a trip I took to Florac a few years back, which is a small town right on the edge of one of the larger expanses of wide open spaces in that region known as la Causse Méjean. Funny, lately sitting in my offices at work, I've been dreaming alot about roaming in wide open spaces like these, where abandoned farms can still be found with old plows and other bits and pieces laying around, and have been for the past 50 years or more . . . a heart-breakingly beautiful stretch of landscapes if there ever was one . . .
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And yes, this is of course one of my Dream Houses . . . just needs a little tiny bit of work . . .
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The Show Must Go On . . .

In my blogging travels, by coincidence I suppose, or hazard if you will, around the same time last Spring I stumbled on two blogs out in California, both run by the female half of a mixed nationality couple, and in both cases the male half of said couple was French, and to add to the coincidence, both of the Frenchmen in question are experienced in one way or another with the stone trade... the art of cutting, carving, or building with stone, as in cathedrals, or gravestones, or beautifully carved fireplaces, and everything else under the sun that could be crafted from stone. The first blog in question, which as the name implies is now balanced between two continents, is "Halfway to France", which is one of the all around finest blogs I've had the pleasure of coming across to date. . . give it a try, perhaps you'll see what I mean.
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The second blog in question is another pure pleasure to read, billed as "Where's My Effing Pony". I was thinking about stones and stone carving for the simple reason that while on vacation in August out in the city of Morlaix, in Brittany, I chanced to find a small abandoned stone-cutting site, which had obviously specialized in gravestones. It appeared to have been shut down from one day to the next, with work in progress, and half-finished projects laying about all over. God only knows why the owners and workers just walked away and left it, open to vandals and the elements . . . large pieces of lovely polished granite laying there for the taking. Me, I only take photographs, and I didn't have my truck there that day, but it was tempting . . . good granite and marble is not cheap . . .
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And there is one other blog that is an absolute must for anyone interested in abandoned buildings of any sort and cemeteries, which is the absolutely excellent "Tom B. Photography". . . Please do drop by and leave Tom some comments, he is doing simply amazing work documenting places before they get demolished . . .
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There were scrap piles of smaller pieces of cast-off cut stones, this one with a thermometer laying on it. A broken thermometer showing temperatures off the bottom end of the scale, which seemed somehow appropriate for a place specializing in the industry of death. Although I've been visiting various graveyards around the globe for years on end now, I rarely had thought much about just how big an industry death is, probably numbering in the billions of dollars, or euros or whatever currency you reason in, annually. But while spending an hour or two that afternoon poking around in this place, I got a much better inkling of some aspects of the business . . .

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Large machines are needed to hoist huge blocks of stone around in order to cut and carve them down to size, some of which were lying on the ground starting to rust . . .

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In one corner of a work area some posters depicting various models of gravestones were lying on the ground. Posters for gravestones . . . what a thought . . . not sure I want them on my wall at home . . .

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This mysterious piece of metalwork was laying there, I have no idea at all what this could have possibly been used for. If either of the gentlemen stone experts referred to above have an idea, or anyone else out there, I'd like to hear your ideas on this . . .
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There were abandoned bits of sculpture which hadn't quite made it onto a finished product before the end came . . .
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There were tools scattered about, and I was surprised to discover that there even exists a glossy color magazine for the funeral industry in France . . . this one with a heartwarming picture of an older man and his dog on the cover . . .

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Another copy had been left on the footplate of a forklift, depicting a cemetery in England . . . The metal plate above the gauges says "Prière de rentrer l'engin à l'abri le soir", which translates as, please bring the forklift back inside for shelter in the evening. . .

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Some of the larger machines had elaborate control panels. This one, if you look closely, has two red buttons at the upper left, with graphic images of a turtle and a rabbit, I suppose to make the machine run slower or faster ? I imagined a Dr Frankenstein sort of character here starting up the heart of his monster with these controls . . .
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It really looked like one day the people working here just walked off and left everything, the measuring gauge laying on a length of stone, the large machine saw just rusting . . .

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A yellow machine control box hanging in suspense . . .
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Two heavy gears still well greased. I didn't notice the spiderweb when I took the photo, just saw it this evening when preparing the image for publishing here . . .
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Another control panel, this one with the word "marche" on it, as in the French expression "Marche ou creve", which means "Keep moving or die", and also the word "Pompe" is visible, which could be for a pump, but also the term "Pompe-Funebres" which refers to mortuary services . . .

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This was perhaps the most startling find that afternoon . . . the magazine was laying open to a story about make-up products for corpes, with a photo of a rubber-gloved person applying lipstick to a cadaver, under the title, "Promise à un bel avenir", or "Destined for a beautiful future", or something to that effect, which had me just totally floored. I'd never thought that there might exist make-up products for the deceased. Isn't normal lipstick for the living suitable for cold lips ? Talk about getting a case of cold feet ! And the first line of the story, which is hard to read here, I admit, makes reference in English to a television show called "Six Feet Under" ! Macabre !

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In the wrecked office of the place a refrigerator was gaping open, the last article in it, an empty bottle of port . . . in case any thirsty ghosts might come around . . .
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This last piece is another I'm hoping a stoneworking expert can enlighten us as to how exactly these would be used. This piece of furniture had several shallow drawers, each containing an entire alphabet of letters, each drawer had a different sized alphabet in it. The letters were plastic. Were they used with ink of some sort to mark the letter on the stone, to be chiseled afterwards ? In any case, this entire place was fascinating, a real eye-opener for me, while thinking about eyes that will never open again . . .

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Another Roadside Attraction . . .

Another piece to add to the growing collection of evidence. Proof of my strange attraction to the fine art of disintegration. Of objects past their prime. Artifacts proclaiming, "It's all downhill from here." Has beens. Bygones. Suppose you had been invited to a chic gallery in New York City for the opening of a new photographic exhibition and saw these images on the wall, tastefully matted and framed of course, signed at lower right, a numbered, limited edition of fine prints on archival quality art paper, and while you were visually digesting the photo a guy of uncertain age with reddish blonde hair and a faded denim shirt came up beside you and inquired, "So, what do you make of all that?" . . . What would you say ? ? ? And would you think about buying it ? ? ? (yeah, I know, I'm a dreamer)
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So, is there a French automobile expert out there who may be able to identify this carcass ? The photo was taken along the Aisne River, along the base of the hills that rise up to form the sides of the valley, in an area just below what was known as "Le Chemin des Dames", which you may recall is a dreadful name in the domaine of World War One history. Unbelievable slaughter occurred there. I couldn't help but wonder what led to the demise of this poor car and the house behind it. Ruins. We have built up so much in our house of cards universe. But as we have seen recently, many things, institutions, banks, businesses, can come tumbling down faster than they went up. Leaving ruins in their wake. Causing people to migrate. Food supplies to fail. Money to evaporate. There is cause for concern. Where did the owner of this house and car go ? Why were things just left there to rot ? To disappear back into the ground ?
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To Skin A Cat

I never could fathom where the expression "To Skin a Cat" came from... as in, there's more than one way to skin a cat... why on Earth would anyone want to skin a cat, for heaven's sake? Such lovable, adorable, meowing little creatures that they are. In any case, there is more than one way to look at most anything, and speaking of cats, this is another take or three on the same kitty that so kindly allowed herself to be photographed in the company of a blue window frame and bright red leaves not so long ago, a slightly different version of which was published in one of the very first postings in the endeavor this blog has become way back long ago in September 2008 ... (and I confess, this is a "re-cycled" post, first posted back in December of last Winter, when almost no one had discovered the existence of this blog. . . so I thought I'd toss it out again, sort of the same way I sometimes wear a shirt again after washing and ironing it and letting it sit in the closet for a while. . . I hope I'm not breaking any blog-etiquette rules by re-cycling) So what do you think Louciao, is this calendar material ??? :-)

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Behind Closed Doors . . .

I shot this pair of black and white photos in Haiti in 1997, on the road way up above Petionville, near Kenscoff market. At first all I saw were the paws, but then after a short pause, the nose emerged from under the door . . . It was obvious he or she wanted to come out from behind the door that was hemming him in, crimping his style, he wanted to come out and play. Ah, the secret lives of dogs behind closed doors. . .
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I hadn't looked at the photos from Haiti for years and years, but just saw them again as digital files only very recently converted, and now able to be viewed. Maybe something about having just seen the dog-under-door photos was still fresh in my mind in August when I stumbled on this cat peering out from under a blue barrier, and just happened to have a camera in my hand; this is what happened : Still Life With Brown Dirt, Pebbles, Blue Metal Door, Mesmerized Cat, and Invisible Photographer . . .

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And then just two days later I found this black lab trying to see what was going on in the street from under a gate . . . I suppose this must be fairly common dog and cat behavior, but I couldn't help but put these four images together for your viewing pleasure, like the series of pairs the other day . . . Have you ever seen a dog or cat peering under a door or a gate like this ; wishing they were out on the other side ?
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Keep On Breathing . . .

Are there any Tom Hanks fans in the audience ? . . . Perhaps you've see a film of his called "Castaway", or in French the title was "Seul au Monde" (Alone in the World, or Alone on Earth... something to that effect) ? Do you recall a scene at the very end of the film where he was talking about the years he'd spent marooned on the desert island, and all the times he'd thought about not continuing, about giving up, but finally it came down to breathing . . . just taking one breath at a time, just keep on breathing. Good advice. Inspiring. No one ever said life was going to be easy. But if it gets tougher than usual, well just keep on breathing . . .
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Poking around in a church in Brittany recently, I stumbled on this set of gears, with a crank handle attached, and I wanted to turn those gears, turn those wheels; because as the Grateful Dead sang :
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The wheel is turning and you can't slow down
You can't let go and you can't hold on
You can't go back and you can't stand still
If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will . . .
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There is so much I want to share with all of you good people, I hardly know where to start. When I look back over the past posts in this document, I realize it has been nearly one year now since I started pouring the contents of my heart into this creation, not knowing what, if anything, it might lead to, pouring out the photographs, the poems, some thoughts to accompany them, nearly day in and day out, laying it all out there on the line. . . and yet with all of that, I feel like I've barely scratched the surface. There are literally thousands more photos in the archives, whole notebooks of poems that have never seen the light of day, and the thoughts simply keep flowing. It just takes one luminous moment like this afternoon in April when the light got very intense out over the Bay of Morlaix, off Carantec, Brittany, one of the loveliest places I know on Earth, to convince me, to coax me, to persuade me . . . to just keep breathing . . .
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And in closing, for this little post, I'd just like to thank a friend who shall remain anonymous here, he knows who he is, for tipping me off to the existence of a certain Joe Bonamassa, an extraordinary blues guitar player if there ever was one. Although this video is a little long, give it a try, and see if you don't get hooked hard enough to see it through to the very end . . . although I don't often use the expression, it fits : The dude is AWESOME . . . "If heartaches were nickels, I might be the richest fool alive . . ."
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Faces From Long Ago and Far Away . . .

I've been meaning to get back to these images for quite some time now, they were done back in April the same day I went to the Paris Dog cemetery in Asnières, and on the way home made a side trip into Saint Denis to visit the Basilica where many of the kings and queens of France are interred. Before leaving Saint Denis I stepped into the large municipal cemetery there, and was pleasantly surprised by the large number of old tombs with works of art and photographs on them. These four faces are just a few of the photos from that afternoon, there are more. I was prompted to return to the subject of cemeteries by a lovely post over at SP's excellent blog Art Of The City today, with images from Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris.
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How I would have loved
To have had the chance
To just talk for even a short while
With some of the people
Who are long gone
But who live on
As photos on gravestones
Quiet beauty shining
From dark eyes
Long closed
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And if you are looking down
From somewhere far away
Know that I stopped a moment
To linger at your grave
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