Gabriel Bien-Aimé . . .

Over two weeks now since the Earth quaked in Haiti, shaking the country to the core. Nightmarish news continues to trickle out, while the aid slowly trickles in. There was an interesting story on CNN yesterday about Haitian art, and the impact of the earthquake. Partway down the page the story is on there is an embedded video of a slide show of some examples of Haitian art. Shortly into the video there were a couple of images of cut iron sculptures which I believe were done by one of the finest Haitian sculptors producing that style of art; Gabriel Bien-Aimé. Which brought the memories flooding back of having visited his workshop and gallery in Croix des Bouquets, which is just on the outskirts of Port au Prince. A quick search on the internet turned up this article about him on the Indigo Arts website. And several pieces of his sculptures can also be seen on the site of the Figge Art Museum in Davenport, Iowa.
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Haitians in general are extremely creative when it comes to recycling material of all descriptions to transform it into useful objects again. The realm of art is no exception. Many of Bien-Aimé's cut metal sculptures started their lives as 55 gallon oil drums, or as the sheet-metal on any sort of automobile, bus, or truck from which it could be salvaged after the original function had come to an end. Consequently, the sight of old cars with no sheet-metal on them around Haiti is not unusual; it has been torn off to live again elsewhere in some other role. Old wrecks of cars in Haiti, often left by the roadside where they died, are known as "voitures désolées". This is one good example . . .
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This next one was some sort of small truck or mini-bus, god only knows what happened to it, a mere ghost of its former self . . .
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Another voiture désolée was in the yard of Gabriel Bien-Aimé's workshop, no doubt having served as a source of raw material . . .
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These cinderblock walls were the outdoor gallery where Bien-Aimé displayed his work in February, 1997. Our daughter appearing here was about three and a half. The small rectangular piece just in front of her head of a heron standing on the back of a giraffe is one of a few of his pieces that came home with us. Treasures from an unforgettable trip.
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It seemed incongruous for such beautiful works of art to be displayed on those rough cinderblock walls . . . but that is Haiti . . .
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One of his daughters was as intrigued with a foreign photographer as I was with her . . .
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His truck was emblazoned with his nickname . . . l'Ange Gabriel . . .
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And finally, the artist himself, with one of his sculptures which could almost be a self-portrait. A small corner of his house is visible here. I hope to hell it didn't fall down on him when the earth shook. Our thoughts are with you, Angel Gabriel, aptly named Bien-Aimé... he who is loved well . . .
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Travel Directions . . .

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Life's Little Coincidences . . .

In two recent posts at Paris Through My Lens, Virginia was in the Carnavalet Museum in the Marais quarter of Paris, where she photographed a statue of a lady with a dog, and just a few posts later she captured the angel in the courtyard under a thin layer of snow, both of which are lovely images . . . and while you are there, do stop to browse for a while, Virginia gets around Paris with unusual energy, her blog is a pleasure. As it is a small world, oddly enough, back in November, just a few weeks ago really, I was also in the Carnavalet Museum, and happened to notice the lady with a dog, and the angel in the courtyard, but from slighty different viewpoints. Well, they say variety is the spice of life . . .
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One of the first sights one sees on entering the collections of the Carnavalet Museum is a collection of ancient stone sculptures, this one depicting some sort of goat-horned deity, that may be of interest to anyone reading Nanny Goats In Panties, a blog about all things related to goats, or not related to goats but tossed in anyway . . .
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This is the statue that appeared in Paris Through My Lens just a few days ago. Actually it was the shadow on the wall that caught my eye at first . . . (not the plunging view of a rather brazen décolleté . . .)
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The dog looks a bit alarmed if you ask me, although with the lady's hand on his head to soothe him, it's not clear what he is so alarmed about . . .
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The shadow is a little less perturbed looking . . .
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In a hall in the museum two mirrors were facing each other, creating an infinity of reflections, a magical dark tunnel disappearing into the distance. If I could only figure out how to get into it, I'd love to see where that tunnel goes . . .
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Virginia's photo of the angel was taken with winter snow for decoration; back in November some of the ivy had gone bright red for color . . .
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The courtyards are graced with carefully manicured decorative gardens . . .
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When we went back out, into the timeless streets of Paris, not far away this decorated door was calling to me to photograph it, to have a chance at immortality. I particularly like the bleeding heart in this one . . . and it isn't even Valentine's Day yet . . . But if you like, this is my Valentine's greeting from me to you, a little early for once. Better early than forgotten and remembered at the last second ! And it could also be dedicated to Jeff at Life Is Beautiful, simply because he likes images of beautiful women . . .
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Another Glimpse of Haiti . . . Looking Back . . .

For over a week now I've been watching the news with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know everyone is overdosed with this heartwrenching story as it unfolds, one desperate chapter after another. But I cannot turn away; I need to remember, to remember a Haiti that was kind to me for a short visit there some years ago. Very kind. So please bear with me . . . though I am far away, and only have the slimmest of slim connections with Haiti, this is the only way I can show solidarity with a people in the grips of a nightmare. Other than donating to relief efforts, which I did.
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The below portrait is of a gentleman named Maquel Jean-Baptiste. He was renting a room from the people we stayed with near Petionville, and plays, or did at the time anyway, guitar for a group called Boukman Eksperyans. Do check them out on YouTube, they are well known. Maquel, I know it's been a while, but I'm hoping you are ok. I will never forget the days we played guitars together. I remember how you laughed when I said I thought you might be the reincarnation of Jimi Hendrix . . . and I meant it . . . I really hope you are alright, man.
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On the beach, in Jacmel . . .
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One of the most striking art forms practiced in Haiti is that of cut iron work, like the below piece, which I believe was done by a sculptor named Gabriel Bien-Aimé. On his truck he had painted "l' Ange Gabriel", or the angel Gabriel . . . We visited his studio, I will post some pictures of him and more of his art soon . . .
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This portrait is of Julian and his wife. Julian worked for the people we stayed with. One day I hiked three hours down a river valley with him, he wanted to show me where he lived, and introduce me to his wife.
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Julian and family. . . please be safe, please be well . . . I have not forgotten your home, how you put your chair out in front of your "case" for me to sit on after that long walk . . .
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And down in that river valley, people were washing clothes in basins, just as they are in the streets of Port au Prince today . . .
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The billboard at right here was proclaiming the creation of a childrens' rights agreement. In Haitian creole "Timoun" means children. I loved that word . . . Wi pou dwa timoun yo !
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Going back to the day before New Years Eve, last year, when we set out on the afternoon constitutional walk on which the sunset photos in the post a few below were taken, we took the coastal path, or in French, le Sentier Cotier, which is getting a bit hard to read on this well weathered sign . . .
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Down by one of the Carantec beaches, a place known as la Greve Blanche, a dog was waiting and he wanted to play, waiting for someone to throw his stick. I'm always a sucker for a dog with a stick . . .
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And for big brown eyes. He didn't seem to mind the sand in his mouth . . .
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Glimpses of windowsills covered with seashells and lighthouses can be found here, I guess the same in any seaside town the world over . . .
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The sign on this gate was not your typical "no parking" sign . . .
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It said, "No parking, wheelbarrow entrance" . . .
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Haiti Re-Visited . . .and Remembered . . .

It has been a grueling week, the news coming out of Haiti is one dreadful story after another, and the full scale of what has happened is not yet clear. Not only the capital city Port au Prince was devastated, but towns throughout the quake area have been destroyed, and almost no news is filtering out about them. If you wish to see previous posts about Haiti done over the past year or so in these pages, just click on "Haiti" in the labels list down the right side in the sidebar.
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On the trip I took to Haiti in 1997 I shot this photo of a man planting seeds in the countryside between Port au Prince and Jacmel. In a scrapbook of photos put together after the trip, this one was captioned : The Heart of Haiti . . .
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In the hills above Petionville, near Kenscoff, a herd of goats was being hurried along by a lady with a stick . . .
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The caption in the scrapbook on this one was : Shaping Her Future . . .
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Heaven only knows what the future holds for her, perhaps a teenager today, if she survived . . .
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Schoolgirls in uniforms, not concerned about the plastification of marriage cards when this photo was taken . . .
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A sign from a seaside restaurant in Jacmel, Jacmel which is in ruins today . . .
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Even prior to the earthquake, the infrastructure in Haiti was in poor shape. A railroad that had operated briefly years ago had gone out of business, a bridge across a river bed had fallen down. . .
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Artwork abounds in Haiti, there are a number of sources of excellent art, and large numbers of paintings at roadside galleries like this one . . .
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Karnaval decorations, February 1997, in Jacmel, another wild bull loose. . .
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Haiti Shaken . . .

I was shocked and saddened to see in the news just now that Haiti has been hit by a major earthquake, centered not far from the capital, Port au Prince.
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Haiti, jewel of the Caribbean
Haiti, dear sister of my heart
You did not need another calamity
Your history has been far too hard already
My heart goes out to you
In this latest of tragedies
Why has the world abandoned you
For so long
Because you dared to declare your freedom ?
Two centuries ago ?
And since then you have wallowed
In the mire of chaos, anarchy, greed
But poverty for most, dire poverty
And the world looks away
While day in and day out
Your people starve
Just a short flight
From the richest country on Earth
You lie abandoned
A nightmare in paradise
And now another chapter of horror
Has opened in your ongoing saga
Haiti I cry for you
And I know not
What to do
Other than write
These hopeless words
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Like a raging bull the earthquake tore down whole streets. Haiti holds a soft spot in my heart after a visit there in February, 1997, at Carnaval time. This photo of bull masks was shot in Jacmel, on the south coast of Haiti. The Carnaval parades are full of colorful, and sometimes terrifying figures . . .
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Haiti is a country with many demons, past and present. Some of them come out for Carnaval. . .
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I read in the news tonight that although the presidential palace was damaged, President René Preval was unhurt. The gentleman at the center of this photo in the white hat is none other than President René Preval. When he saw me taking a picture of him, he very kindly reached into his personal cooler of beer, and handed down a cold can of Heineken to me. Now that was hospitality to appreciate. Mr. Preval, I wish you all possible courage in dealing with this latest catastrophe. You hold one of the hardest jobs in the world today. At least as hard as President Obama's job.
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Across the street from the president's platform, one of his guards was visible with a sub-machine gun . . . Haiti remains a dangerously violent place. One cannot be too careful there. So many sad stories can be found if one digs a little. Perhaps better not to dig.
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Yet Haiti is a country of beautifully proud people, like these three women photographed in a remote river valley where I walked three hours to go see the family of a man working for the people we stayed with there . . .
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Haiti is densely populated, perhaps a bit like India, with people everywhere one goes . . . This shot is of Kenscoff Market, in the hills above Petionville. Not far from Port au Prince. I hope these good people were not too hard hit.
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Haiti is a desperately poor nation. This corrugated metal shack was not by any stretch of the imagination an unusual sight. In a hand-bound book of photos I put together after the trip to Haiti I gave this one the caption : Brokedown Palace . . . in reference to the Grateful Dead song by that name. "Gonna leave this brokedown palace, on my hands and my knees . . ."
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Quiet Moments By the Sea . . .

On the day before New Years Eve less than two weeks ago, the penultimate day of the year, we took an evening walk along the bay to get out and stretch the legs. No storms that afternoon, just the timeless show of sea, horizon, and clouds . . .
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Time to head for home, as the sun sank low, working her alchemy on the water, producing pure gold . . .
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Even after the sun had slipped out of sight, the light show continued in quiet splendor . . . made me think of the Chesapeake Bay, where I watched many a sunset in years past . . .
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Subtle colors out over the water, with the lights of the port of Roscoff in the distance . . . where one can catch the ferry to either Portsmouth or even Ireland, were one so inclined . . .
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This is not an advertisement for Volkswagen, just the full moon rivalling the electric light for brightness in the rapidly dimming sky . . .
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While out in Brittany at New Years, I noticed a photograph in a hidden corner I hadn't seen before. The young girl is la Grenouille's grandmother, with her mother, la Grenouille's great grandmother . . . I photographed the photo, to save it for posterity . . . I met her grandmother only a couple of times before she passed away, well into her nineties. . . a sweet soul . . .
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And now for something completely different . . . I'd been wondering for some time how to go about adding a little slightly more personal music to the blog, and finally got around to finding what I hope is a fairly simple solution via a file hosting site. I wrote this piece probably about 20 years ago, and it is the only song I've written that was ever "released" publicly in any form. . . on a cassette tape, thanks to the efforts of my old friend Scott S. who played bass guitar, mandolin, and twelve string guitar on this, while I did the rhythm guitar and vocals (if you can stand to call them that...) When I click the below link, it opens my media player automatically, I hope it will work for you too, if you have the patience to indulge me here. . . (I know, I'm asking alot; after photos, poetry, and now... home-made music... baring my soul... taking big risks...)
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Owen - Standing On The Brink.mp3
Free file hosting from File Den
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