Zen of Directional Arrows: Or How Subaru Saved My Ass Again

There Yours Truly was, once again, as is my wont, minding my own business whilst behind the wheel of the latest in a long succession of Subaru vehicles.

This being the red one, the one that was one of only four that the expansive dealership had on the lot that was of the non-automatic variety. The one with the sun/moon roof that YT has opened but once, to let Jabsy up out of it for a woot-woot moment as we sped past the Italian Heritage Festival (all in air-quotes) in the Middling City's northern quadrant.

YT was on assignment for the Shiney Happy Mag, to talk flowers and plants and plannings with a couple who live way up in the hills where one, if so called to mind about this area, thinks ski venues, picturesque farms, occasional mercantile and school buildings that are low and dated, and big distances.

There had been, a few weeks back, a situation that only YT could have found herself in: the confusion between a certain French Road, and a North French Road. Thrown off by a client's mention of a certain landmark, North French was clicked into the map app instead of French: a big twenty mile difference. And there were friends awaiting my post-pixel delivery arrival so there was the added pressure of getting there - and then getting there.

So when the nice couple nestled into the hills south of the Middling City were precise about their directions, that included specific mention of a road and a directional arrow, YT was not going to glance poetically about and not pay attention. Eyes riveted to infrequent signs as they loomed closer, even as someone probably heading to their hillside exurban home after a long day of work tolerating/tailgating the obvious tourist up ahead in the red Subaru, the anticipated sign appeared, and then the afore-emailed big dip in the road.

And then the arrow, as promised, was right there on the left side of the road.

So I turned into what was allegedly the driveway. There were two pairs of ruts and YT followed them along into the center of a field, believing that this was going to lead to a house somewhere up ahead. There were more ruts and YT realized that the car was sinking into what is a snowy, fallow field - just as a light indicating that the Subaru was doing something supersonic to keep me from getting stuck. It was then that I noticed the smell of sheep, really the scent of burning hay from the field. The ruts looped around and YT followed them back to the very dark and quiet road. Thought of how long the AAA wait would have been - perhaps months.

When I got back to the road I followed it further along and saw another directional arrow, and next to that a signpost with the address for the house I was looking for - a very obvious landmark. When I was in the house taking off my coat I told them about nearly getting stuck in the field nearby and then they said Oh, right, that sign is for the snowmobilers, sorry.

Sometimes, and here's Your Big Adage, Know when to trust the directions - and the directional arrows.

Directional Love.

Currin Quotable Quote + a Query

YT Night Before DUMBO Show, 12.6.10  Photo: Kunji

The people I paint don’t exist. The only thing that is real is the painting. It’s not like a photograph where there’s another reality that existed at a certain moment in time in the past. The image is only happening right now and this is the only version of it. To me, that’s fascinating. It’s an eternal moment.
--John Currin

Here: a quote about Art and its place in the temporal from primo Currin, who Yours Truly has been following - and admiring - for ages, first seen by YT in our fair Nation's capital a decade or so ago. This quote is like ever so many on the topic, yet Currin slices right to the crux. Crux of the difference between the media, and their ability to document time.

On an unrelated matter, YT was about to think - and is now writing & reporting - how, in this undisclosed luncheon location where YT could easily let fantasy meander to the compact and rockily-substrated isle of Nippon, how wonderful it is to eat Asian as it's free of pesky and hive-raising tomatoes. When, suddenly, YT bit into what was erroneously believed to be a slice of daikon. Wrong. Tomato, sliced paper thin. So perhaps the minimal tomato molecules will whoosh on by without a hive.

What is the age-old dialogue between photographer and painter, You might ask.

It usually begins with a painter in a tinge of disdain stating the obvious difference between the media. But there are those painters of yore who did employ the camera obscura to make copies of work. But each of the media, no matter how painters would like to argue, move simultaneously within and against time.

Onwards.

At my 12/7  DUMBO opening one of the several surprise guests was the mentor of YT, Jim Ramer, of Parsons and beyond. I was thrilled to see him meander as only JR can, into the joint, and it was wonderful to talk with him. Amongst other things discussed was a recollection, by YT, of the moment when YT stood in front of the then Chair of the Photography Department with JR by my side. YT was debating with the Chair over a meager grade as YT was penalized for being a realist. The assignment had been to knowingly, as an exercise, infringe upon a copyright - and to defend our action. It should be mentioned that the Chair was also acquiring her law degree.

Not only did YT receive a good old-fashioned cease and desist letter from a humorless classmate, but the Chair and I scuffled over the concept of infringement for educational purposes, versus what the copyright law is. She was impassable. I was passable, and I did pass. The End.

For the next show thinking of making one-off prints of digital images, along the idea behind the prints on steel that YT made years ago. Have always wanted to print on copper, but also thinking of works on fine paper, and, possibly, duotones. Time to consult with TTreat and Sherven again.

This is a working lunch and now it is time for YT to turn from You, to pixels that need to be pushed and delivered. Of a smiling man who is straddling life between the Middling City, and the Shiney Apple. A situ that YT knows and has known oso very well.

Straddling Love.

The Card, It Came. Holy Shit.

So utterly minding mine own business, as is my customary and usual and hard-learned wont, I went to fetch the mail. And there in the pile of ridiculous holiday-themed catalogs to be recycled without a glance, were the art cards.
The post cards.
The post cards to announce the show, the exhibit, the collection of ten hanging at 68 Jay.
The thing that Yours Truly think about these days and gets that flutter and reflutter.

I chose this image, Hand Made Orchid, for the card, an image that came from the last waning moments of a shoot with model Jeremy, as we talked at the end of a productive few hours with him and Heady, whilst listening to Miles and the sage burned and YT played with some aging white petals, a juniper berry, some wire and fashioned an orchid out of it all.
A triumph.
And it's the lead image this time around, for Only Sky.
The alternate title for the last show, River of Sound.
A title run by, and approved, by DKNY, one of the NJP Sounding Board Members.
She of ever-strong opining in all things art, fashion, food, cocktail.
Speaking of such, last Sunday was thee most Perfect of Sundays whereby YT jetted off to the Shiney Apple with two hand-made (no, not orchids) art cases of the 10 - 4 and 6 face to face, with padded corners and wrapped tightly in plastic before being bound with bright pink and bright blue duct tape.
And there were padded handles.
And all fit into the JetBlue overhead space like a reve - one more mm and there would have been tears, and gate checking.
And then all went lugging off to the AirTrain, the A Train, the bus down Jay, down the block, around the block, up the stairs for a respite until meeting SteveW at 10, and then the depacking, the hanging, the exuberance, the Joy, the completion, the brunch with Justy & Gretch, the OTTO first-foray with DKNY, the celebratory last call, the reves more more more.
The sweet sugar plum Shiney Apple dreams that YT musters over there (pointing).
And now the postcards, the announcement, the opening on December 7th.
Onwards.
The new flip video cam another small triumph as YT had it customized with Lobelia Wire Hand on its face.
The HD and anti-shake a thing of wonder.
For real onwards.

Onwards Love, Onwards.

Senatorial Snakepit. Or Straight Versus Bow.

Senatorial Snakepit: Ties, ©Nancy J. Parisi, 2010

There Yours Truly was, as is my forever wont, minding mine own business, when the 3Gpokey iPhone rang.
YT was enmeshed in a trad most American: riding the rails.
It was a call from those nice Shiney Apple public relations men who hire YT to make & do for matters political and this episode was to feature in my sights a senator.
Or is that Senator.
The name of the politico is not important, nor is it the focus of this tale-ette.
Rather, what was most of interest to YT, besides getting the needed and requisite images of the Senator, was how the senatorial aid emerged from the SUV with a snakepit of ties in his hands.
YT, as is my politico-image-wrangling wont (and this is understood by any politico worth their weight in rubber chicken dinners) suggests a selection of ties and shirts and jackets.
One photo shoot will yield the most ops and options when there is a bevy of ties to change with every new moment: solids, reps, patterns, significant icons all a must.
Usually a man keeps his ties flat, or well hung.
My eyebrow - the left one - just went a little skyward.
YT, if I were a man, and especially a man running for office, might be keeping my ties a little less entangled.
And, if I were a man, I might be inclined to go for the bow tie.
But, come to think of images that come to mind, not many candidates are seen - and shown - campaigning in bow ties.
The Senator had another busy day, and an NPR interview on the docket for later that afternoon, so perhaps was not aware that his best and favoured ties were in an airborne heap.
Some of the ties needed a careful smoothing during the day, and, as I mention on occasion to those who book me, it might be better at times to book a femme photog rather than one of XY persuasion: a woman looks out for errant threads and the like.
And, on a related, sartorial note: YT once again was inside the gown of a bride (and one of her bridesmaids) doing major repair work in situ as there were some structural troubles. And, in the case of the bridesmaid, a seamstress left a 2" (no exaggeration) pin sticking out of a seam around the arm. YT requested - and was rushed (it was 20 minutes to show time) a wire cutter and cut that foreign object down to a nub.

All in a photog day's work.

Sartorial, Senatorial Love.

N to the J to the D to the C

Stand of Oaks, Washington Monument.

Shiva Hands, Sackler Gallery, Washington, DC.

(Topnote: this all brought to You on the wings of Explosions in the Sky, a good and cinematic TX export.)

The day after Pops had his heart examined and it was out in the familial open that one of those auricles - or is it ventricles - has little stalagmites in there and is indeed blocked all the way, making a very dark medical area on what is otherwise a Perfect and happy heart, but one with complications, Your Truly sped off to Our Nation's capitol/capital to be an utmost friend to Little Laura. LL is a bestie, and that inspires in YT innate loyalty to infinity.

It should - or could - be noted here that YT also has one abnormal heart with it beating to the beat of its own downbeat drummer, and being so low of pressure that the pros say it is the beat of a five-year old heart: officially 91/57.

Onward to Washington, District of Columbia which is full of free cultural attractions, architectural gravitas, good vibes in the face of diversity, gentlemanly holding of doors, unfamiliar bird sounds, vistas, boulevards, confusing criss-crossed streets, gusts of river wind, a quietude that is unsettling at times, subways that are quiet, barricades as needed, a swell array of international cuisine, swarms of rally aftermath, and men in suits.

YT was there for that aforementioned and unpublic mission, but also to have a few moments to do what is rare except when in the Shiney Apple: to walk, think, and draw.

Heady found, and forever will be in my creative debt, drawing pencils in a city that is not teeming with artists - a triumph. Wherever I drew someone would become interested; one asked if I was writing in my journal, or if I was making drawings. When I explained that I was making a drawing of the back of an at-the-ready ambulance and the backside of the Capitol, he offered up some interesting fun facts. Like that the cast iron atop it all is being restored and cleaned up - hence one of the recurring and curious sounds that was not the birds.

Maya Lin, Sailors, NJP Shadow at Viet Nam Memorial.

Speaking of triumphs, it is one to be in a place that is unfamiliar, safe, and inspiring. And to have pencils, and a camera to make something out of a walk.

Today was one of those proverbial difficult days; tomorrow may prove to be a better one. The proving is the work, the challenge of having days at all.

Love of unfamiliar birds.

Minding my own business at mine own art exhibition Yours Truly was documented in the greenest happiest dress ever, and with the red dot DLux4 by the Burly Font, aka BruceJ.
Just over my right shoulder is Heady, in a pomegranate t-shirt imprinted with the image that is shown just over my left shoulder and previously featured on epinw-Four Laurel Hands.
The opening.
The opening was divine, and YT swam for four hours in the basking Love vibes of well-wishers, and revelers, and fans of allsuch: all drinking white wines of various hues and vints that YT picked out with Heady and some cute helpful boy at Gates, and ate cheeses of all stinks and shades.
All in all. A triumph.
According to YT.
The installation was a success purely because of the angelic Sean, who banged up the framed pieces (21 in all) just as he did for my solo exhib at Big Orbit Gallery. And he slapped up shiny happy and happening letters telling passersby and ne'er-do-wells, neighborhood tipplers, panhandlers, and arts afficianadoes just what in fuck is hanging in the gallery.
Prints printed on canvas framed.
And drawings that I am oso proud of, made in the Shiney Happy, and the Middling City.
Did an interview about the Art with someone and does any artist really want to hear a reviewer leaving saying I hope that I can do you justice.
It's just so ... non-ArtWorld. Like Annette Cravens says You make nice pictures, nobody makes Nice art.
It's all difficult, yours is Nice.
Onwards I posit.


And no post-show blues as YT is thinking of the next show, the one in the Shiney Apple in November.
And onwards still.

Forward momentum, Love.

Art - In a Perfect World

Here is Four Laurel Hands.

One of the images of a suite of ten new pieces to be hung and be in plain view at Studio Hart until the end of September.

River of Sound is the show, a suite of ten (ever the important number) new still life images, plus Flame Hand made last year, plus ten small drawings.

Your Truly has exhibited drawings before, here and there, and there again, but never as a main feature: these were made in the Middling City as well as in The Shiney Apple. Of things drawn before, plus some exciting new victims of my Perfect view: public places, including some notable cast iron steps in Soho. A few of my favorite corners of Soho where YT would nestle and hunker before or after school, or other arduous, or art-defined moments.

Something very different happens when making drawings, and to one when one is making drawings: time moves slower. People are less leery of a pad and pencil than of a topnotch DSLR.

Once upon a time, drawing at an MC grain elevator, YT was approached in a friendly manner by an endangered grain elevator employee whereas in moments past the same event - with camera/Holga/DSLR in hand - elicited near-calls for the authorities.

Speaking of the latter, YT experienced a most unpleasant exchange in the MC suburb Williamsville a few days ago when, whilst idling and finishing up a call, YT's vehicle was approached by an x-s male in an x-l trucker cap emblazoned with the words "Security Enforcement." Mr. Enforcement, sans badge, or any other identifiable item, yelled and then yelled some more about standing and such. Thinking, as oft-transpires in the MC, that Mr. Enforcement was suggesting that YT move the vehicle I mentioned that I would - or could - move the car to a nearby lot, which was in the plans/works.
That is when Mr. Enforcement began to scream You're attempting to flee the scene.
The scene, as if a shooting had just gone down.
A pen was being wagged in my face, and the screaming continued, so YT rolled up the driver-side window when Mr. Enforcement screamed Why are you rolling up your window, are you attempting to flee the scene.
YT stated I am a woman and ...
Mr. Enforcement screamed I do not care if you are a woman ...
Moral of the story.
Steer clear of this unfortunate corner of Williamsville.
And when any sign anywhere says no standing they do so mean it, stand instead in the environs of the MC, where, really, things are not as antagonistic.
Harv says to mail the ticket to him, after I plead not guilty.
Will YT have to appear in Unpleasantville/Williamsville traffic court.
That thought is a nice distraction to the six days left of preparation for River of Sound.
Not truly.
Truly, YT is thrilled to have a golden and grand op to share more vision, more of what lives in my head.

In my head, Love.

The Penney & The Marble

Here is Yours Truly with Charles Rand Penney - just Charlie to friends - about a year ago, during the (I thought rather sad) liquidation of his collection of local artists in a banquet room at a suburban hotel.
Lines of people wrapped nearly out to the lobby and YT burst onto the scene and shimmied into the room with only one purpose, to go and see Charlie who YT knew would be holding court somewhere in the room.
And he was.
I handed my camera to Fern Levin, also a collector of regional artwork.
Charlie liked to say that he was giving his "best Nancy Parisi" smile - he, like several in the community, always respected my scrappy dedication to documenting the art happenings and their creators.

I visited Charlie twice at his Bewley Building digs in Lockport, a curious outpost of collection, with a small smattering of domestic furnishings.
I remember being somewhat shocked that his bed was amid the sprawling and overwhelming (to me) collections, it in a corner surrounded by works of art - and, proudly, Charlie pointed out that his own Nancy Parisi piece hung over his double bed. One of about sixteen pieces over the bed. But still, a true place of honour in any household for what hangs over the bed truly means something as it's the first and last thing one sees each day.
I was duly flattered.
The piece was a piece that he purchased from a group show at the Burchfield-Penney Art Center, an exhibition called Artists and Toys or somesuch title.
It showed my hand model of the era playing marbles, a very sumptuous image, printed richly backlit so that the marbles shone like fiery little planets - like how in real life real marbles invite and demand scrutiny.
Charlie bought the piece, informed me that he done so, and immediately requested the marble of central focus in the selenium-toned print.
I stated that I would deliver to him said marble.
But that actual marble proved elusive, I never could locate that exact marble.
And Charlie being Charlie would know that indeed it was not thee marble: it would be like passing off a kid's deceased & flushed goldfish as another cheap goldfish.
It is an impossibility, both have been scrutinized and inscribed.

I put off this request, occasionally looking, and not finding, the marble.
It became a bit of a thing - Charlie would mention and remind me, I would proffer up a promise of another search.

Me being me, and that is ever-planning, can tend towards gestures of assumed or presumed impetuousness, especially in matters of artwork - and gardens.
YT seems to recall the tossing of the marble into the garden after the shoot, or was that dreamed.
In any case, the marble was never located, and Charlie did stop asking.
It was indeed a thing.

There are some who are iconographic, and Charlie was one of those people.
Not only for his vast collections that elapsed seven decades, but for his respectable diligence, and polymathic nature.

YT aspires to, but forever misses, but fakes it at times, diligence and the multi-genre tendencies of the polymath.

Cheers to Charlie, a sip of stars.

Star Love, Charlie Love.

Compassion. Drawing on something big.

At this moment Yours Truly works, as usual, but is taking a break to write to epinw about a moment that YT would like to say is fleeting but it is more lingering.

I believe we are all moment collections - lingering and fleeting. And in part that is why photographic documentation of our lives is tantamount to memory. They validate our existence, they document small things that we have, or could have, forgotten.

Tar Balls in the Heart.

These tar balls appear. I like to think of them as tar balls, bad memories old and young that I'd like a nice crew of people to scoop up with common shovels, place into bags, and cart away before they're stepped in or make the air more acrid.

Momentary break for a visual treat, a hideous mannequin in a lobby of a certain Middling City suburban hotel. The mannequin is perpetually serving up streams of champagne to be grabbed by imaginary guests from a precarious champagne pyramid. Surrounded by a watery field of fiery poppies. This stands for creativity in the suburbs of the MC.


At this moment the iPad - which insists upon listing all music in some Apple default alphabetical position - led to The National's Afraid of Everyone, a song that I've barely noted until now. Now African Sunshine by Foday Musa Suso.  Next will be Afro Blue by Dee Dee Bridgewater and only three more until the other Neil's After the Gold Rush. Who knew the alphabet could be so serendipitous.

At this juncture there have been a few moments when YT stalls in thought on the memory of what was happening a year ago - what the culprit has rewritten, manipulatively as some sort of writing experiment, an emotional foray that meant nothing, a rewriting that stars me as the culprit.

In short.
The classic tale of one's friend behaving in a very altered manner, the gradual physical change, the crazed behaviour that the person in throes and enthralled cannot see (yet) or cannot face, witness, or admit.

(nice: Cat Power's After It All. Cat Power, universal b.f.f. to everygirl)

Truth, a nice thing to know, or have, within reason.
YT led to Truth by a complete stranger.
And after that gleaning that horrid sense of all nerve endings gone electrically haywire, that dry-mouthed do-battle response.

All in all, it is over.
That crisis at that time.
I now muse on who it was important to tell of that break - who joins one's wagon circle when indeed the wagons need to be a-circled.

Agari Jo, by Yasuko Yoshida.
And now a hunger for Japan once again, that will be the next big destination perchance.

Should what could have ended ended.
There are good moments.
And then there are not.
There is a bond for certain, and greater good than bad.
And we do all miss certain people, I believe, forever.

If I could, I would some evenings be back in a certain restaurant in a certain city with a certain man - laughing, loving, walking along, thinking, speaking oso easily.

Guess we all have our recurring photographs.
It's just a matter of what is pursued, withheld, pursued, withheld.

Love as thick as tar.

Crush of Lifetime, Crunch of Ankle.

Another Perfect gem from the Accidental Frame Series by Yours Truly.
This was on location during a gig - softbox, wire, wood.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hmm584frOQ&NR=1
And this is a real treat, a YouTube piece by the one and only rock and free jazz cellist Fred Lonberg-Holm of me and him doing some documentation of each other in a circular fashion.

As the Middling City is awash with cinematic rain YT sends out happiest wishes and memories to GFS whose birthday is today. Love from Your muse.

So here is a recap of one of the latest Perfect Adventures, literal mis-steps, and happenstances: the twisting of the ankle and the creation of the demi-golfball purple thing on tap dancing foot at the tail end of the Channel 2 ~ Daybreak's Here for YOUUUUUUUUUU ... we are 2 ... on your side" ~ filmed yesterday during a 90+ degree heat wave.

Whatever a heat wave truly is, having no real meteorological tendencies.

So Shewwy asks YT to sing the above jingle for a new spot - YT was in another Channel 2 spot in which YT held up a sign while first looking ominous/serious and then gleeful/enthralled with the Central Terminal over my shoulder.
As YT has chosen to building own and just love the MC's lesser-known and less-trendy historic Old First Ward many align post-industrial sites with YT. Hence the Central Terminal, one of many beat-up, grand memories. But at least it still stands, unlike the lost Larkin Building. And others.

So yes, I say, wanting to be ever so helpful, and add that I'd like to tap dance, too, as my lessons are temporarily abated due to lack of quorum so YT grabs any and every tapportunity to work the balls and chains.

The tap extravaganza at Gabriel's Gate is another story altogether.

So tapping happens yesterday alongside Hoyt Lake in Delaware Park, early afternoon just when the hot rays of the sun are beating down in a most unflattering and unhealthy manner.

Tap! Tap! Tap! on the dock until Shewwy says that the sound of tapping really is not impressive enough on the fiberglas and how about tapping instead on concrete. Here YT imagines Karen Camp of DanceCamp fame, the latest and not last dance instructor of YT et al, shuddering at the thought of the steel meeting the hot cement, the scraping of the taps. But it did indeed sound great.

And the taps are about 1/8" thick so assumedly there's more to scrape/lose.

Did more takes of tapping, trying not to look too heated, and then did some elegant flying karate kicks.

Then got the brainy idea to do a little tapping on the steps that lead from the banks of the still and green Hoyt Lake to Lincoln Parkway and the AKAG - a moderne point beyond.

On steps tap tap tapping until snapping happened, that awful ankle crunch that YT has experienced before - that crunching that brings one to one's immediate knees.

Immediate Knees - note, another Perfect band name.

A purple demi golfball popped up, and off I hobbled for some ice and sympathy. In lieu of tea and said sympathy.

Sped off to Kennergy's and then points beyond for the appropriate ankle fixing tools.

Onwards then to editing, a foray with Heady, and much more edits.

In a few short hours a gig for a college, what was to be a nice outdoor affair but aforementioned cinematic rain has rendered that a non-happening.

Time to make, do, move along. With a ginger candied ankle moving ever so gingerly upon it.

But no complaints - Simon Griffis is departed, a few friends battle microscopic cancer battles in their bodies, the gush of oil is past ninety days, and the world is indeed less than Perfect but all we can do is our own Perfect best.

Thoughts roam to the pending art show, the drawings, the images, the sketches.

Love of Cinematic Rain, and Love of big sketches of possibility.




 

Parking Lots and Islands.

I tried.
At the suggestion of a former paramour, who sent me digital files from his musical collection, to like Rufus Wainwright.

Just off a twelve-hour shooting, editing, happy pixel pushing/delivery day walked to the gig with a gratis ticket from Co-OpJoe.
I wandered past the old fags in lawn chairs, kids pushing boxes of candy on revelers, hard luck guys pushing their hard luck into everyone's faces asking for money, and other cheapskates watching the proceedings through the chain link fence atop the parking lot of Albright-Knox Art Gallery, à la that unfortunate parking lot "Woodstock" retooling at that Air Force base.
And then past the surprising loud whirring of generators and the stench of festival food grease.
I knew the guys working the gate who goodnaturedly harangued me a bit for coming so late, and about which wrist my drinking band went around, Yours Truly explaining that I am a righthanded drinker and would prefer the band around my right wrist, merci beaucoup.
They both suggested drinking with two hands.
I told them about the above twelve-hour situ and we all concurred that a two-fister could be in order.
Texting had been happening so I knew from Shewwy that my band of focus, The National, had already played and, quite possibly, as is the wont of rock bands the globe over, were packed into their vehicle and were on to the next gig.
I bought some pink drink tix, I texted pals again, I knew Vinnie working the humming beer and wine dispensary.
Vinnie, with a feathery sort of peak of hair that only a handsome makeup artist could pull off with aplomb, was behind the beer but waltzed over to fetch me a white wine, filling a beer-meaning cup to the brim with vino.
We talked weddings - some recent tales from some recent engagements.
How a bride had requested his services at the highly ungodly 5 a.m. to begin makeup.
That dedication to pageantry boggles the mind.
Co-OpJoe hinted at, but didn't entirely spill, about Rufus Wainwright's rider demands, getting back to who was about to appear onstage.
Upon seeing TomL, laden with gear, he affirmed the demands of the headliner, and went on to mention the lengthy rider of B-52s. Fun-loving revelers sans cares in the world? I think not.
Several pages, according to TomL, were devoted to their hair-do demands, a page to B-52s etiquette.
It is common knowledge that Mick Jagger requests that no one touch him, or attempt to shake his hand.
I imagined that creepy Fred Schneider might think along those lines.
I suggested to TomL that he acquire Rufus Wainwright's rider and scan and submit it to thesmokinggun.com for the edification of the masses.
He stated that he would be afeared of losing his own gig.
So Rufus Wainwright hits the stage to elation.
I listened, and listened, I heard a familiar tune, and another familiar tune.
And then they all just became one singer and piano tune after another - mournful, poetical, lyrical.
But the venue of choice would have been Rose Lounge at Gramercy Park Hotel, not this heat-trapped asphalt lot with ambient generator and traffic noise and occasional bellows from the upper-tiered VIP crowd.
I did find Jabsy, and we walked about for a while, studying both Rufus Wainwright and Rufus Wainwright's crowd.
We suddenly noted a lone cute boy texting whilst sitting on a curb.
We went over and befriended this boy who was separated from his pack, and is a photog student from Rochester.
Rufus Wainwright sang and sang and his sister, Martha, came out to play.
Show over, headed out but not before seeing several others to talk and laugh and comment upon the show, the sky, the summer, the luck of it all.
Today I travel up north to see more music, not in a parking lot, but on an island.
An island off the coast of Toronto.
Band of Horses, Pavement, Broken Social Scene, and Beach House.
A complete sonic triumph.
The only band to round out that perfection would be Arcade Fire ... or 1980s REM.


Lucky Lucky, Love.

Infraction Triad

There Yours Truly was truly minding my own business, jogging away from the audaciously-parked vehicle to attend a little meet-up of creative entrepreneur types who wanted tasty bits of information for using this very type of platform - le media social - to enhance one's biz brand.

Yes, the car was in an NJP-type of situ as the ill-designed lot behind the zinc-plastered Burchfield-Penney Art Center is very very tiny indeed.

As I neared the doors a nice man in a black sedan stopped YT to ask if I knew where to leave his own vehicle. I did not. I suggested that he park behind my vehicle in its fabricated spot. He skeptically looked in that direction and moved along to points unknown.

A woman grabbed what could have been his spot. When YT emerged from the social media review there this quarter-page bit of yellow awaited - a PARKING VIOLATIONS WARNING with three encircled infractions: (all in caps, again) NO PARKING PERMIT DISPLAYED, PARKED IN ROADWAY, AND TOW WARNING.

Despite all this the nice officer had taken into sensible account that YT was probably at the social media throwdown sponsored by Small Biz Development Center, who'd warned us that once the event was over we should all run screaming toward our vehicles as the police would be awaiting with tickets.

YT especially likes the scan of the badge - a nice visual touch that says authority despite its blur.

Onwards to more P audaciousness.

Love of P Challenges.

Extra. Extra. Read All About Him.

Extra.
Special little kittie boy is assuredly no longer after sixteen years of our togetherness.
One of my first memories of seeing Extra was as he suckled alongside his sibs, and seeing him and his two fellow kittens hiding atop the wheel of my car to get out of the rain, their three precious little faces peering up at me and meowing at once.

His story:
Extra was first sighted in the next door backyard after his birth, and alongside him were two other kittens.
His mother was a friendly tabby cat, gray.
I fed the entire family, being a lifelong cat feeder, and when the kittens were old enough (after consulting with a vet acquaintance) I got the mother into a new and loving home.
I got the female kitten a home in Lockport - also loving.
And the two boy kittens (Extra and The Killer) were hard to catch so stayed on with me until The Killer's unfortunate and sad ending. I found his body just on the other side of my fence and we buried him after wending his body in unbleached cotton, and said loving words, and placed flowers.

Extra did not like to be indoors.
He was fed daily, had his shots, was groomed, wore a series of fashionable collars, came when called, loved his belly rubbed, never bit or scratched me, loved my voice, let me carry him in my arms and whisper into his ears, and he loved his special treats that he got nearly daily.

When the back door closed he would fret and he'd complain until I let him out again.

Even in blizzards, when I wanted him to stay inside, he'd prefer to be outside and bravely face the elements and the storm and the possible dangers of what was outside.

I trained him to be afraid of cars - when he was very small I'd charge at him while clapping my hands and yelling so that he knew that if he got close to the street that was a thing that mom did not like him to do.
He may have been humoring me and, quite possibly, hung out curbside when I wasn't around.

So, at the age of 16 he still looked to me like a young cat.
I loved that in his middle age he got a swingy belly, as I always said.
I did note that his hips got a little bonier these past few years.

I knew that he'd probably fade away and I would not find his body - I think we knew that we both wanted that to be our ending. When I didn't see him for about a week I worried but thought he'd come back. Two weeks, no Extra. Three weeks and I knew.

I did ask him to send me a sign, to let me know in a dream what happened.
So one night two weeks ago I dreamed that Extra was in my arms, dead, and I carried him like a baby around a party where I and everyone else was very dressed up.
People came over to pet Extra and only when they touched him did they realize that he was stiff and cold, and then they felt very sad indeed for me.

In the dream I was sad that he was dead, but still loved the color of his fur: the black with a hint of auburn when the light hit it a certain way.

He was Extra because each of his Perfect paws featured a few extra toes.

He was a perfect cat, we made time for each other in our frenetic schedules, taking time to enjoy each other when we could.

I miss Extra.

Extra Love.

Waiting for POTUS, not Godot.

As any good photog worth their weight in pixels, Yours Truly, knowing that POTUS was heading to the Middling City this fine May day (the 13th), pursued the photo op with determination.
Senator Gillibrand's office sent around emails to MC media and YT pursued this op via the Shiney Happy Mag, as well as the offices of Gillibrand, Brian Higgins, and Schumer.
All replied, to borrow Chuck's now-famed and oft-repeated phrase: GOFORIT.

YT was just alongside Senator Schumer on Sunday for the Big C at the Big U and am still wondering why I didn't ask him to shove through a cred at that moment.
But, as You will see, all worked out swimmingly and here is YT in a nice soggy self-port moment with laden Air Force One in the background.
Many of us on the riser opted for this photographic moment, either by the hand of oneself - or a colleague.
There is another image of YT with Clark Dever, who was there shooting for WNYMedia.net, started by my pal Marc Odien. Clark and I were captured with the verysame converted 747 by Tina Yee of the Democrat and Chronicle in Kodak City. Most of her images of the two of us are primo, but her Hail Mary technique went off the rails and Clark and I are more out of focus than in the image above.

Obama was slated for landing at 12:20 and AF1 was impressively only ten minutes late - JetBlue-like in its promptness.

We had all checked in by 9 a.m. and were in a generic holding area/building near BNIA's small runway expecting AF1. We were shuttled out to the tarmac (not to be confused with the camera bag of choice by YT, Tamrac) after a thorough security check, and then set our gear up.
We were then back in the building until 11, when we were re-shuttled, reunited with our gear and then more waiting.
At about noon it began to rain, as Norm F predicted, watching his ominous small weather map on his phone.


AF1 lumbered up to the airport, slow and silent, and was spotted by some of the media types, pointing at the sky.
Obama emerged, jaunty and smiling, and was met at the base of the Prior Aviation steps by Brian Higgins, Louise Slaughter, and Byron Brown.
Umbrellas were absent, the limo awaited, and conversation took place next to the passenger door.
Obama took off in a long motorcade and the packing of equipment began, after watching the national media types emerge from AF1 and run to their awaiting limo.
About 200' away the motorcade stopped alongside a BNIA fire house where he met with select reps of Flight 3407 families.
Then they were truly off for ...
on our shuttle bus someone had their laptop opened and on it YT read: 5 Medium, 5 Hot - Obama had been spirited away to the nearest Duff's (on Dick Road) for chix wings.
No tofu for this visiting dignitary, instead fatty and spicy wings.
YT imagines Obama doing extra crunches, etc. tonight to compensate for this repast.

Once back at the vehicle, wended downtown to lunch with Harvey and Leah.

To date YT has photographed both Bushes, Clinton, Gore, and Obama - as well as dozens of other politicos doing what they do ...
Today's access was reasonable but not as close as I've had before. Obama had three hours in the MC.

To draw a parallel to rock star access, today's was Rod Stewartesque rather than Dave Matthews: Rod prefers photogs to be so out of sight that they are practically out of the building. I once quipped to photog handlers that I imagined the next time he played the MC we would indeed need to be shooting from the street outside HSBC Arena.

All in all, a good photo op.
Happy Obama jetted here, he's now in the Shiney Apple - assuredly not eating fast and non-flash food.

Obama Love.

A Tale of Two Border Guards.

In the past month or so Yours Truly has crossed the U.S.A.-Canadian border, moving from alleged democracy to dominion for a piece for the Shiney Happy Mag.
The piece's gist is that the Niagara Falls, New York experience surpasses that to be had on the not-twinned Niagara Falls, Ontario.

Much is always made of the difference between the two sides, and it's generally believed that the U.S. side is tragic, the American side of the falls a sad stone's throw from a very dismal inner city, a former city's downtown and governmental businesses razed for the sake of Urban Renewal.

Then, if the hype is to be believed, the Canadian side is thee place to celebrate the Falls with a wider, better view and with more distractions and attractions.

For shits, giggles and Your erudition, I'll paste in my 1K piece for the SHM.
It's only 1K, read the damned thing, and then YT will present the story of the other border guard, as the first border guard encountered that crossing day figures prominently in the piece, at its beginning.

The Mightiest Multi-Waterfall Experience: NFNY
Story and Photos: Nancy J. Parisi

When asked the purpose of my last trip to Canada by the border services officer with the bad-ass moustache/mirrored sunglasses pairing I opted for full disclosure: “I’m doing a story comparing the two Niagara Falls experiences.” The officer, voice escalating, asked “Where do you start?” “By focusing on the positive aspects of both,” I replied. Our exchange continued with the officer, obviously believing me journalistically misguided, describing (with a wave of his hand to whatever awaited me to his left) the abundance of attractions on this side of the river. “Niagara Falls, New York has been boarded up for thirty years, there’s nothing there. Good luck,” he sneered, handing back my passport card.

What I could not, or would not, tell the border services officer is that I’ve already formed my opinions about what the divergent Niagara Falls experiences have to offer, and was merely here to confirm. Whereas Niagara Falls, Ontario serves up what might be best described as a Vegas-like way to view all three of the Falls (American, Horseshoe, Bridal), Niagara Falls, New York allows one the experience of Cataracts viewing in a more natural, and immediate manner.

This estimation was cemented within me a number of years ago when commissioned by an American publication founded by Europeans (with strong Euro-leanings) to make magnificent/decrepit editorial images that illustrated the very same belief of the aforementioned border patrol officer. I made images on both sides of the Falls showing what a visitor can and does do at this official natural world wonder.

By the end of the assignment I found the Canadian Falls experience, despite the manicured and perfectly-paved pathways, to be rather distanced. When walking alongside Niagara River Parkway–and its six lanes of traffic–near this watery hub, the gaze is toward the water but there is little green space within which to enjoy this viewing: pedestrians walk along pavement and, when needing sustenance, head uphill to a number of restaurants, taverns, and curiosity shops. There are strips of gardens right at the brink (with some souvenirs and refreshments tucked in), but there is little feeling of danger, or interactivity. The waterfalls, while all in view within one postcard-perfect expanse, are remote.

Niagara Falls, New York, by contrast, features miles of hiking alongside the Falls, as well as in woods on pathways encircling and crisscrossing Goat Island, Three Sisters Islands, and toward Prospect Point. If visiting Goat Island remember to look for the large bronze statue of the inventor Nikola Tesla (all about transformers, generators, and, quite possibly, the father of wi-fi), captured mid-reading. Visitors are frequently photographed sitting on Tesla’s lap, on top of his papers.

The Upper Rapids, spectacular year-round, are lovely to visit as a preamble to the supercharged ionized air and rumblings of the Falls. I like to show visitors the Upper Rapids first, letting them walk toward them without introduction, to witness the power of the water before the Falls, to feel the power without guardrails–a bit of grass and brush separating their body from millions of gallons of charging water.

Both sides of the Falls have parking that costs $10. On the American side parking is much closer to the attraction at hand; both sides have transportation if needed. Illustrating the difference between American and Canadian sides are the public viewing apparatuses: on the American side a viewing may be purchased for a quarter whereas the Canadian side (with viewers resembling Brancusi sculptures) has viewing for $1.00 for “single time,” $2 for “double time.”

At the time of this writing Niagara USA Visitor Center, representing all of Niagara County (not just the Falls), had relocated temporarily to the former Niagara Club that is under new ownership. Their new, mod headquarters will be at halcyon 10 Rainbow Boulevard–cataracts are to mist as mist is to rainbows … despite any urban blight in proximity.

A three-year enthusiastic employee there, David, was busy advising tourists about nearby attractions, pointing to a hand-out map: “Number 11 is an IMAX-style movie about the Falls, and lasts 40 minutes, number 14 are the contraptions that people made to go over the Falls, and this is the historical wax museum, the daredevil museum is free, and here is our small aquarium–but they have penguins.”

The two tourist couples didn’t share David’s enthusiasm for penguins, but they were keen on heading to Maid of the Mist for some short-term boating and up-close Falls viewing. They were not planning on crossing the border, due to passport issues. I asked David which side of the Falls are more busy and without hesitation he stated “the Canadian side, of course.” He adds that he talks to people all day about what to do at Niagara Falls and that sometimes, if visitors have been to the Canadian side first, they comment on the park setting of the American side. “They enjoy the park itself,” he says, “and the Falls.”

Living less than twenty miles away from the Falls, and having grown up upstream from this wonder, it’s easy to forget how to distill the experience of viewing all of this without political/socio-economic trappings. Distilled down, Niagara Falls remains a mostly-unspoiled, not over-developed viewing.

Of course urban renewal and the like destroyed what was thriving albeit problematic Niagara Falls, New York. What remains is a wonder, a park, a ring of acceptable restaurants, some faltering businesses, and beyond some inner-city neighborhoods. Despite the condition of what is nearby, people are traveling there to be enthralled, to be fed, to take home a reminder of their enthrallment.

Just disembarked from Maid of the Mist, and walking toward The Great Lakes Gardens beyond the visitor center, Kathryn Craig and Dan Craig of Rochester, New York, gush about their visit to N.F., N.Y. This is the premier Falls visit for both and they vow to return with their children, and grandchildren.

Dan says “we’ve got High Falls at home, and we are amazed at how big this is, High Falls is one-eighth of what this is.” “I loved it, I want to come back,” Kathryn exalts. The two have no plans to cross the border to see the other side, pleased enough with this experience. They’re spending the night at a nearby hotel, celebrating Kathryn’s birthday. Their jubilance is inspiring.

So the other border guard, encountered whilst crossing back.
He's about half the age - or so - of the snarly Canadian border guard, and he's got a shaved head and is wearing Prada sunglasses.
As I pull up to his booth, just after the Queenston-Lewiston bridge, I ask if he can please give me directions to Location X.
Without raising an eyebrow he goes online and Google Map's my directions.
After I've handed him the passport card I ask if he acquired his sunglasses at the nearby Duty Free. No, he says, my girlfriend bought them for me.
So after brief discussion about sunglasses, and directions, I'm off, him handing me my passport card saying Don't forget this - as if YT was about to leave it atop a ginmill's bar.

Onward I drove, onward I wrote.

Onward to More, Love.

Zen of Shoes, and Cheese.

Utterly minding my own business, doing The Google to find out about an org whose membership is lady business owners, I chanced upon this shoe, the Nabu fashioned by Tsubo.
What self-respecting urban(e) girl wouldn't wish to add this model to her creation.
I ask.
What's not shown in this photo is the sling-back feature and contrasting black of the heel.
A triumph.

Also on the burners is in-process design of a t-shirt to be featured in my cafepress.com shop - OptionG.
This will be for the ladies manning my Stim Girls Photo Booth at Artists & Models - dubbed Stimulus this year.
Always oso pithy, the theme is meant to artfully and intelligently encompass the worlds of pop, media, import, newsiness.
If the minds behind Hallwalls (Ed/Polly/John/Carolyn et al) were to name the large-scale fete today would they take a cue from that pesky volcano shutting down Euro airworks which has little FlorAdorable stranded in France.
That could be one of the new daydreams of Yours Truly: to be stranded in France.
Thoughts run, bien sur, automatically to cheese/fromage.

Speaking of such, KatherineGS sent YT an inspiring Roz Chast sheet of cheese-based recipes.
Sample platter.
Cheese Patties - 6 lb. soft cheese. Form cheese into patties. Serve on a bun. Makes enough for 12 patties.
&
Cheese Pick-Me-Up - 1/2 cup water, 1 lb. Brie. Put everything in blender at a high speed. Serve immediately. Just enough for one.
Magnifique.

This past week went to LGG's pre-CEPA Auction cocktail party (arrived late due to a rare non-accident Middling City traffic jam created by the arrival and lecture by Jane Goodall at Canisius College) and amongst others talked to Judy, the purchaser of YT's piece in the last CEPA Auction two years ago - it being of biennial variety.
Judy, it should be noted, won the piece (a triumph made in The Shiney Apple, an iconic piece of YT's, it must be said) and then had instant buyer's freak-out regret and tried to pass it off to dear Annie.
In the end, Judy not only embraced the piece and displays it proudly in her home, but traveled to The Shiney Apple to locate the origins, the original sign featured in the piece.
When I next saw Judy she showed me her documentation of the sign featured, and the small adhesive bandage stuck to the sign that YT liked very much. YT was ever so slightly surprised that Judy removed the bandage, and saved it.

Nancy, I want you to know an additional part of the story un regards to Gramercy Park. I copied the quote that was on back of the photo and framed that! "love flowers. Love cities."I do love the photo ( both yours and mine). So glad I drank the wine and bid on it! See you next weekend. Judy

My photo Gramercy Park Sign, Flowers shown in Judy's image alongside my framed backside quote.
Judy's doc of the sign in situ at right - with different Gramercy Park plantings, bandage still affixed.

Back to The Shiney Apple soon for more making, doing, walking.
High on priority list, besides ASMP event, is work by those in the Whitney Biennial (including Jessica Hutchins's), Marina Abramović, and oso much more.

In situ Love.

Character - and Character - Analysis.

1.
Character foremost is blazing one of the Middling City, its essence, the thing that makes it unmistakably the MC.
Yours Truly is working on a series, a personal project for possible and probable inclusion in a forthcoming exhibit: Buffalo the Beautiful.
The above image might be in the show - or one like it.
It's an early morning encounter, driving down Elmwood Avenue (this not being the Shiney Apple the downs and ups are not stringently applied - down is south, whereas up is north so a drive from North to Allen, for example, is down and herein YT rests her case), with the sun-shafted bubbles streaming out of the window of Bubble Man who lives at Elmwood and Allen.
As I told Burly Font, this image collection is meant to rustle together some Perfectly positive images of the MC, I mean the Beautiful Buffalo.
BF and I have a tentative date to make images at the same time on a foray into the Grain Elevator District.

2.
A few weeks back YT photographed a man who is a leading international star in the mysterious realm of polygraphy.
Being YT, YT, more minding not only my own business, as is my constant wont, but in that moment the business of mine, the character/subject, the client, and the piece of Haydn playing on the hi-fi as I worked.
Part of the gig of making portraits is finding a means of connecting visually and humanistically to the matter/subject/character at hand so questions and statements and such are bandied about.
Being in the company of a polygraph artist thoughts and questions naturally quickly turned to sociopaths and the like.
Had the character in front of the lens of YT wired up and tested sociopaths, and, if so, how many and did he think that some people were simply born bad.
He claims to have interviewed/tested thousands of sociopaths and other nogoodniks and does believe that some are born with no scruples.
I asked if he could always tell a liar.
And pondered if I had been telling any lies or fibs to this man.
But I had not, so had nothing to fear, like a telltale twitch of the chin, or other somesuch clue.
The polygraph character said No, I cannot always tell if someone is lying.
But the machine, he says, is another matter.
He's rewritten the book, a five-pound book (this is true, wire me up if You don't believe me) about submitting the test in a more effective manner.
YT hopes indeed to never have to be polygraph tested.
By this character, or any.

Love of Character Analysis - 101, 201, 301, or perhaps even 401.

Patty Hearst Society.

Caution: written with fingertips dripping acid, read with caution.

The image above, whilst fresh as the sonic reverberations rolling off of Pink Floyd's world-rollicking Dark Side of the Moon, inspired Yours Truly to go up to her harried and stalwart mother and query thusly: Mom, can I get a pea coat.
Mom: No.
And that was the end of that.
Until, years later, revered Gramma Vickie sent along a pea coat, up from Georgia, reading the mind (as she often did) of her eldest granddaughter.
It was rust color.
Close enough.
It was worn gleefully with that socialite-turned-captive-turned-fashion-icon in mind.
Commuted by Jimmy Carter.
And pardoned by Bill Clinton, the other recent presidential lefty.

The current lefty signing off on the historical Healthcare Bill with no less than twenty pens.
Twenty.
YT has witnessed signings of all genres but never one with that number of pens.
Five, maybe.
Twenty, not yet.
And YT would like to state that this change, in my Perfect and humble op, is for the better as now the lesser evil of health insurance influences (the government and its attendant interests) will prevail over that of the insurance companies themselves.

In the past few weeks YT has learned of two very good friends' cancers, as well as a few other tragedies under the header of Health.
The one friend, diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer, is off to an alternative therapy venue in the wild state of Texas, and the other, diagnosed with breast cancer, is being operated upon this week.
The former is uninsured for what she believes will save her life, and a benefit is being planned to help her with her Hope.
The latter is insured.
And lucky.
Another friend is going bankrupt lying in a hospital bed, uninsured.
Another friend is not going bankrupt, diagnosed and operated upon with cancer, in Canada where OHIP covers healthcare in a reasonable manner.

YT has lit more than a few large white candles lately to help in a wishful, Japanese Buddhist wishes-tied-to-trees manner, those who need it.
And bending the ear of one departed Nelson Baker to see just what he can do.

YT, walking the marbled walkways of The Basilica of former steel town Lackawanna with my Art/Life Mentor who is of no religious persuasion save Art and past family Jewish origins, knew far more about the curriculum than I.
YT knew of candles, wishes, and the miraculous remains of Nelson Baker.
! Blood Perfectly preserved after decades.
Whereas Art/Life Mentor knew fine details.
Or, maybe like tap dancing class, YT just wishes to rewrite the story to her own Perfect liking.

Perfect liking, Love.

Parades. I really really love them. Really.

Yours Truly, completely minding my own parade-related business, meandered through the mean streets of the Middling City's Old First Ward to collect up some pixels documenting the annual real Saint Patrick parade.
Whereas the other MC Irish parade centers on throngs, silly string, and a too-long cavalcade of seemingly every org/club/wolfhound/Celt/saint/union in the vicinity, the OFW version is short, sweet, and in a much more photogenic setting - trees and homes in lieu of businesses.
Plus there is the matter of backlighting - the Sunday/Delaware/Elongated parade is peskily backlit as it heads from south to north. The light is diffused but there are moments when it would be much more photographically pleasing to have the whole kaboodle marching in the opposite direction - YT thinks the parading feng shui would be much more right on.

So this above image rather fits in to my ongoing Girls with Guns series. But the other images show girls holding faux rifles, usually painted white. This gun appears on the ground, as if thrown post-armed robbery.



Big big parade news in the MC was that the powers that be allowed for the premier time a group of openly homosexual marchers to march.
So despite the fact that YT could no longer feel her hands or feet YT marched along con brio down the avenue to meet the gay Saint marchers on the crest of the bridge that spans from Ward to Valley.

A triumph.

Parades should be all-accepting as they're usually for some higher purpose or cause - holiday, nation, victory.
One year at the Delaware version of this saint parade YT cried as some high school marching band musicians were harangued by a group of terrifying drunk white loser men.
And YT hoped that these children didn't hear these taunts over their music.

This was the first year that I did not cry at a parade - not sure if this is another triumph.

My favoured YT-Sobbing-at-Parade story is me at the age of twenty-something when I stayed at the rowhouse near Columbia, owned by Columbia, off of Amsterdam, and watching a lovely short and sweet neighborhood parade bobble by, as I held a piece of pizza on a paper plate, tears dropping all over the slice.

The End.

Sliced, tearing, jubilant, parading Love.

NSC in NJ

Yours Truly, NJ, as You well know, is in NJ.
That well-rounded literal-type irony, is appreciated.
What is not appreciated, YT can tell You, in this moment, is the lady to YT's left who decided that YT's dinner/snack of so-called green tea sushi in a joint that promises spiritual accomplishment and perhaps omigosh (as MAD mag lovingly put it) - Samsara - the parfum and goal of champeens the world over, was her hors d'oeuvre.
(NJ accent) O my gawd, I am so embarrassed, to quote.
YT, ever so empathetic, downplayed the faux pas and even insisted this NJ insurance saleslady enjoy one more piece of said green tea tidbit.
And now, good karma in hand, chardonnay in brain, good will in heart, traipses off to photo lecture at photo conference with thee David Burnett.
YT = fan.
It is ever so refreshing to have heroes.
Time to extricate myself from Samsara/sushi curio with Db's-a-blarin' and head off to higher learning of all things pixel.

Higher Pixel Learned Love, Love.

Another Perfect One from Accidental Frame Series.

First item on Perfect Docket is that Yours Truly gleefully acquired the drawing table of Late Great Jackie Felix, artist.
YT had been searching on & off for a drawing table for some time, always thwarted by the thought of said drawing table showing up at the studio doors in a FLAT box. Meaning: 500 loose parts, an enclosed allen wrench, and a bevy of tears ... and heartache. Until a rescue operation, as happened with the on-sale elliptical a few years ago.
Thankfully, my patient parents came to the rescue and two hours later voilà - elliptical.

Went to Jackie's studio with LBC and perused her still-full studio teeming with works on paper of all sizes.
Separated top and bottom of drawing table, paid for it, and swept it away into its new creative h.q.
Actually feel the aura of Jackie on it, and know it will inspire the toppermost creative energies to fall out onto the paper at hand.

Speaking of hand, set up next hand model for the next new piece.
And ordered Kat a framed print of the piece that she posed for oso patiently - Flame Hand.

Put in proposal for the next Artists & Models, dubbed Stimulus.
YT's piece, ever-interactive and still incorporating the sale of now-extinct, rare, and precious Polaroids, will be chock full of live Stim Girls, and exuberance.
As is my A&M wont.
I wrote to Polly at HW yesterday that YT has taken part of all but two A&M, and was present as a happy spectator at the first.

YT received a generous grant via NPPA to attend the next Northern Short Course in New Brunswick, NJ.
Ever so excited, it's a wondrous thing to swim amongst one's colleagues and talk shop, pixels,lenses and oso much more for days.
And it's been a long while since YT took on the role of Conventioneer.

Pixel Swim Love.

Flame Hand.

This piece is oso brand new, Flame Hand.
As is my wont, as is my cannot-get-into-studio-mode wont, made a sketch first of the piece and then made it concrete.
Actually, made it with not concrete but one hour's worth of gluing flower petals to Kat's hand - after deconstructing an expanse of Gerber daisies.

CEPA biennial auction happens on April 24th and the section of their site devoted to the biennial hoopla is as lovely as the pub of same purpose.

There is another work in the works and that hand model is reserved. Now waiting for the right flowers to come along. May have to grow them myself, as I did for the exhibition that I had in Olean - hands + all flowers homemade.

Time to make, do, and wend into a late-winter wet snow flaking around the Middling City, desperately, in the op of Yours Truly, needing some fresh new white layers.

Layered Snowy Love.

Sunshine and Windburn.

Totally minding my own art-making business I have become completely windburnt tromping about the Shiney Apple.

Sad to learn yesterday of the passing of poet Gabrielle, a firey spirit who has left this stage too soon. It is a strange modern thing looking at one's FB page and seeing such life, then the slowing down of life, one's last update, and then the sympathetic words from friends.

There is a collection of new images in the little Leica that Yours Truly is happy with, and these might end up in print, on a wall, being the art apple of someone's eye.

That is the hope.

Saw former Middling City residents Dorota, Jason, Justy, and Gretchen yesterday for fun. Gretchen's work was hanging in a building in DUMBO and her work is truly lovely with branches on some pieces reaching out like a partially-captured, handmade forest sample.

Walking through the various galleries Justy and I met up with a gallery owner who he does business with, who was inquiring about making digital files of Robert Frank originals in front of him on his desk - one quite lovely, a compilation of fill stills from a short film made in Nova Scotia.

That is part of the partial magic of yesterday.

More forthcoming.

Forthcoming More Love.

Happy, Spicy.

Could Yours Truly, completely minding her own art-making & looking beeswax on the right side of the Empire State, be any happier this very moment.
I think not.
Firstly, the pesky man who sat alongside me at beloved Café Habana has finally left.
After the several furtive raised eyebrow-raises between me, corner eater (in MY spot), and barista.
He took a few smoke breaks, again to more raised eyebrows.
The last lasting so long that there was speculation between staffers if he might return.
A glance down Prince Street revealed that he of ruddy face and gape-mouthed eating was indeed just a few yards further along the street.
His stare burrowed holes into the left side of my face.
And, as I told the adorable barista, I had to replace my shuffle back atop my reading head to not hear any more sluicing of foodstuffs in his mouth.
And, because of this eater, YT is embarking on yet another new YT-crafted enterprise: Extreme Table Manners Makeover.
This show will be on the road, and will be a slightly different, probably as soon-to-be viral as the dude who documents the disgusting on subways.
After a court of law determined that his bloggings-on about his fellow I think N Train riders was constitutional YT imagines yet more lemmings will attempt to cash in on this reality television show that is life - at times.
But of course YT really intends ETMM as a public service more than anything else.

YT is here in the Shiney Apple to make art.
YT is here to find art.
YT is here to look.
And think.
This is what is called a freelancer's vacation - grabbed when possible.
And working on the road.
And coming up with making-over ops.

Onward to the museum where the mother of YT was wounded two summers ago on trip with YT - New Museum - to see some conceptual work by one Urs Fischer.
Mirrors, body parts, wack scales of objets - a recipe for titillation.

Onwards.

Artful, enterprising Love.

Toxic White Crap @ Co-Op

Egads.

Yours Truly, minding her own subset of business at the co-op, was shocked - shocked - to see a mound of mini marshmallows resembling a mound of mushrooms or somesuch other type of mold emerging from a chafing dish.
YT was getting some morning coffee and to the left was this assemblage of toxic sugar crap, an ill-advised topping for sweet potatoes.
YT loves sweet potatoes and would never top them in such a manner.
A little curry powder, yes.

Was contacted today by NN regarding my image of the candlelight vigil at Merge, for usage on the Buffalo Rising site.
Of course I was happy to oblige.
I will be donating a small new piece to a benefit for Merge and the family of the boy who was killed on Monday - an appropriate piece that is, quite literally, about Love.

Also donating to the CEPA auction, as is my historical wont.
This year is the tenth of this biennial incarnation.

Time to make, do, and make much joy via pixels.

Love of Love, Love.

Frogs, and Rainbows.

Yesterday, minding my own business, as is my steadfast wont, at a gig at the Middling City's dank City Hall, I spotted a field of green.
Specifically, it was a florescent, deep office on one of four hallways to left and right, east and west off the main lobby.
Searching for more individuals doing photographically-interesting things for a publication, I spied the field of green.
I meandered into the office and asked a woman back by the windows who collected the hundreds of stuffed and statuesque frogs.
Her daughter, she told me, many years earlier, had bought her a frog figurine for Valentine's Day. And so began her hobby.
This is a recurring theme of collectors - sometimes it all began with a gift from well-meaning someone.
So now all the clients she sees in her City Hall office, she says, bring her all kinds of frogs.
There was one made out of coal, a stuffed one that a client kissed so that she'd meet a prince, and frogs of all shades of green - and various sizes.
The vibe in the office was light, happy even, a far cry from the adjacent hallway where cold, dark chairs line the walls as individuals await their time in dreaded traffic court.

Speaking of such, Yours Truly received in the mail this week my suitable-for-framing, green certificate from Driver Improvement Program.

Last night drove up to Rainbow Rollerskating Rink for a triad of birthday party - with three other roller chicks.
Veni, vidi, rolli, and after the onslaught of dance music from the 80s and early 90s there was some cake, conviviality, and an onsite bouncehouse.
Once some pesky children cleared out of the bouncehouse, I suggested to Sherry it would be a primo op to bounce, not roll.
So bounce we did.
And this will, as I predicted, be an excellent addition to my plans, hopes, and dreams of having a Perfect 10/10/10 celebration.

Perfect, bouncing Love.

Newbies: 10 10x10 for 1/10 Show

This past Friday, 1/8/10 (luckiest numbers of Yours Truly are 18, and 10 so this was an auspicious date), made some new work with the handy help of hand model Heady - a good-natured beast ever so patient with requests to soften a thumb, to hold arms up in an awkward position so that the light (photons, as we say in the photo trade) may work its magic.

The final result is a suite of ten, for a show at the end of this month at Studio Hart, curated by Molly Jarboe and also with collaborative pieces by Lisa & Andrew - pomes in print and picture.

The images are black & white, each printed as 10x10. No glass, they're printed on durable material and loving the accessibility/immediacy.

Artful Jubilant Love.