Just jetted back, again. Was greeted by several of the boys/the kitties and gave them a sound brushing to get rid of the flotsam and jetsom in their fur.
Ani is playing Central Park's summer stage on July 16th and I have to call Righteous Babe, home of the Little Folk Singer, for creds... and passes.
Barry White, I heard via an overhead tv monitor, passed onto the big soul lounge in the sky today - too soon.
Thank you Barry for all your romantic music.
Time to play some of that and thank you some more.
Off after that to a bbq and some small-scale pyros before a walk to Delaware Park for larger, more expansive pyros.
God Bless My Underwear!

dreams.

1. A few nights ago I dreampt/drempt/dreamed (?) that I made an art installation and that the pieces were sculptural, sound art. They were on pedestals and when a certain word was uttered the piece would grow. A piece might recognize the word fuck and when the sculpture heard the word it would snap to life and get larger, change configuration.

2. Last night after twelve hours at school I walked, as always, through Washington Square Park and there were, on the eastern quadrant around the fountain, hundreds of chalk circles. Big and small. The artist(s) left behind several unfinished chalks and it looked like they suddenly lost interest in their circular project and went away. They used many of the circles to write words that have O in them... lOve, spOrts, hOnor, etc. I wanted to shoot this circle art and today it was gray, rainy, no circles. Almost like a dream of circles, chalk, temporality.

Somnamulistic Love.

Purchased and have been playing with the Olympus digital 5050. Almost accidentally blinded myself last night by throwing it on night setting, pointing at my face and getting zapped by a shocking beam of orange light emanating from it. Have been doing street photos as well as some images ranging from thoughts of flowers wrapped in bronze wire. Both shot with 5050 (amazingly 6megapixels) and the Hasselblad borrowed from Parsons. Still not impressed with the Hassel501, it makes me further appreciate my Mamiya RZ and its wonderful rectangular format. And rotating back.
My street images are always of something with figures in the background, inspired by my gallery (usually) newspaper images when I purposely include and crop in the paper to images/figures in the background - to me as important as the foreground faces.
A reaching pathetic urban planter with figures walking away way in the back.
In moments there's a demo for us grad people of a Leaf digital back which is thrilling me to no end. I'm thinking I'd like to avoid the darkroom if possible, go from digital back to screen to print. If we're to be stretching the black & white prints, still in my mind, should be shelved while I play with the aforementioned.
Discovered a very secret french joint perfect for reading, a far cry from the salad bar universe around the school. And mere steps from it. Where a bottomless bucket of coffee, baguette and accoutrements are $4 and the background music is oso French.
Baguettes of Love.

Yesterday was a rockstar extravaganza with 7 or 8 hours of walking from stage to stage and talking with some of my favored Middling City residents, those who populate bands.
In a nutshell: Tony Christiano couldn't play as he had a dislocated shoulder from softball, Steve Ryder can play now after recuperating from punching a window - when his hand "went through something glass," The Sheila Divine is fairly done, members of Cracker complained about border crossing and their drummer asked me when I was standing onstage near him what the non-alcoholic version of Labatt Beer is (?), Alison Pipitone had a blemish on one side of her face and asked me to shoot her from her right side so I began to call her Liza (as in Minelli, who had me shoot her from her left side ONLY), Mockba performed in matchy-snatchy b-ball unis, Freeland played in his uniform FUCK tights which shocked my 6-year old niece for some reason, Val Townsend from The Edge showed me the exciting things she was crafting up with the wack of Mardi Gras beads hanging about the radio station's remote van, missed Baby Rock Star but not his one remaining bandmate who was covered in sweat, got hugs from numerous sweaty individuals, tried to get a shot of Eddie The Cop Cotter emptying some unfortunate punk rockers' 40s onto the ground so as to make it look like he was drinking it himself, etc.
Imagistic and Meandering Love.