Archive for iphoto
This is an unusual winter day, in central New York…wet and windy after a night and morning of torrid rain. We continue this winter’s pattern of unusually mild weather with spikes of freeze.
The rainbow was a nice surprise, Henry and Valentine sauntering beneath it, too.
Ah, winter in central New York…
Just over five years ago (after too many years in LA), I moved to central New York to renovate an 1820’s farmhouse that I had bought sight unseen off of a Facebook post.
Central New York. The beauty of the area, the seasons, the open spaces…brought me to my knees. Literally. It was what made of me an Iphonographer.
It was as if, so far into the middle of nowhere, I could see again.
That first winter was mild and wet, too. I wondered where the fabled heavy snows and ice storms of the NE had gone.
I remain grateful for the reprieve…as do Henry and Valentine. Their endless foraging continues unhampered by pesky ice and snow. Miller (not pictured) continues to lay eggs.
And I continue to take photos with my iPhone, unable still to use it as an actual phone..in the middle of nowhere.
“Make your ego porous. Will is of little importance, complaining is nothing, fame is nothing. Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.”
~Rainer Maria Rilke
Dunga Brook Diary
Infused Metal Plates
Float Mounted, Ready To Hang
Art comes into being in that abstract interval between a thought and reality, and no one – not even the artist who created it – can remeasure the influences that caused it.” (Edgar A. Payne)
“One of my mentors, Miss Pamela des Barres, imagines that if my images were music they would sound like Beethoven, Sinatra and the Beatles combined. I’ll take that.
It is my intent to deify and illuminates the ordinary and my desire is that you might find the beautiful in the ordinary, too.
Each photo is imbued with the mystery of love at first sight, infused with my present and my past and my daily rebirth into a new freedom, a swan dive, if you will, into the deep end of the pool, lit by color, texture, and emotion.”
If you are interested in being a collector, thank YOU!
There are 5 in a series, some near sold-out, email a description of your selection.
Credit cards/Paypal, shipping- West Coast $15, East Coast $10
A portrait! What could be more simple and more complex, more obvious and more profound. ~ Charles Baudelaire, 1859 I am an iPhoneographer shooting with natural light. I document the rural life of central New York- those things that are closest to me…the flora, the fauna, the people. With people, I like to capture the portrait in a nano second, even if the sitters are posing…I wait for the moment between breaths, the second where the guard drops in order to capture the essence in front of me. iPhones are tricky in situations with movement so patience is key.
September 2005. Early. Sunday.
I am in a town car with a sharp dressed driver on my way to LAX to catch a flight to JFK…first trip with the new job. Funds are low but I have enough to get me to NY and back. For sure. Just to be sure I call B of A to get my balance.
I have that number memorized. When you live on fumes, this is what you do. You check your balance.
Instead of hearing what I want to hear, the robotic voice of the B of A lady informs me that I am in the negative by several hundred dollars.
In the back seat of the black car gliding through the green lights of an early morning Venice on the way to the airport, I can’t breathe. My fingers tremble as I dial B of A again, once connected I push random numbers until I get a human on the line.
The coffee shops and video stores and liquor stores are a blur as the B of A human informs me that my last check hasn’t cleared and won’t clear for days.
The driver has his eyes on me in the rearview mirror. He looks like Bill Cosby, a bit thicker, but about the same age and height, he looks like what I imagine Bill Cosby to look like. Where has Bill Cosby gone? I hang up the phone.
“Miss? I couldn’t help but hear…are you having money issues?”
How could I have stepped into this hired car this morning without any money? I thought I was finally caught up. After years of being underemployed I’d knuckled under and gone back to the corporate job with the big paycheck…this is my first trip to the big deal sales conference in NY. How can I be such a fuck up?
“Miss, how much do you need? I have $500 in cash, do you need more? I can get more.”
We are in Culver City now, the road goes from 2 lanes to 4, the airport is just ahead.
I look into his eyes, the review mirror is just big enough for his kind eyes. I want to wail. What do I need? I need so much. So very much. My mother just died of a horrible, unfair disease called ALS, right before that my love and I split after 4 years, my teenage son is spiraling out of control, not to mention all of my bills are past due and I’m on my way to NY to spend time with people who resent my new position in this voraciously stupid company that I just signed on to AND I have no goddam cash to get me there!
“Sir, $500 is more than enough.”
At LAX, he hands me $500 along with two business cards, one for the limo service and one that states in black and white that he is a minister in Watts.
I thank him from the bottom of my weepy heart. He waves goodbye and leaves in that shiny black town car.
I will never forget him, my angel in a sharp suit.
“Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private. ”
20 liner poets Chris Shearer, Leslie Berliant and yours truly are reading tonight at the Cherry Branch Gallery in Cherry Valley, NY…home to Ginsberg et al.
“Cherry Valley has a long history as an artist and writer’s community. Willa Cather left New York City for the isolated village in 1911, writing O Pioneers! while there. Poet Allen Ginsberg bought a farm there in the 1960s, and the town became a haven and destination point for many of the major personalities of the Beat scene:
William Burroughs, Gregory Corso, Peter Orlovsky, Herbert Huncke, Ray Bremser, Anne Waldman, Robert Creeley, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Harry Smith, Mary Beach, Claude Pelieu and many others all spent time either living or visiting there.
Poet Charles Plymell still lives in Cherry Valley (and I heard he gave a nod of approval to my iPhoneography show)—he and his wife Pam ran Cherry Valley Editions from their home, publishing small editions of major writers. Jazz pianist Paul Bley and Jeff Palmer are residents of the small town, as is artist/writer Jack Walls, artists Richard Saba and Mark Mastroianni, film maker James Rasin, and National Book Award nominated novelist Dana Spiotta.
The transgender pioneer, actress and Andy Warhol Superstar Candy Darling is buried in the historic Cherry Valley Cemetery. A significant portion of the award winning feature length documentary film about her life, Beautiful Darling (2010), was shot in Cherry Valley. The photographer Ryan McGinley has staged several photo shoots in and around the village, and the artist Dash Snow shot one of his last 8mm pieces, “Sisyphus, Sissy Fuss, Silly Puss”, there in late May 2009.”
Photo of Ginsberg’s farm…taken last summer.
I walk out the door. It’s Monday. It’s April. It’s Central New York. It’s complicated. The wild fields lie flat, the color of wet straw, felled first by frost then snow now sleet and rain and wind. The ground is still stiff with permafrost, daily softening. Nearest the brook lies some hopeful green. Mud season again when the earth speaks in secrets. I find a jawbone, a saucer, a small skull, the bottom of a clay vase. A lawnmower once hidden by waist high burdocks. I don’t hope to recover whats been truly lost, those things that live on in my heart. I don’t hope. It’s enough to collect the bones between snow banks and rocks, between winter and spring.
Did you see that video…
Where someone smiles at a stranger and that stranger smiles at another stranger and that stranger helps an old man across the street and that old man smiles at a mother and her baby and…it gives you a glimpse at how the world goes round when one person sees another, gives them a kind moment?
Well, this morning I was watching Chevy and Plato in the fresh snow, it was pristine and quiet until the snow plow went thundering by so I waved and the driver honked.
Later, inside the house, the dogs were barking so I looked outside and there was the snowplow parked in the middle of co.hwy. 19…the driver was at my mailbox, apparently he had knocked my mailbox off with the plow, as snow plow drivers famously do, and had come back expressly to fix it.
I can’t help but think it was that little wave in the morning that brought that next scene to life.
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~Anais Nin