on witmer street
February 28, 2009
this morning the beautiful and the tragic danced cheek to cheek. to the right, a quinceañera. a riot of dandelion yellow skipping down red steps. zoot suits, sparkly heels, puffy dresses and bouffants sweet and sticky with hairspray. the girls and boys giggled and squinted in the sun while waiting on the sidewalk. to the left, a makeshift memorial for a tamalero shot to death the day before. a half dozen lit candles, red and white roses, a few prayers and dry blood. for 25 years, the father of three sold tamales on that block, festive cumbias flowing from his old white and green station wagon.
who knew
February 27, 2009
a garden of art would bloom in the time i was gone? mona lisa, jimi hendrix, obama and che. brilliant and grimy, sprayed on the walls like guerilla graffiti.
*photos: downtown arts district. february 2009.
self-portrait # 3: photogram
February 26, 2009
i stunk, stunk like a field of rotten cabbage in the dark room tonight. my negatives were overexposed, overdeveloped and out of focus. i tried to fix things (over and over again) until they shut down the place, but that didn’t make my poopy photos any better. this is going to be a lot harder than i thought. really makes me miss photogram week when i could just stick my head in the enlarger and make pretty silhouettes of myself.
great news
February 25, 2009
on the photography front. i found a mentor; a genius, a real life professional to meet with me weekly and answer the torrent of questions flooding my brain as of late. in return, i’ve promised this kind and patient man lots and lots of the world’s finest coffee and if necessary, some pan dulce.
anyone who’s been around me recently knows this photography thing has taken on a life of its own. like godzilla on crack in a girl’s gone wild video. godzilla on crack without an instruction manual. “how was your day?” my cousin asks. “glad you asked, let me show you my pictures!” … ”can you hang out friday night?” my friend says on the phone. ”why yes, that way i can take your picture!” … “do you want me to make you some flan?” my mom asks. “sure! that might make a good picture.”
everything and everyone is unfolding before me in a new light. literally. and i’m like a moth bolting toward it.
to what end? i have no idea. i just know that i carry my camera in its cute, little camera diaper in my purse every single day and when i walk down the street and see a photo in someone’s chiseled face, their leathery hands, neon-pink hat, toothless child or pudgy pup, i hear godzilla growl. i want to scream FREEEEEZE! like they do on movie sets (at least i figure that’s what they do on movie sets) zoom in with my feet and snap away.
most of the time, i freeze. i swoon and sulk and quietly stalk the moment — the face, the hands, the hat — until it vanishes down the street. (two weeks ago in arizona i shadowed a little girl and her pink coat for three blocks, but couldn’t gather the nerve to kneel and shoot.) the travel abroad version of me would be ashamed. when i leave the U.S., a travel alter-ego takes over my eyes, my feet, my hands and my camera and i’m fearless. every flashing moment is mine, no exceptions.
this might be my first question over coffee tomorrow. how do i channel that version of me at home?
* photos: paris. spring 2006. shot with my old palm pilot
winter on its last breath
February 24, 2009
put on a show along the 71 this morning. green hills, crisp air and streaks of white cotton candy.
happy house
February 23, 2009
full of lots and lots of family on sunday. in the kitchen, in the dining room, in the living room, in nearly every bedroom and out back by the tangerine tree. all ready to celebrate. happy birthday, dad, and uncle frank!
a new night
February 22, 2009
with new girls. amazing girls. there was white wine and spicy thai (freshly cooked by marie); chocolate brownies, chocolate cake and chocolate cookies. at the center of the dining table in a house more fit for dolls, peach roses and a love therapist. (a love therapist!) beautiful and full of great advice. like “watch your romantic blind spots.” never heard of such a thing. really made me wonder how many nice boys have gone neglected in my blind spots.
*Photos: Pasadena. February 2009.
far too much
February 21, 2009
to say about sweet mitzu. “meat soup” in my mind. homecoming princesses crowned with tiaras. a crazed gerbil down my sweatshirt. a buzzing bee in her hand. fresh tuna, dark lipstick and a wealth of stories about a wealth of boys that came and went like mitzu’s hair balls: tony, josh, alex, jose, ryan and leo. once, because we thought we were cool, we wore matching men’s boxers — with no pants — to school. and once, because we were bored, we ended up stranded along train tracks running for our lives. if our parents could have locked us in our closets until we turned 21, i’m sure they would have. though knowing us, it would have made little difference.
* photo: santa monica. february 2009.
first assignment
February 20, 2009
in my photography class. photograms.
turned the corner
February 19, 2009
and there they were. tucked between the marshmallow peeps and the chocolate bunnies: this year’s cadbury eggs. manufactured springtime wrapped in tin foil. tulip fields and cherry blossoms of LA, where the only sign of season’s change is often found in grocery store aisles: beach umbrellas, plastic pumpkins, christmas lights and wind-up chicks. kinda sad, i know. but i’ll take it. i’m a sucker for those creamy eggs.
