Kodak announced today that it has stopped manufacturing Kodachrome slide film. Already there is a Wikipedia entry about it!
As a tribute to this product used by photographers for 74 years, Kodak has provided a slide show of 43 stunningly beautiful photographs taken by Peter Guttman, Steve McCurry and Eric Meola. The gorgeous, saturated colors in these works of art take my breath away.
One of the unexpected thrills for me during our April stay in Paris was photographing Ingrid Grace, an Australian woman who ran the 2009 Paris Marathon. A veteran of 4 marathons in her home country, Ingrid came in 17th among the women who ran in her class (age 50-59) and, if memory serves, beat her best time to date doing it.
Ingrid, a quiet woman with a engaging smile, seems shy when you meet her. Her Australian accent has the charm of the drawl of our southern states. Her day job is in a library, but her real passions are drawing and running. When she showed us pictures of her work on Facebook (here are a few examples)
or discussed her running experiences with us, her commitment to and love of what she is doing was nothing less than inspiring.
She was a fascinating subject. Under the eye of the camera, the pleasant, quiet woman turned into someone of strength and conviction. In many of the pictures, her calm, but fearlessly unwavering gaze is mesmerizing. Determination, confidence and an inner beauty shine through. You can have no doubt that she has the commitment, faith in herself and fortitude both to run marathons and to make amazing art.
It is not easy to have your photograph taken. And it is harder still to look at the results with objectivity. Ingrid has succeeded in doing that and, in doing so, has put herself in the position of the live models she captures with her drawings. She accepted that she would see what I and my camera see and not, necessarily what she sees.
Ingrid has looked at the results of our photo shoot with an artist's objectivity. She understands my part in the project and has has been wonderfully open to the different treatments I have given her pictures
Being treated as a fellow artist has been very humbling and very uplifting for me.
I hope that the experience has been a good one for Ingrid too.
You can see a set of photos of Ingrid here.
Thank you, Ingrid, for letting me photograph you and for permission to share some of your art here on my blog. May the wind always be behind your back.
When we are in Paris, we generally eat out once a day, most often sometime in the early to mid afternoon.
Breakfast is fresh croissants purchased from our local boulangerie and coffee brewed in a French Press, supplemented with orange juice and sometimes yogurt.
Dinner is most often fresh french bread, cheese, a salad and ham, sausage or paté, all accompanied by a nice red wine purchased from a wine store or the nearby mini-super market.
Over the years, we have eaten at some of the finest restaurants in the city, though there are some that we have yet to try. Taillevent comes to mind. One memorable meal, both for the location and the company, was our dinner with Paul and Pam at Le Grand Véfour, the only Michelin three-star restaurant in which I have ever eaten.
When I was teaching in Paris in July of 2005, I spent a ridiculous amount on a superb multi-course dinner with matching wines at l'Astrance, then a relatively new restaurant recommended by our friend, Paul. In December 2007, Charles and I joined Paul and his wife, Pam, to enjoy a lunch together at the same restaurant. Both Pam and Paul are passionate about good food and wine. Watching Paul identify wines presented with each of the many courses in the prix fixe meal was impressive. This man doesn't just talk the talk when it comes to wine. The fact that I remember our lunch with such pleasure is a testament to the excellent food and the wonderful company. I arrived at the restaurant distraught because my beloved Canon 20D had broken when it slid off of my shoulder at the Nation métro stop on our way to the restaurant.
Another memorable four-hour lunch was spent with Marie and Gérard at Le Jules Verne, perhaps 4 or 5 years ago. Located on the second stage of the Eiffel Tower, it was then a Michelin one-star restaurant. I remember that Charles and Gérard ordered snail soup as their first course. To me it looked like a thick, gray glop but to them it was ambrosia. Different strokes. By 4 pm. the restaurant was empty of all but the four of us. Looking over the city bathed in late afternoon light, Charles and I called our son, Nick,in Tallahassee. What a kick!! Before we left, we were invited to visit the kitchen and chat with the chef, Alain Reix. Great fun. The restaurant recently underwent renovation and is now the domain of master chef Alain Ducasse. One of these days we may return.
Alas, however, with the devaluation of the dollar against the Euro and the "economic crisis," we find ourselves concentrating on finding pleasant places to eat where the final bill is less - how shall I put it? - eye popping.
Make no mistake. Paris is not a city in which you can dine cheaply unless you wish to cook your own, buy frozen dinners at Picard (NOT my choice), hit a MacDo, try the Belgian fast food chain, Quick, buy a sandwich or crepe on the street (great fun on a beautiful day when you want to eat on a quai by the Seine), or indulge in takeaway (something we have yet to try). Still, we have been trending toward places that provide good qualité/prix, in ambiance, service and food.
Our old staples served us well this trip: La Contrescarpe, Les Philosophes, Les Petits Machons (see a 2006 review), Le Factorie St. Amour (previously Le St. Amour) on the corner of le Boulevard Ménilmontant and the Avenue Gambetta (near a side entrance to Père Lachaise cemetery), and Chartier (See it on Youtube.) We returned to our old favorite, Balzar, had a late afternoon snack and drinks in the bar area of the elegant Le Train Bleu in the Gare du Lyon, and ate at Au Bourguignon du Maris, a wonderful restaurant a block from the St. Paul métro originally recommended to us by Paul.
This trip we added a new one to our list of pleasant places to enjoy a reasonably priced meal - one we wouldn't have tried if Klaus and Marlene hadn't discovered it.
EPSILON, located at 66 Avenue des Gobelins is a short walk from the métro at Place de l'Italie. Although the name suggests that it is a Greek restaurant, we found the menu featured many traditionally French dinner offerings. For 24 Euros you can enjoy a delicious 3 course dinner. (A 2 course dinner is offered for 17 euros.) Marlene thoroughly enjoyed a filet mignon as her main course and Charles had a perfectly cooked whole sole. Of course he had to remove the bones himself, but that only added to his enjoyment.
(Charles learned how to remove the bones in a whole fish in the late 1980's watching the waiters deftly tackle tong [Dover sole], the signature dish at Amsterdam's famous Oesterbar near the Leidseplein, which reminds me how, in many ways, our lives have been written in restaurant adventures.)
We also tried two somewhat more expensive restaurants that were new to us:
Finally, while I don't recall the names of all of the restaurants we have enjoyed with her, we can always count on having delicious lunch with our friend Lori, who works for the Ministry of Culture. She chooses a cozy restaurant within a block or two of the Ministry and we have never had a bad experience. If you are in the area of the Louvre or the Palais Royale, check for the places along the Rue St Honoré (heading away from the Place de la Concorde) and the nearby cross streets. If they are full of businessmen and women, you know that if you order a prix fixe menu, you will eat well at a reasonable price. Of course, finding a table might be a problem!
This was taken in the bedroom of "our" apartment in Paris. I was testing one of my Canon speedlite flashes in preparation for a shoot in Père Lachaise cemetery. I liked the result.
Below is one of the photos I later took at the cemetery. My main goal was to simulate early morning light using a single, small, off-camera flash. The bluish background and the golden lighting on the statue were accomplished by using a tungsten white balance setting in the camera and a warm gel on the flash, plus a touch of PhotoShop to enhance the natural golden color of the statue. Charles acted as my voice activated light stand.
This is said to be the oldest Pleureuse (woman mourner) in the cemetery. It dates to 1815. The sculptor is unknown and I recall being told years ago by Thierry Leroy, one of the expert guides to the cemetery, that the original is in the Carnavalet museum and that this is a copy. I have not been able to corroborate this.
If you love them too and are interested in Paris history, architecture
and culture, classy empty books and other fun stuff for people of all ages, check out the book
store at the Hotel du Sully next time you are in Paris. You'll find it off of the Rue St
Antoine between the Bastille and St
Paul
We popped in today, just to check it out, and left with two
books about Père Lachaise. Charles has
already picked out a map of ancient Paris that he is going to buy next trip. He
would have bought it today except that we already have a map of Paris
Actually, I don't. But the folks running the métro are gently encouraging me to do better.
There are many rules governing all aspects of life in France, which is helpful since the French seem especially good at ignoring them and, without rules, they wouldn't have any fun.
Not surprisingly, there is an art to living with so much regulation, but it is an art that largely escapes me. Unless you are French, it is impossible to figure out when,where and under what circumstances it is acceptable to follow an unwritten rule or to just do as you please.
There is also an art to encouraging certain public behaviors. A few years ago posters on the buses gently suggested that you should speak quietly when on your cell phone so as not to disturb others. I have to say that, in fact, the French do tend to keep their private telephone calls private when they are in public places.
This trip, I have noticed a new series of signs obviously meant to influence public behavior. These are posted on the outsides and inside of métros.
Two are on the outside, so I am assuming they are meant for those getting on the trains.
The doors open, I let people get off
I think we can all agree that it would help if everyone stepped aside and let passengers get off of a train before boarding. While this practice is followed by many, many do not wait for everyone to get off before they start pushing against the traffic to get on the train, including me when I see a chance to get a seat on a crowded car. (Shame on me.)
Holding open the doors is to delay the métro
Running to get on a métro as the doors are closing seems to be a popular sport, despite the fact that success in making it onto the train might also result in one of your limbs or a piece of your clothing getting caught in the door as it slams shut. This can have consequences far less pleasant than delaying the train's departure.
We almost never run for a train once the signal sounds. When we do, we promise ourselves that we will never do it again, even as we grin with glee, delighted to have made it.
Three of the signs appear on the windows inside the Métro, presumably meant for those already inside.
At the sound, I move away from the doors
This makes sense and is good advice if you are running for the métro. (See above.)
Once in the car, however, it isn't always possible to comply with this admonition. Often you find yourself in intimate contact with one or more people, your arms pinned at your side as you hope that the masses surrounding you will keep you upright when the train jerks forward leaving the station. In this case, moving away from the door is not an option. You pull in your stomach, exhale, hold your breath and hope nothing of yours gets caught in the closing door.
Once you are seated, you can take the time to consider two additional pieces of advice.
Preparing my exit ahead of time makes it easier for me to get off the train
This makes good sense insofar as it encourages riders to gather together shopping bags, close the books they are reading and maybe scope out the best route to exit the train. Preparation, however, should rarely take the form of getting up and moving towards the door, although it is often done. This results in people getting banged in the head with your purse or camera, or fallen upon as the train jerks or swings aggressively around a bend. There is nothing quite like being thrown from one side of the train to the other or into the arms of a stranger to enliven your day. I don't recommend it.
So what is behind this campaign?
A second lost in the station means delay along the entire route
If even a fraction of the hundreds of thousands of people who use the Paris métro daily take these admonitions to heart, who knows how many seconds will be saved allowing us all to get wherever we are going faster and more efficiently.
... really large crowds.
This is the third year in a row that we have spent April in Paris. As in Boston, April can be (but is not always) a lovely month as winter gives way to a glorious spring. But it is also the month of school vacations throughout Europe and the city bulges with tourists of all ages.
I don't want to be a curmudgeon about it. After all, I too am a tourist. But it does give those of us who have a bit of claustrophobia or who tire of standing in long lines, or who grow frustrated at not being able to see this or that piece of art because of mobs of people, many barely older than my granddaughter, taking photographs with their cell phones instead of actually looking at the art. (Well, ok, I am being a curmudgeon.)
With all of this in mind, we were perplexed about how to deal with Easter weekend. Staying in our apartment for three days was not an option. We decided to pick things to do that would either avoid the crowds or would make them part of the show. And we agreed that we would do lots and lots of walking. Happily the weather cooperated.
Good Friday (Vendredi Saint) we had lunch at Au Bourginon du Marais with our Versailles friends, June and Robley. We were introduced to this restaurant by Paul and Pam, two of the most knowledgeable people I know on the subjects of food and wine. This second visit confirmed their opinion. You can find it on rue Francois Miron about a block from the St. Paul métro walking in the direction of the Hotel de Ville.
After a delicious lunch accompanied by a fine wine chosen by June, we headed for the nearby Hotel de Sens to see an exhibit of photochromes from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In most cases, photochromes are mass-produced lithographic color prints obtained from black and white photographic negatives. The collection included stunning travel photographs and postcards with idyllic images from around the world as well as reproductions of works of art. While the exhibit was not free of other visitors, it was not mobbed and we were able to take our time enjoying works by unknown photographers whose work must have amazed a hundred years ago.
Next it was back to the rue Francois Miron to Paris Historique, a small store dedicated to preserving and educating the public about the history of Paris, in particular the Marais area. Visitors are encouraged to go downstairs to view remains of a 13th century abbey that is undergoing renovation by volunteers. Seeing it gives just a hint of the ancient history of the city and of what still exists hidden below many of the buildings we see as we wander through the streets of the Marais. Be warned, however. Although it costs nothing to walk into the store and visit the ruins downstairs, you will most certainly not leave without purchasing at least one book about Paris.
The Saturday before Easter, we decided to see what was up at Notre Dame, knowing that visiting the inside of the cathedral would only be possible if we were willing to
wait in line and put up with the mobs inside.
As we had anticipated, there were hundreds of people waiting patiently to enter the Cathedral. We contented ourselves with wandering through the garden where I cheerfully joined untold numbers of other owners of fancy cameras taking photographs of the flowering trees and the beautiful cathedral, while trying, with limited success, to stay out of other people's shots.
Where do all these people with DSLRs come from?
Easter Sunday was a day of walking over familiar terrain and just enjoying the lovely weather. We strolled along the Bassin de l'Arsenal, looking at all the boats moored there: private barges, large motored craft and a few sailboats.
From there it was across the Pont d'Austerliz to the Jardin des Plantes, where I took pictures and Charles checked out the progress of the plantings. Spring has definitely sprung!
A leisurely lunch at Le Contrescarpe was followed by a walk past the Panthéon, down the rue Soufflot (named after Jacques-Germain Soufflot, 18th century architect of the Panthéon) to the Jardin du Luxembourg.
An outdoor concert by a brass band was just ending as we entered the gardens. The last piece, Handel's Sarabande and Variations in D Minor, was followed by loud applause then a rhythmic clapping demanding an encore. Although some of the musicians had already put away their instruments, the conductor complied and those still able to play launched into a spirited performance of the final variation of the Sarabande.
While many of the flower beds are still not planted, the garden was looking beautiful, full of people sunning themselves in the chairs provided for public use, talking in animated groups, meandering along the many paths and watching as children sailed small sailboats on a large pond.
And, of course, there were lots of folks with cameras recording it all.
Much as I love the Jardin des Plantes, the Jardin du Luxembourg is to me the loveliest public garden in Paris.
I think not.
At least not recently when we were hoping to introduce the tree to our friends, June and Robley. No way could we ask them to pay 10 euros a head (roughly $13.25 each) for the privilege of following us through the paths behind the Grand Trianon at Versailles just to see "my" tree.
Regular readers of my blog know that, for my birthday in 2000, Charles sponsored a tree in my name to help Versailles replace the thousands of trees destroyed in a powerful storm just after Christmas 1999. "My" tree spent three years in a greenhouse environment before being planted in an area far from the palace, beyond the Hameau de la Reine. Once the tree was established in its permanent location, we received a document telling us how to find it. Since then we have made biannual pilgrimages to watch the tree's progress. When we visited it last fall, it was still the tallest in its row and clearly thriving.
Until recently, the area where the tree is planted was open to the public free of charge. Alas, access is no longer free. In the winter months it is 6 euros per person and between the first of April and the end of October, the cost is 10 euros a head.. The fee lets you visit The Grand Trianon, the Petit Trianon and their respective gardens as well as the Hameau. And, though most visitors to Versailles could care less, the entrance fee also lets you walk close enough to my tree to check on how it is growing.
Daunted but not defeated, our persistent group of four decided to see if we could find a way to get close to my tree without paying. June, a skilled and intrepid driver, drove the four of us along a paved road beside the stone wall that encloses the area we wanted to enter. Soon we found ourselves on a dirt road , full of ruts and muddy from the recent rains. We pushed the car a bit further than we should have but June was able to extract it from the mire. It was time to proceed on foot.
We climbed out of the car and continued to follow the wall, noting that every now and again there would be a break in the wall allowing us to see the area where young trees were growing in tidy rows. Alas, deep, stone trenches discouraged all but those with rock climbing equipment from crossing at these points.
Using a map, memory from prior visits and a little geometry, Charles was finally able to say with a high level of certainty that we had found my tree. We believe that it is at the other end of the middle row of trees in the photo.
Here is a link to a picture of me close up and personal with my tree just a year ago.
I took this photo of the monument on the grave of the ballet dancer, Serge Peretti, in Père Lachaise Cemetery in 2006 or 2007. It was late winter or very early spring and the trees had not begun to put out their leaves. I loved the juxtaposition of his gracefully raised arm against the curves in the bare trees in the background.
I did not take note of either the location of the statue or the name of the dancer at the time the photograph was taken.
A beautifully framed copy of this photograph graces the guest bathroom of our friends, Andy and Marilyn. At the time they acquired it, I was bothered by the fact that I couldn't tell them anything about the picture except that it was taken in Père Lachaise. So, last fall, Charles and I set out to find the monument.
Charles remembered that he had been with me when I took the photograph and we both remembered quite clearly that the statue was larger than life. We were sure that we knew about where to find it.
After spending well over an hour wandering up and down the alleys and paths of the cemetery looking for the out-sized statue, we realized that we would need help to find it.
I asked one of the men raking leaves if he knew where the statue could be found. Turns out he spoke little French and no English. My raised arm mimicking Monsieur Peretti's gesture did not jog his memory.
Finally we came upon one of the cemetery guides and I asked him if he knew where we could find the statue, again raising my right arm in an effort to evoke the dancer's graceful gesture. We were thrilled to learn that the guide knew exactly where it was.
Funny, we thought. We had walked through the area he described more than once in our search and hadn't seen it. Still, the guide seemed quite sure so back we went. Finally, I spotted it. What a shock!
Turns out that both of our memories associated with the photograph were wrong. Charles wasn't with me when I took the photograph (I was on a photo shoot with our landlord) and the statue is not larger than life (it is no more than three feet high). That tells you something about the reliability of eyewitness testimony!
Yesterday, we took a walking tour of the cemetery (more about that later). In the course of discussing the absence of security and the problem of theft at Père Lachaise (the theft of the bust of Jim Morrison being one of the famous losses), our guide revealed that the statue of Monsieur Peretti had been stolen earlier this year. Someone had simply walked off with it, probably carrying it in an inconspicuous small bag.
I'm really sorry that the statue of M. Peretti is not 7 feet tall. If it were, it would still be at Père Lachaise.
This is what remains. (The granite monument behind the pedestal belongs to someone else.)
"What becomes of the dream when the dream is done"
We are back in Paris!
We arrived early Tuesday morning. After dropping off our luggage, we stopped for a quick cup of coffee then took a bus directly to the Jardin des Plantes. We found everything looking very tidy and a bit bare with only a few plantings adding color to some of the flower beds. The scene was brightened by one magnificent flowering tree resplendent with white blossoms (you can see part of it on the right of the photo) and another smaller tree sporting gorgeous cherry blossoms. As it did last year, spring seems to be coming late to Paris.
Lest you think that the Jardin des Plantes has a totally timeless feel to it, here is a picture of what greeted us as we entered the main gates. I haven't yet decided if it is as jarring as the fire-breathing dragon constructed of recyclable materials that spent a couple of years near the main entrance, but it certainly catches the eye.
The whale, made by the toy maker Mecano, promotes an exhibition about aquatic mammals at the Great Hall of Evolution. We are definitely going to try to see it before we leave.
From the Jardin des Planets, we strolled along the Seine then crossed over to the right bank to Les Philosophes, our favorite "first day in Paris" restaurant. The staff was eating their lunch when we arrived, but they gladly let us take a table and people watch until they were ready to start the lunch service. We spent a very leisurely couple of hours there before heading back to "our" apartment to begin unpacking and, yes, to collapse into bed for an afternoon nap.
We were tired not just because of the overnight flight that allowed only a few hours of restless sleep but because we had both gotten up very early on Monday morning. Yoda, one of our beloved cats, needed emergency attention. We whisked her to Angell Memorial and, after discussing all of the options, decided to leave her in the skilled care of Team Yoda (Erika, her long-term vet, Lisa, her regular technician and Alejandro, also a technician and currently our cat sitter) and keep with the program. Those of you who are animal lovers will understand how hard a decision that was for us. So far Yoda is doing very well. We are keeping our fingers crossed but take comfort in knowing that, whatever happens, she is in the gentle hands of people who care for her.
Many years ago I took this photograph of our daughter. She had been playing next door and her friend had been mean to her. Dirty and tearful, Elizabeth climbed over the stone wall that separated our yards and ran towards her mother.
In those days, if I used a camera, it was to take aviation photographs for magazine articles I was working on. I didn't do much in the way of family photography. That was Charles' domain.
That day, for reasons I don't remember, I had Charles' Pentax in my hands. Instead of immediately giving my daughter the comfort she needed, I raised the camera to my eye and took this shot. Almost 40 years later, she has not completely forgiven me.
With Elizabeth, it was a chance occurrence, not something that I did with any frequency. In fact, I'm pretty certain I have never taken a picture of her against her will since. It is hard for me not to love this picture - it caught a quintessential childhood moment. At the same time, my daughter's reaction gives me cause to think hard about how far I am willing to go for a shot.
In recent years I have, on occasion, been so compelled to photograph someone that, even knowing that I was making my subject uncomfortable, I couldn't stop. After this happened a couple of times, I began exerting more self control. Now, if I feel a strong compulsion to take more than a passing photograph of someone, I ask and try to arrange a shoot. This has led to some wonderful experiences and some of my best photographs.
With Miss Em, I learned early to ask her permission before taking her picture, but on occasion I still find myself pushing it one or two shots too far. Usually, she just turns her back (sometimes incredibly subtly and sometimes not!). Other times she gives me a look that reminds me a lot of her mother's glare that day 40 years go.
And darn it, sometimes those are the captures I love best. This one, taken when she was three or so, is one of my favorites. It was the last picture of her I took that day and her look let me know that it was one too many.
This past Friday, our last day with her until we return from Paris on April 30, she grumbled at one point, "Why are you always taking pictures of me?" That is both an easy and hard question for me to answer.
For now, dearest Em, my answer to you is that in the month I am away, those pictures will help keep me close to you. Thank you. You've been a trooper.
But I know that sometimes my addiction distances me from you (as it does from much of life) and maybe that isn't good. So, I am promising myself to do better to be present for you when you really need me and not hidden, however briefly, behind the camera. Maybe you and your Mom are right. Where loved ones are concerned, being present in the moment is more important than recording it.
I spent a few days in Pecos, New Mexico recently and it got me thinking about how we stumble upon little bits of paradise in our lives when we least expect it.
Paradise, in this life at least, is fleeting. It is the feeling of safety in the arms of someone who loves you and whom you trust will never hurt you, the simplicity of rocking a baby to sleep, the joy of watching a young chipmunk in early spring with your grandchild, or just giggling about nothing important with a good friend. It can be sailing down the St. Francis Drake channel with the winds behind you and the sun warm on your face, or lying on your back in the grass squinting at fluffy clouds in a blue sky, even watching a thunderstorm from a safe spot that shelters you from the rain.
You can't plan it. It just happens.
As many of you know, I was in Santa Fe for a photography workshop in February. I was there to learn more about using big time artificial lighting (strobes, soft boxes, grids, filters, etc.) and to get some ideas of where I want to go with my photography. The class had its challenges, some to do with learning to use the equipment and some to do with difficult personalities (not the instructor's), but it was full of learning and left me with much to ponder.
The second week, I hung around the Santa Fe area. A photographer friend hired a local model with the idea of practicing with small flashes. I was more in contemplative than photography mode, so I decided not to shoot the model but just to hang out and make myself available as an assistant, if and when needed. The shoot location was a log cabin on a hill above the meandering Pecos River about 35 minutes outside of Santa Fe .
The cabin is home to Mike, a man who, I would guess, is in his late fifties. A large paddock nearby provides exercise room for his five horses. Three sweet, friendly dogs are constantly underfoot, happy to have your attention if they take a liking to you. Raider, half wolf and half dog, is kept on a chain and aggressively greets all who come up the driveway. His bark may be worse than his bite, but he is not an animal to tangle with.
Mike is a quiet man who believes in conspiracy theories. Though he has lived a hard life, he is a gentle soul who gave up drink ten years ago after it almost killed him. A jack of all trades, he is a hunter, trail guide, carpenter. He talked to me a bit about his life, including telling me about his son who was permanently damaged by jaundice soon after birth and how he lived longer than most children with his affliction, dying still the size of an infant at age 9. He told me that he supported and fed his young family by hunting and lamented that his grandchildren are growing up in the city with no exposure to the realities of farm life. He told me about how he survived after having his jugular severed when he was stabbed in the neck. Most of the time, though, we just stood side by side saying nothing.
Lance, Mike's friend and fellow carpenter, hails from Casper, Wyoming. He constantly has a beer in his hand and a story to tell. He is a connoisseur of Harley motorcycles and makes beautiful miniature models of the bikes. His own beloved Harley, parked under the trees, is waiting for the day when he can repair the damaged done to it when he helped save his brother whose motorcycle had caught fire. Lance, too, has had a hard life. His adventures have been crafted into stories that continue non-stop but that never bore. He has a permanent twinkle in his eye and, like Mike, is a gentle, courtly man.
Mike, Lance and the three dogs were my companions for the two days I spent at the cabin. Most of the time I was outside, listening to Lance's stories, chatting with the two of them, watching the horses with Mike silently by my side, talking quietly to the dogs who took a liking to me, or just standing alone listening to the river.
I felt safe emotionally and physically.
For hours on end I was at peace.
I felt totally at home.
I can't really explain why, and I have no desire to explain it. I was given the gift of a glimpse of paradise. Simple as that.
You can see more pictures of Mike and Lance here.
Emily started taking gymnastics last fall. Her regular class is on Saturday morning so we had not had the opportunity to see the gym or visited her class until recently. In February,when she had a makeup class scheduled for a Friday, our regular babysitting day, we jumped at the chance to see her in action.
It was great fun watching her and the other kids go from station to station working on various moves under the watchful eyes, and with the assistance of, their teacher. Forward rolls, backward rolls, balance bar (just a few feet off the ground), hand stands (with feet against the wall), other strength building exercises, routines to teach the fine points of form and dismounts, and, of course, the trampoline. I took a ridiculous number of photographs of Emily, despite the fact I wasn't allowed into the gym and the lighting was poor. I am a proud grandmother after all! The photo above is a composite of Em's turn bouncing on the trampoline.
Em had another makeup session this past Friday and we eagerly joined her and her mother. This time I decided to just watch instead of doing my photography thing. Still, I couldn't resist snapping a few pictures. Here is one taken in the waiting area just before class began.
Don't you wish that you could have half of the energy of a 4 1/2 year old?
Those of you who drop by my blog from time to time know that one of my favorite modern photographers is George Fillmore of East Tennessee.
Tears of the Moon, one of his latest efforts, is a striking departure from his signature captures of everyday family life, his telling photographs of life in small town America and his landscapes. It represents a new twist in his growing library of stunning, often self revelatory and sometimes iconoclastic self portraits.
I look at Tears of the Moon and see a landscape that projects a sense of solitude and isolation. In the sky, disembodied, wide open eyes (the moon of the title?) gaze directly and fearlessly out at the viewer, even as tears flow. The eyes are mesmerizing and draw us in, yet they are not seeing us. They are looking through us to something beyond. What that might be is left to our imagination.
And what are we to make of the beautiful, almost symmetrical tree through which one of the eyes gazes? The mature tree stands almost alone, yet it is thriving, nourished, perhaps, by the tears.
I find it interesting that, despite the glow in the sky and the warm palette, the colors George has chosen for the photograph enhance the sense of sadness suggested the title instead of creating a hopeful feel. My emotional response to the tonality is much like the ineffable sense of melancholy that comes over me when I look at old, faded photos of long forgotten people and events.
Maybe the eyes in the photograph are looking into the past, so easily forgotten by most but never forgotten by the moon.
My thanks to George for giving me permission to share his photograph. I beg his indulgence for the interpretation that is entirely my own and probably has little if anything to do with what he had in mind.
Speaking of talent and persistence, Elizabeth certainly showed her mettle while she and Emily were staying with us last week waiting for power to be restored to their home.
Elizabeth needed to produce a video lasting 30 to 60 seconds for one of her on-line classes. It had to be either an ad or a public service announcement. Earlier work had to be ditched because the stars in her initial concept, a cat food commercial, were at her house and our cats were definitely not star material. In fact, they were in semi-permanent hiding for most of the time Miss Em stayed with us.
Exiled to our home in Boston, Elizabeth started the assignment all over again from scratch. First she needed to conceive of a coherent idea. Then she had to make it happen. I was privileged to watch the process (and to be one of the stars of the production!)
First Elizabeth came up with a vision. Although she told us what it was, I couldn't visualize it in its final form.
Once she had her vision firmly in her mind, "filming" began. Some takes weren't quite what she wanted (too dark, framing poor), so she thought through the problem and tried again. With hours to go before her assignment was due, she had to find a charger for her video camera battery, which meant a lot of phone calls and a subway ride to Coolidge Corner.
In the end, she produced a very personal video lasting just under 60 seconds. As you will see, it has a Christmas theme and it is something our family will treasure. Watch it here. Be sure to see it through to the end where there is a serendipitous moment that will make you smile.
Vision, perserverance, flexibility and a touch of serendipity. Can't beat it. I am so proud of my daughter.
I wish I had taken this gorgeous image, but it is the work of Paul Thomas McKee, a fellow member of the photography forum, Digital Grin. This is the picture as it came out of the camera untouched by PhotoShop or other editing software. There were no adjustments made to color, brightness or contrast other than in camera and there was no cropping.
Paul entered this photograph in a recent dGrin Sharp Shooter Challenge. Still lifes was the topic to be interpreted by the photographers and all entries were required to be SOOC (straight out of the camera).
Paul's photograph won by a landslide in a field of excellent entries.
When the challenge topic was announced, I immediately thought of the beautiful Dutch still lifes. Over the two week period for entering the challenge, I turned my thoughts from time to time to what I might do to capture the glowing beauty of the 17th century masterpieces.
I watched the light coming through my bedroom window and wondered how I might turn that into Vermeer-like lighting of a still life. I thought vaguely of purchasing flowers for a stunning, lush display, maybe adding a fake ladybug. But all I did was think, and in vague terms at that. I never even tried beyond taking a few snaps of a lovely little milk pitcher I bought recently when visiting the Great Smokey Mountains. Of course, it is true that everyday life got in the way, but since when has that stopped a dedicated photographer on a mission? No doubt about it. I lack that certain je ne sais quoi - the willingness to push myself physically and mentally - that distinguishes the greats from the rest of us.
When I first saw Paul's entry, I was delighted to recognize elements of the Dutch masters. More than that, though, I was in awe of the warm, diffuse lighting, not just because it was lovely, but because I knew it was part of the original scene and not something that was tweaked with PhotoShop magic after the fact. Like many others, I'm sure, I thought he had found the perfect window. And he did, but not in quite the way I had assumed.
So, how did he do it? After the Challenge ended, Paul generously shared the answer in the dGrin Challenge thread. You can see his setup pictures and read about how the photograph was conceived and made here. You will be inspired, even if you aren't a photographer.
I loved the picture when I first saw it, but knowing how it came to be leaves me in awe of Paul's thoughtful persistence and his creative use of everyday and readily available items (including a sales receipt and a piece of junk mail) to achieve the desired lighting. It almost makes me feel as though I, too, could create such a masterpiece. Easy, right? All I would need is lots of thought, in depth understanding of my camera's capabilities, a big dash of inspiration, attention to detail and persistence, persistence, persistence.
Having a vision then successfully creating it so that others can experience that vision is the essence of art. Sometimes serendipity plays a large role. What separates the good from the great, however, is a commitment to excellence and the patience and stamina to do the work it takes to achieve it.
Thank you, Paul, for permission to share your photo! And thank you, too, for sharing how you made it happen.
Paul is planning to put a series of his dGrin challenge entries in his photo gallery. I will add a link when it is available.
Anyone following the news knows that a serious ice storm on the night of December 4-5 wrought tremendous damage to much of New England, including large parts of Western and Northern Massachusetts. Thousands of homes in the hard hit areas are still without power, including our daughter's. Many homes sustained damage. Happily, Liz and Steve's house seems to have weathered the storm.
This is part of the view from my daughter's house on Friday morning from a video Elizabeth took. There is a driveway some where in there. The storm dramatically altered the landscape. The lovely, tall, deciduous trees that cover most of their property lost their tops. Many of small trees were bent and broken under the weight of the ice and will likely not survive.
Steve used his chain saw and tractor to remove debris from most of the driveway. Towards the end of his labors, his dad showed up to help. By early Friday afternoon, Liz, Steve and Emily were able to go over to Steve's parents home which was being powered by a generator. They took showers and charged their cell phone.
After assessing the situation, it was decided that Elizabeth and Emily would come and stay with us until the power is restored, which we hope will be by the end of the week. (Another ice storm is forecast for Thursday.)
Steve is staying at the house. The wood burning stove is helping to keep him warm and hopefully preventing the pipes from bursting. He is also taking care of the cats, including a lucky stray that ended up on their doorstep a few days before the storm.
Emily, who has never before spent the night away from home, has been a trouper. Her spirits are wonderful She misses her daddy very much (as does her mother), but she is adapting well to the change in her routine.
While we are delighted to have Em and Liz with us, our two furry creatures do not agree with us that Emily is an Adorable One. Both cats have gone into hiding so that even Charles and I can't find them. Leia appears occasionally to glare balefully and hiss at the perpetual motion machine and non-stop talker that is Miss Em.
I am so thankful that we are here to help and that every one is safe.
Emily is our own Incredible. (If you don't get the reference you are either over 40 or you don't have any children or grandchildren.)
Every Saturday, Miss Em goes to gymnastics class. (She calls is 'nastics). She may have no future in the sport, but she sure gets a kick out of it and loves to show off how strong she is getting.
Last week, a local photographer took photos of the kids in the class. No way a mother is going to resist buying something! Thanks to my daughter for choosing to purchase a CD of 5 full resolution photos with rights for personal use.
For those of you who wonder how I spend my Friday's with Miss Em, aka The Adorable One, now you know.
At Em's suggestion, I set up this shot using the camera's 10 second timer.
Since our return from Paris almost a month ago, we have been inundated with campaign news and I, for one, have grown quite weary of it all. So it was with relief that I woke up early this morning so we could get in line at our polling place, the Boston Public Library, before 6:30 a.m., ready for the doors to open at 7.
I even felt some enthusiasm at the thought of participating in this record breaking election, even though my vote will have no practical impact in this state that will surely go to the Democrats whatever my vote.
Mindful of stories of problems with registration lists, Charles and I made sure we had our passports and drivers licenses with us. We have never been asked for ID (though you should have some just in case) but who knew this time around.
(In fact, when we got home we heard a report that updated lists had not been provided for the polling places in Cambridge - known to some as the Peoples' Republic of Cambridge - and a number of registered voters had been forced to complete provisional ballots. The lists have since been updated and those voters are being encouraged to revisit the polls before tonight's 8pm closing.)
It was a beautiful morning. The fog had almost completely lifted, trees were sporting gorgeous fall colors and the temperature was already in the 50's headed for the 60's.
We arrived at the Public Library before 6:30 and found roughly 25 people there ahead of us. We were clearly not the only ones who planned to be there early. Within 10 minutes the line had snaked around the corner.
This is a picture of the front of the line about 10 minutes before the polls opened.
Charles is hidden behind the people in front of him in this photo, but you can see him in this one. He is the reading the Wall Street Journal to pass the time. The people watching was entertaining and time passed quickly. Not surprisingly, many chatted away on their cell phones. Others drank coffee picked up from the nearby Dunkin Donuts. Not everyone was voting. Runners in shorts and sweat shirts ran by, mothers with young children headed for the nearby daycare center, others entered and emerged from the nearby subway on their way to work.
Poll workers entered the library, always an encouraging sight. Then someone announced that the doors would open in 9 minutes. The line tightened up.
We were inside by 7 and out by 7:15, having stopped to talk to Eric, our building superintendent, who had arrived well after us and was waiting in line to pick up his ballot.
Ballots were paper. Black pens were provided in the semi private spaces for filling them in. There was no possibility of chads and it would be hard to make a mistake. (Presumably, if you did, you could get another ballot.) Each of us was provided with a special cover for our ballots to protect our privacy but with the logic of those who do not think things through, we were required to give up the cover and stand with our ballots exposed while waiting to check out with a policeman maintaining a second registration list. A minor glitch, but irritating just the same.
As we left, the line had grown.
This afternoon, the house is eerily quiet. The TV and radios are off. There is nothing more to do but wait. Perhaps it is the quite before the storm, but for now, It is rather nice.
A marvelous collection of photographs taken by Henri Cartier-Bresson and Walker Evans mostly in the southern United States and New York City from 1929 to 1947 is currently on view at the Foundation Cartier-Bresson.
The two photographers greatly admired each other's work. Late in his life Cartier-Bresson wrote to a friend: "If it had not been for the challenge of the work of Walker Evans, I do not think I would have remained a fotographer."
The photographs are exhibited in two medium sized rooms on two floors of the Foundation's building. The black and white pictures in simple neutral gray frames against neutral gray walls are generously spaced to allow the viewer to examine each work without distraction.
These are not photographs of Norman Rockwell's America. They are frank, but nonjudgmental, looks at common, everyday people living in hard times. The iconic 1936 portrait of a sharecropper's wife by Walker Evans takes my breath away. I am moved by Cartier-Bresson's photograph of a man kneeling, hat held in one hand, in a Taos, New Mexico graveyard with horses tethered to the fence in the background.
Most of the pictures taken by both photographers are of people but my favorite is a 1947 landscape by Cartier-Bresson. The rusted carcasses of discarded automobiles in the foreground suggest loss and poverty, while the train moving through the field of view speaks of movement and progress. The open plains, the distant mountains and the calm sky evoke a sense of hope and endless possibility. With this image, the photographer has captured the essence of post-war American.
To my eye, the Cartier-Bresson photographs have, in general, a more polished, finished feel to them in terms of composition and treatment of the subject matter than those of Walker Evans. Evans' pictures are sometimes more raw, "in your face" and lacking the subtly elegant compositions of Cartier-Bresson. These differences added interest for me but did not in any way detract from the coherence of the exhibit as a whole.
The exhibit is scheduled to end on December 21. If you get there, be sure to take the time to watch the video being shown on the top floor in which Cartier-Bresson talks with other photographers about his photography. Included are some clips of the photographer that demonstrate his technique. Almost dancing through crowds, he takes photographs while blending in and remaining unnoticed and unrecognized by those around him.
We entered a small room through a dark door on the Place Denfert-Rochereau, paid an entry fee (no discount for being seniors), and started our descent into what was originally a Roman quarry. A sign warned that what we would see might be upsetting to children and people of tender sensibilities.
Undaunted, we proceeded downward on a dimly-lit spiral staircase for what seemed forever. When we arrived at the bottom, a sign informed us that the descent would continue through tunnels for roughly 500 yards before we would reach the catacombs - more properly called the ossuary. The tunnel ceilings were low and Charles had to be careful not to bump his head. Even I felt constantly as though I had to duck. Finally we entered a small room with a much higher ceiling. Over an open gate were engraved the words: "Stop! This is the Empire of the Dead."
We entered.
There is no way to convey the initial shock of seeing skulls gleaming softly in the dim light and layer after layer of neatly stacked bones. Quiet but audible gasps were the universal reaction of all who stepped through the door.
For twenty minutes or so we followed the tunnels past carefully arranged bones. In many places markers designated the parish grave yard from which they had come.
The initial shock diminished as we passed more and more skeletal remains, but a quiet reverance remained. We were passing the respectfully and carefully placed bones of millions of people who had lived and died over more than 10 centuries.
The ancient quarry was consecrated as an ossuary on April 6, 1786. Centuries of burials on the grounds of parish churches had resulted in overcrowding and unsanitary conditions that affected nearby inhabitants and businesses. As the city of Paris grew and expanded, the problems became acute. In 1786 two million skeletons were transferred from the Cimetiere des Saints-Innocents in central Paris. The photograph at the left shows some of the bones transferred that year.
Over time, remains from other parishes were moved with solemn ceremony to the ossuary. By the time Pere LaChaise was established outside the city limits in the early 1800's, burials within the city had been banned.
Our visit ended with a walk along slowly rising semi-dark tunnels (no remains) followed by a climb up a 100-step spiral staircase back to street level. (Charles counted the unusally steep steps.) On exiting onto the street, we found that we had traveled many blocks from where we had entered.
The visit was a sobering and fascinating experience. I recommend it.
