Retrospective

Compulsions can make me intransigent, especially those desires to glance backwards in time.  Once in a while, someone walks into those spaces of nostalgia and creates an illusion of normalcy.

a hand-made face

While contemplating my daughter's artwork...from a few perspectives I asked her, "Whose face is this?"

"You can't tell?" She shrugged.

"Papa! It's obvious" She pushed.

I just moved my head from side to side, as I draped some yarn over her brow.

"Paaaa-pa! It's an african-american grandmother," she smiled.  So I picked a filter and returned the smile.

"It is whomever you want it to be," I winked.

contra dichos

Entre labios y lenguajes, me llegan esos pensamientos.
A veces cuando me tientan, pues... se los regalo al viento.

Pero cuando los secretos se reflejan en el parabrisas, los labios me tiemblan...

y no sé qué mas decirte.

quicksands...

During a recent walk along a wintery stretch of coastline, I stood still and looked down.  Content in my enjoyment of the familiar patterns at my feet, I felt comfortable at a stand still and smiled.

Seconds later as I glanced up that sense of complacency washed away, and I envied the ability to take flight.

Walking past the sandy contours, I now exercised a bit more caution avoiding the captivating glances of those seductive impressions along the way.

Homeless in New Orleans, A Sense of Place: Part II

My presumption was completely wrong. Being homeless was not a state of being "without a place.” The people we met on that street corner, the people with whom we talked and traded stories, the people who allowed us into their space, their daily activities were small rituals constantly creating and recreating a sense of place and home around that palm tree. I noticed it when we first met; they began telling us their names. India. Memphis. Montana. Africa. Perhaps they didn’t want to share too quickly and preferred nicknames to their birth names. So they introduced themselves to us through distant geographies and cityscapes. India. Memphis. Montana. Africa. Chicago. They asked me where I was from. Washington DC,” I replied. The exchange had its purpose, an equalizer of sorts...clearing the air and underscoring that we all have roots. We all have places of origin. We come from somewhere. We all have homelands. Some individuals talked about moving along, getting out of New Orleans...a temporary station in a lengthier nomadic journey. For others, New Orleans was a final oasis in search of a job, and they are still searching. Others ran away from families, and abuse. Some were the abusers, “I have a restraining order from my wife...” I heard more than once. Some stopped running with their feet and let Heroin and other addictions run through them. Others were clean and sober, waking up everyday...looking for a job.

India. Memphis. Montana. Africa. Chicago. We all have origins...we all have a sense of place. What they lacked was shelter, in the traditional sense of a permanent structure which provides refuge. A few of them had small tents, meticulously cared for and organized. Many slept in the open, under multiple blankets. They looked out for each other and shared. They shared everything they had: clothing, covers, food...cigarettes. They watched over each other and their possessions. They swept their street corner. They made sure someone fed the birds. They settled disagreements amicably, before tempers flared. They maintained a sense of dignity and fairness, often lacking among those with greater material comforts. Perhaps as you read through my recollections, you’ll smirk and think I am romanticizing my encounter with the homeless. After all, many are on the margins of society...characterized as drifters...dangerous people. In the end, I wanted to experience a shared humanity...one that did not rely on or define us based on our relationship to architecture...to a house or apartment, but rather a shared humanity that relied on a common set of experiences...travel, loss, uncertainty, perseverance, escape, patience, time, boredom, and companionship. And that experience left a deep impression, one that I will carry to many other places.

Click HERE to see a sample of my photographs from this project. (Then click on the "slideshow" button on the upper right hand of the page to view the images.)

This work was part of a broader collaboration during a workshop with Andy Levin, and was published in the online journal 100EYES.

Click HERE to see the issue titled, Homeless in New Orleans.  (This issue contains some of my photographs, as well as Andy's work and the work of my colleagues Sarah Hawkins and Meryt Harding.)

Second Line: Faces in the Crowd