We’re Trying To Be Good

I was blessed.

When I was young… knee high to grasshopper some would say … I somehow stumbled upon Midnite Sound Studios. Midnite Sound was recording studio in the backstreets of Queens and home to Moose, a man that could turn a simple sound into the heavenly voice of angels, whether he had made it, or someone else. Not only was Moose a master behind the myriad of knobs, buttons and dials of a recording console, but he’s also perfect with a set of drums and a vocal mic.

Through the doors of Midnite Sound walked in musicians from all sorts of genres.More than a few nights blues were in studio A as death metal was in studio B which had been cleaned up from an afternoon of recording traditional Hindu prayer songs.

Midnite Sound began, for me, as a place to sneak beers that I wasn’t supposed to have yet, smoke a little pot, which I really wasn’t supposed to have yet, and have fun. I did do all that, however, something else began happening, almost without me noticing it at first. I fell in love with music. To me, the blues were just as interesting as the death metal and just as enchanting as the Hindu prayer songs. It became my passion, the most magical thing in my life. I helped Moose as much as I could, just to get closer and deeper into the music. There were weekend gigs, the recording sessions, and the late night jams with Moose, Tom, and Ron that were havens for deep, rich explorations. Through it all, the music was my mistress and I was it’s slave.

Then of course, I was introduced to The Grateful Dead, and all the rules were re-written. What I though I knew about music was re-defined. I began to crave music more and more, and over the course of my life, it’s been the one lasting consent. Whether it be Miles Davis or Max Creek, music has to be surrounding me or I can’t function.

Today, Midnite Sound is gone, a victim of the “I can do it myself” computer age. I think back and I choke back a tear, not just for the loss of the place I often called home, but because I would have been a madman in there with my camera!!!! But Moose is still… well he’s still Moose, and he’s still playing and I’m still considering myself blessed.

Cry Baby plays a monthly gig in a neighborhood bar that those displaced by the loss of Midnite Sound take over for the evening. Moose plays drums, and sings a tune or two, but usually lets Heidi do what she does so well. Her voice is sublime as it cuts through the heavy groove around her. Rob is nothing short than a powerhouse on guitar, his every note perfect impeccable. The bass has changed hands over time, but this last Saturday night it was Dan Prine who held down the bottom end and rattled your teeth.

The band is great, the music is great, but I get more out of them than just a great night of electrifying jams. The cool thing is, they let me practice as they play. They never bitch and complain as I scamper around, camera in hand, taking shot after shot. I learn as I go… I change modes, shutter speeds, flash strength. I study each shot and why it didn’t come out and I use it to better my ability.

The band doesn’t seem to mind.. in fact, I’m now faced with Rob trying to pose for me.

Great music, great friends, great photos… didn’t I say I was blessed?

Cemetery In The Late Afternoon

As I’ve said before, I strongly believe we are not just meant to see things, but we are meant to see them when we see them.

Isn’t it wonderful that we live in world that’s constantly changing. The sun moves through the clouds across the sky. Trees and flowers grow, bloom, and eventually die. The wind blows the wildflower seeds across the swaying grass to find a safe place for them to take root. A bird lands on a branch and shakes off the leaf which drifts down to the ground below.

I had walked through Lutheran Cemetery so many times in my lifetime it would be impossible to count. As a young boy, I rode my bike through it, and it served as a convenient shortcut from Middle Village to Glendale especially on foot. I know this might sound creepy to some, but when you live in the “cemetery belt” of New York City, it’s just a way of life. So nothing seemed out of the ordinary when I walked along the cobblestone paths yesterday. I had a little over an hour before the gates closed, and the sun hung low in the autumn sky.

Almost immediately I felt as if I was entering a place I had never been before. Sure, I recognized some of the statues and stones I had photographed in the past, but everything just seemed different, alive almost. I saw things through eyes I had never seen through before. I took a few photos, I was more focused and direct then ever before.

I saw what I wanted, and I got it.

It was a good day.

Smoke…

I was sitting in one of my favorite NYC bars one spring night. Nancy Whiskey’s is a great bar by the mouth of the Holland Tunnel. They make a great burger, however I don’t know if the taste is anywhere nearly as good as the ambiance. Nancy Whiskey’s is the only bar I know with a loft. The loft has a pitch so great, you can see it in your beer.

I was just finishing up my beer and my burger when I heard the people behind me joking about smelling smoke. They laughingly said the last place they wanted to die was in this bar, and I remember thinking to myself that there were a lot worse places to die.

It was obvious the fire was not in the bar itself, rather somewhere else in the tightly packed streets of lower Manhattan. Nancy Whiskey’s has large open front doors so the faint smoke in the air outside was drifting in. I downed the last of my beer, paid my tab, grabbed my camera bag and headed out. Any thoughts of not finding that fire was quickly erased when a NYC firetruck sped past me, lights blazing and sirens screaming through the night. I walked in the direction of the passing truck and only after a block or two could I see the commotion.

Let me explain something to those who don’t live in a big city. When there is a report of smelling of smoke, the FDNY sends out a truck. Then another one. When there is confirmation of smoke, another two trucks arrive. By the time actual flames are spotted, the entire block is filled with big red trucks and men waiting to do what the need to do. Now many people are quick to laugh and say that the fireman have nothing better to do… but it’s not that at all. Here in NYC – as I guess in other major cities – we are so crowded together that one tiny fire can lead to a disaster in minutes, thus the always heavy response.

So back to that night. The streets were closed off, as fire personnel ran hoses, set up equipment, etc. By the time I got as close as I could, the flames were pretty much gone, but the men still worked to make sure all was safe. I shot as much as I could of what was going and was pleased with some of what I came away with.

The rest of the shots are here..
The blaze was out and even though two firemen went to the hospital for smoke inhalation, both were released the next day. There was no serious damage, and a few months later, you couldn’t even tell where the blaze was.

The story would be great if it ended there… but it didn’t.

A few months later, I got an email from a guy who ran a website called Ten House.com. It’s the “official” website of the FDNY fire company “Ten Truck”. Take some time and visit the site, you’ll see that with the proximity of the house to the World Trade Center, it’s a miracle it’s still there. Anyway my photos of the fire was seen on Flickr and they wanted to include on the site. I gave permission right away, and my shots are in the gallery section of the website.

The story would be great if it ended there… but it didn’t.

A few months later, I got a email from a firefighter, who was member of Ten Truck, and was there that night.He saw my photos and wanted to know if he could purchase a large print to hang in the firehouse. I got it printed and arranged to meet with him there. I arrived and they were out on a call, so I hung around until they returned. I met the fireman who contacted me and he quickly introduced me around as “hey, here’s the guy that took that great photo of us at work.” I wasn’t sure if he could tell, but my feet weren’t even on the ground. As if that wasn’t enough, one of the fireman shook my hand and said “hey, I use that picture as my desktop at home.”

I hung around briefly with the men, who did have things to do, so I handed over the print. They asked how much they owed and responded something like “It’s for all you do.”. They guys thanked me and one of them told me to wait. He disappeared in the back and returned with a FDNY Ten Truck t-shirt. To this day, it’s the best thanks I’ve ever gotten for taking a photo.

I took one that day… just one..

HDRs in Brooklyn

Strolled around Williamsburg today. I dunno, maybe it was that I stayed up to the wee hours last night reading the blog of the HDR master Louis Trocciola but I just kept seeing all the great color and detail around me.

Now I’m in no way trying to copy his work, even if I tried I couldn’t get close. Visit his blog, and look at his images and let me know when you jaw finally closes. I’ve also been learning a lot at my favorite photo stomping ground Your Photo Forum from the HDR masters there, Jake Easley and Lincoln Palmer. Their stuff will blow you away. They’re both great guys too, and I’ve gotten lots of help and advice from them.

For now anyway, I’m still trying to find my way in this art form. Not every image will work as an HDR, and if nothing else, I’m getting better at taking a photo and making a mental note to run it through Photomatix when I get home.

Here’s what I saw today…

Door

Sky Above The Bridge

Vote Truck

X Marks The Spot

The next word I drew from my inspirational coffee can. A Little tougher than my first… Seen Here. I had one ground rule for this, no “slanted T’s”. It had to an X. Drawing another word now.

This is part of the “Inspiration: A to Z Challenge” on Your Photo Forum. If You’re a photographer, come join us and take up the challenge with us!!

The Underpass

What is it about the places we’re not supposed to go? What is that thing that resides in all of us – no matter how good and well behaved we are – that pushes us across the line, under a hole in chain link fence, or inside a door that’s usually locked? Ok, it doesn’t hold true in such an extreme for all of us, but it’s human nature to do what we are told not to.

So immediately I was curious as I walked through Forest Park last week and saw two police officers stop by the side of the park path, get out of their car and enter the woods. They walked down hill and disappeared from view. The natural voyeur in me kept me there waiting for them return and was disappointed when they came back empty handed. They drove off, and I just had to know what they were looking for. As soon as they were out of site, I followed the path.

My sense of adventure was overcome by my stronger sense of self-preservation as I descended lower down the embankment of an abandoned railroad crossing. A overpass carried the park road over the tracks. The tracks themselves almost seemed to stop a few feet on either side of the overpass, they actually continued, probably for quite some miles, but the woods had eaten them and they were now lost on the forest floor. I stopped and looked around, deciding it was unwise to continue any lower. The cops had been looking for something, or someone down here, and come up empty handed. I certainly did not want to be the one who found it, especially with all my camera gear. I decided to return again, with a friend, so someone could watch my back.

A week later, I was back, this time with my friend behind me. We descended down the hill and under the underpass. This was clearly a place for the despondent – the addicts, the homeless, those with no where else to go. Today however, it was empty except for the two of us. We walked around and I shot the graffiti strewn walls. We carefully walked along, stepping on the dozens of empty plastic baggies once probably filled with heroin or something other reality escaping drug.

I realized as we explored that the police were obviously checking to make sure that no one was down here, either shooting up or setting up a home. We both quickly decided that this was probably not the best place to spend a fall afternoon – a warm bar with a cold beer would be a better place for us.

We climbed back up to the park road and left the world under the underpass behind us.

Inspiration A to Z

Unfortunately, even sitting in a bucket of water with a lighting rod helmet on the roof of the tallest building doesn’t bring inspiration shooting from the heavens above. I did however have a pigeon make a nest on my shoulder.

Its amazing how I can walk past the same plot of ground day after day and never see anything interesting and then one day – BAM – it’s there. The next day it’s gone.

I was stuck in my house one miserable rainy week and walking around, camera in hand, just looking for something shoot, anything. Then I saw it… and to be honest, I was baffled why I had no seen it before. It was so beautiful and it almost beckoned to be photographed. The amazing detail … the colors.. the textures… so I shot it… picking it apart in detail so it could be appreciated for all it’s wonderful glory…

But now that’s done.. what next? What mystical source will give me the next inspirational charge?

The help speed the process along, me and my friends at YourPhotoForum.com including the great Sue Henry and Lincoln Palmer have agreed to start an “Inspiration A to Z” challenge. The idea is simple. Using a list of words, we all have to write the words on paper, toss them into a can and draw them out one at a time. You can’t move to the next word until after you’ve shot two or three images based on the word you’ve drawn.

So I started today… and was shocked at my first draw… the word “Inspiration” itself. Yup, out of all the words I had to choose from…

Of course, the source of all my inspiration these days was an obvious choice…

Finally in the words of the Grateful Dead… “Inspiration, move me brightly. light the song with sense and color; Hold away despair, more than this I will not ask.”

So where will inspiration come from next? In what form will it be? I have no idea… but I know if nothing else, I’ve got a coffee can of words to get through.

I Hope They Have Fall In Heaven

I’ll voice a pretty unpopular opinion of mine.

God/Yahweh/Buddha/Allah/Whatever does some pretty fucked up shit. I’d love to sit down over a few beers with him/her and discuss autism, SIDs, and a whole host of birth defects. Later on, after shots of Jack Daniels we’ll discuss rapes, molestations, hurricanes, mudslides and finally 9/11.

But even if my Dad and I disagree on the first paragraph, we do agree on what he kept repeating today… “I hope they have fall in heaven.”

Autumn is when they days slowly grow shorter, the wind gets a distinctive bite to it and the trees shake away their boring green overcoats to show off an brilliant display of colors that would put any big box of crayolas to shame.

Yes, we have trees in NYC, and yes they even have leaves, and fall in NYC is an event no one should miss. Of course, taking a drive an hour north through Harriman State park is an even better way to experience the majesty of this season.

IMHO who ever is behind the scenes, pulling the strings is getting alot of things wrong… but Fall is definitely something that’s right.

I’m Bursting…

I still scratch my head when people say my photos are good. Ok, yes, I’ll admit even I think some of them are, but I think it’s tough for me to accept the fact that something that brings me such peace and joy is also something that could touch others.

This doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling I get when I get positive remarks on my work by other photographers. I’m the past few months I’ve begun to follow work of photographers that I basically idolize. I get advice and pointers from brilliant minds like Chiller, Lincoln Palmer, Sue Henry and of course the amazingly talented Jon Mikal who have become a real a “photographic family” to me at YourPhotoForum.com.

Each month at YPF there is a Photo Of The Month Contest. The really unique aspect of this contest is there is nothing submitted for it. Instead any member of YPF can nominate another member’s work for the contest.

The first time I was nominated I was blow away. I didn’t win… hell, I didn’t even vote for that photo! The winner that month was well deserved but then the next month, I was nominated again and this time I won! I still don’t think I’ve gotten over the shock of that!

Well last month I was nominated again and I was ecstatic. Then… another photo was nominated. Then… another!!! When voting began last week I had 3 entries in the contest and I’m proud to say I won. (LOL.. had good odds, right?)

The photos….

“The Flowers She Left Behind”

“Carnival Dinosaur”

and the winner…

“Bank Of America, Dallas, Texas”

So if you’re a photographer, and you’re looking for a great forum with some real supportive and encouraging people – not to mention the most amazing collection of talent I’ve ever seen, stop over at YourPhotoForum.com. Hope to see you there!

It Wasn’t Anything She Said

Why does the world hate mimes?

There are 52 unique muscles in the human face and she was using every one of them that spring afternoon to convey all the emotions she could with out her voice. As the crowd streamed around her she practiced her craft mimicking, teasing have playing with the people passing by. A few stopped and watched and drew delight in the ones that didn’t stop, just walked along. Those were the ones she performed with, imitating, following, using a comic foil for her act. A few would notice, and turn and she would instantly switch to something else so they never had any idea what went on.

I watched for a while, and took her photo as she performed. I thought she didn’t see me, but in the end she did, and even posed for me.

I don’t know why people hate mimes….