The story about the UAE taking over a couple of ports, including one in New York - is amazing because it has actually caused politicians from both sides of the aisle to unite against the president. However - the theory that we want to give contracts to our friends - whether they be Arab or English - makes good sense. In fact, an unnamed source has told me that Pres. Bush's first idea was to give control of American airports to the Iraqis to prove that we took care of our friends, no matter their religion or nationality.
President Bush argued that this was not as crazy as it sounded since Iraq was now a democracy - and that we wanted to show our support for democracies in the middle east.
The president, though - will explain why this move makes sense - and since this is not a political issue, but an issue of national security - the president will not back down from this no matter who is agin him. That is amazing.
The Met players have shown up for Spring training - and I have to believe that this is the year they will make it to the division playoffs. And to make it better, they have their own t.v. station in New York.
2/22/2006
2/21/2006
Flat Iron & Empire State Bldg.
Shot through sculpture and reflected from same. 23rd Street. And, because of a reflection in the next shot, I actually know that this was shot with the Hexar Classic. It was on TMax 100, which I didn't use very often, but the scan looks great.
Skyscraper Men, Battery Park
My lower back continues to bother me. I wish I could say that I hurt it doing some acrobatics, but it was just that yoga session that did me in.
2/20/2006
Museo Silver Rag
I placed my first order for Silver Rag (two rolls) and should have it by the week-end. I still have enough left from the beta stock to do a few 11 x 14 prints. The cut sheet silver rag won't be available for - say another week or two.
If you want to know pricing and where I ordered it from, please e-mail me. I like the roll paper anyway, so this isn't a big deal, but I could use the letter size for my 5 x 7's. In other words, if someone orders one 5 x 7 at this point they're still going to get it on the luster. If someone orders a bunch of 5 x 7's I'll do 'em on the roll paper.
If you want to know pricing and where I ordered it from, please e-mail me. I like the roll paper anyway, so this isn't a big deal, but I could use the letter size for my 5 x 7's. In other words, if someone orders one 5 x 7 at this point they're still going to get it on the luster. If someone orders a bunch of 5 x 7's I'll do 'em on the roll paper.
day 51
I am in training for when they put the stationary bike in the Olympics. On Friday I did an hour on the bike. I think it would be at least as exciting as curling.
Then I walk up these spiral stairs to the small room upstairs in the club where I usually do some stretching, but on Friday there were two women sitting in the Lotus position and one asked me if I wanted to join them for Yoga class.
Well sure, says I. And I grab a mat and it starts off easy enough with some hand wringing to generate heat and some chanting (I'm good at that) but soon I realize that the teacher and the one woman beside me are way beyond my stretching capabilities. But I'm trying to stay with them and I won't go into the whole thing but by end of an hour session let's just say that I felt like I had just finished a 20 mile march with full pack.
The teacher and the other woman tell me that I did very well, considering this was my first time, and that they had been doing this for many years.
I say that I think I did okay in that I'm already sore, but I don't think I sprained anything.
Wrong.
I'm sitting here with a badly pulled lower back. My bad. I'm sort of an idiot when it comes to this stuff. Way too competitive with myself?
My family is like that: very politically sensitive, and aggressive maniacs when it comes to any sort of game or athletic activity.
One day, about 20 years ago, my parents put up a badminton net near what was then our country house. My younger sister (seven years younger) and I played all the time and one day I told her that I had gotten good enough to serve and hit her in the head. Sort of like Babe Ruth pointing to the stands.
And so I did. The shuttlecock left a crimson mark in her forehead.
She was 14 and went running in the house screaming. Out comes the old man. A tough bird.
Hey, did you hit her in the head!
Sure did, dad. Right in the forehead. I told her I was gonna.
Yeah? How'd you like I did that to you!
I told him he could try if he wanted to but it took practice. When he started down the stairs, I took off. He doesn't tolerate wisecracks well.
A few years later, my sister dug a small hole (she swears she didn't) on my side of the court, covered it with leaves, and hit the shuttlecock so that I put my left ankle into the hole and had to be taken to the hospital.
Revenge, the dish that is best served years later.
But that stuff comes from big daddy. Dad was an excellent paddleballer and even when he was in his sixties, he used to be able to drive me all over the court until I was ready to collapse. He could not stand losing. Not at anything.
After he taught me to play chess when I was around seven years old, he absolutely loved to play. Until the day that I beat him (I think I was about ten years old) and he would never play me again.
No, I'm too busy. Much too busy.
And out he'd go on to take care of his business.
Anyway - health is tough. But I'm going to stick with it. Ouch.
Then I walk up these spiral stairs to the small room upstairs in the club where I usually do some stretching, but on Friday there were two women sitting in the Lotus position and one asked me if I wanted to join them for Yoga class.
Well sure, says I. And I grab a mat and it starts off easy enough with some hand wringing to generate heat and some chanting (I'm good at that) but soon I realize that the teacher and the one woman beside me are way beyond my stretching capabilities. But I'm trying to stay with them and I won't go into the whole thing but by end of an hour session let's just say that I felt like I had just finished a 20 mile march with full pack.
The teacher and the other woman tell me that I did very well, considering this was my first time, and that they had been doing this for many years.
I say that I think I did okay in that I'm already sore, but I don't think I sprained anything.
Wrong.
I'm sitting here with a badly pulled lower back. My bad. I'm sort of an idiot when it comes to this stuff. Way too competitive with myself?
My family is like that: very politically sensitive, and aggressive maniacs when it comes to any sort of game or athletic activity.
One day, about 20 years ago, my parents put up a badminton net near what was then our country house. My younger sister (seven years younger) and I played all the time and one day I told her that I had gotten good enough to serve and hit her in the head. Sort of like Babe Ruth pointing to the stands.
And so I did. The shuttlecock left a crimson mark in her forehead.
She was 14 and went running in the house screaming. Out comes the old man. A tough bird.
Hey, did you hit her in the head!
Sure did, dad. Right in the forehead. I told her I was gonna.
Yeah? How'd you like I did that to you!
I told him he could try if he wanted to but it took practice. When he started down the stairs, I took off. He doesn't tolerate wisecracks well.
A few years later, my sister dug a small hole (she swears she didn't) on my side of the court, covered it with leaves, and hit the shuttlecock so that I put my left ankle into the hole and had to be taken to the hospital.
Revenge, the dish that is best served years later.
But that stuff comes from big daddy. Dad was an excellent paddleballer and even when he was in his sixties, he used to be able to drive me all over the court until I was ready to collapse. He could not stand losing. Not at anything.
After he taught me to play chess when I was around seven years old, he absolutely loved to play. Until the day that I beat him (I think I was about ten years old) and he would never play me again.
No, I'm too busy. Much too busy.
And out he'd go on to take care of his business.
Anyway - health is tough. But I'm going to stick with it. Ouch.
2/19/2006
From George Washington Bridge
A few years ago I went to visit a friend in Washington Heights and found myself with tripod and camera on the G.W. at dusk just as a snow storm was coming in.
Inkjet Collection
After two visits by collectors to my place last week - both looking for old "vintage" darkroom prints - I began to wonder whether the darkroom prints would be worth more to future generations, or whether inkjet prints were now worthy for collectors. Neither visitor wanted to look at inkjets.
Think back to the early days of photography when it was considered a mechanical form of reproduction and the photographer was just a guy who pushed a button. What was that compared to painting? Where was the art?
I think there is a similar feeling about inkjet prints: there is just a machine that prints out pictures like a printing press. Everyone has an inkjet printer in their home. Anyone can make an inkjet print.
True. And anyone can take a picture.
Anyone who has tried to make a really fine art inkjet print knows the difficulties involved. Your ideas about a particular print change over time; your technique improves; and if you go back and look at an inkjet that from a few years ago and compare it with a recent inkjet from the same capture or negative you will see huge differences in terms of technique and interpretation.
From the collector's point of view, I would think this is exactly the time to collect fine art inkjets. It's the early truly fine-art prints by that will have more value in the future. In other words, you will need, as a collector, to understand the process - and to have an eye - just as with any art form - but you can pick up the equivalent of a Van Gogh for next to nothing.
I predict that some inkjet objects of art created today will one day be worth as much as any expensive darkroom print of days gone by.
Think back to the early days of photography when it was considered a mechanical form of reproduction and the photographer was just a guy who pushed a button. What was that compared to painting? Where was the art?
I think there is a similar feeling about inkjet prints: there is just a machine that prints out pictures like a printing press. Everyone has an inkjet printer in their home. Anyone can make an inkjet print.
True. And anyone can take a picture.
Anyone who has tried to make a really fine art inkjet print knows the difficulties involved. Your ideas about a particular print change over time; your technique improves; and if you go back and look at an inkjet that from a few years ago and compare it with a recent inkjet from the same capture or negative you will see huge differences in terms of technique and interpretation.
From the collector's point of view, I would think this is exactly the time to collect fine art inkjets. It's the early truly fine-art prints by that will have more value in the future. In other words, you will need, as a collector, to understand the process - and to have an eye - just as with any art form - but you can pick up the equivalent of a Van Gogh for next to nothing.
I predict that some inkjet objects of art created today will one day be worth as much as any expensive darkroom print of days gone by.
2/18/2006
Boy on Bench, Paris
Rise up this mornin'
Smile with the risin' sun
Three little birds
Sit by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin' this is my message to you:
Singin' don't worry
'Bout a thing
'Cause every little things
Gonna be alright...
Three Little Birds, Bob Marley
2/17/2006
Puerto Rican Day Parade
Puerto Rican Day (vintage)
I was going to write something about this shot, but what the heck - I guess it's loud enough on it's own.
The Museo Silver Rag is getting closer. Okay, the title of the release is a bit much, but I'm still excited to see the stuff materializing.
2/16/2006
Today
A collector stopped by and bought one print (something that I've never put up on the site) and a one of a kind print since it was the only darkroom version...
Then I went back to the marketing stuff and put up my tri-level special offer.
Then I took a nap.
Today is day 47 of my nicotine free existence. Not too bad now. I spend more time in the gym, and I guess that's a good thing, though there are some tricky things in the gym - these spiral stairs that I have to walk up after getting off the bike. I've almost tripped twice now. That line from Cabaret keeps coming to mind: He was the healthiest corpse I'd ever seen.
I have a morbid side which pops up when things are going well. I always thought it was a Jewish thing but after watching a couple of episodes of Raymond, I think it is just first or second generation syndrome. That we don't really believe we belong here.
Now if you tell me that you are a descendent of the pilgrims, and you have the same syndrome, then I'll chalk it up to being human.
Then I went back to the marketing stuff and put up my tri-level special offer.
Then I took a nap.
Today is day 47 of my nicotine free existence. Not too bad now. I spend more time in the gym, and I guess that's a good thing, though there are some tricky things in the gym - these spiral stairs that I have to walk up after getting off the bike. I've almost tripped twice now. That line from Cabaret keeps coming to mind: He was the healthiest corpse I'd ever seen.
I have a morbid side which pops up when things are going well. I always thought it was a Jewish thing but after watching a couple of episodes of Raymond, I think it is just first or second generation syndrome. That we don't really believe we belong here.
Now if you tell me that you are a descendent of the pilgrims, and you have the same syndrome, then I'll chalk it up to being human.
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